what i think i believe, written in the pauses.

how can you see anything if the mirror reflects the mirror?

the truth is there, so sharp. finger pressed firmly against the knife...at the threshold of pain; and knowing. is it better for the blood to run? or for us to be left with the red, raised scratches on our arms...from the back of your head to the base of your shoulders. is it better to bleed under the surface? to bruise or to make a mess of things? yes it gets everywhere...and it's hard to clean up...and it's a bitch even with stain remover.
then again...i've felt a sharp pain before, and it was only nerves twinging.
i wonder how many people understand the minute heart attack and the emptiness of that lost beat when the speakers flicker...even when you're not expecting a call.
what a strange place this is.




yes, i believe in love,
yes, i'm a dreamer.
but i'm not alone
there are more of us than you suspect
and we've got bombs.
truth and beauty bombs.

{i didnt mean what i said...i'm sorry}