subject: we do not remember. we don't.
time: 12:11am
music: fill me in - craig david
mood: headache

in ruby electric skies, stars and planets rain harder, faster. if only a star represents utmost joy, i'd want to be in the milky ways. i am the creator of orbits writing our ugly little places instead with pretty little faces so that we are in fact morphed subtly into somebody else'. fortune antique misspent and painful etches unto hearts. sickness that has all of us thrown unto the floors. sweeter than sweet sickness like venomous vines on pretty pink fences in a picture perfect picture. kills us all? devious in that the evidence is embedded within the taint on our scarlet lips that constantly taste sour lemon marmalade of utter regret. on an artist's workbench sits ashen angels, dirtied by our own innocence. our feet forgetful following the entirely wrong path.

it has been told, it has been sung; paints the world a stage of fortune's fools and follies and regrets and pains, and romance? what is it, but a poignant dyslexic tale of the tongue's trip from the back of the mouth to the kiss of the lips to airy whispers of 'iloveyous' for eventual deaths? wherein lies, mad lullabyes on highway tragedies and hands wrought in denial of just how lonely we all truly are. but wouldnt you agree - the immense seduction of sorrow? something about pain that makes reality seem a whirl of bleeding painfully bright colours of a polaroid snapshot long forgotten. and in our heads, it fades and we do not remember. we never do.