Before the words are spoken, that place between the dark and light, how will I assemble all those thoughts that make me weak? Standing on the precipice, contemplating the coming jump, will I burst fourth for the trees and shadows, or slink away back to the dark. The shape of like is like the heart, that beats and throbs as I breathe, but will the chance be taken quickly or is it merely by time deceived? Throbbing, throbbing hearts are ill at ease, too many question wrought within them, but never have the chance to breathe... Only sigh on long regret and wait to die...
shadow hide you.