I have had more than enough of this life.
If I find anything that even tempts me to rise from the grave I will try to photograph it and write about it.
Until then I leave you with my
Where is the comfort your voice once held?
Where is the guidance your hand once gave?
Where is the mark your feet once made?
Lost in the deepest grave.
Your quiet voice holds everything but lies,
Your open hand guides everything but greed,
Your feet carried me in my naivety
Here, where my heart is left to bleed.
You don’t exist in this tortured world,
Nothing you are is worth anything here,
So don’t try your promises on me again,
I am dead, as you are my dear.
|'LOVE' From Visual Counterpoint|