Monday, January 24, 2005
beckon for rescue but there's no one there. the light of day's still hiding my fingers in her hair.

the wolf howls in respect to the moon. and you should too. kudos to the man who pours the faintest of light on our darkened world when the sun becomes the opposition.

the nights are evil. theyre cold like the rusted knife. it's comfort and refuge. but alas, it has worn out its welcome. though it's still longed. sleep to the sinner, not to the brave, who fights through the night.

peace to the peaceful. and hope to the rest. thats it. hope.

sleep's not the enemy, it's just a cruel friend. that torments the innocent. until the very end.