its melting downI feel it in every fiberas she says over and overoh my godthat used to be me in a wayfallen onesnothing is everythingand vice versaand all the ugly that is thrown aboutby one who waits for an excuseto fire the cannon of spitemore games that i cant playthe only help i get with thingsis bag packingthe only warmth is distance and silenceknowing all the while the matters of timethat will surely erupt a fissureand place me once more at a crossroadand place my pride into the mouth of dangerno regardand rather than be disturbedi amno..i am disturbedand i wait for my hairpin triggerto pull or push its wayanyplace but sane