My soul, so dark and lifeless; A place where Hope and Sympathy lies dead; A desolate field where nothing can grow, Except the feeling of dread. I stand in this barren wasteland, Trapped by chains of despair and fright; In...

our footprints sit quietly, fossilised on the dry concrete floor. i can still see your steamy face-print on the window, where you pulled a face and joined it with glass whilst i recreated it with acrylics and pastels on canvas...

you tempt me too much, you know. you, with your insatiable thirst to fulfill such childish desires of mine, have broken the sacred line that allows body to listen to mind. these crimes of passion you commit are evident on...