Only before the fall I remain silent, the mark of lover’s remorse, upright in spite of vertical drain, turning a leaf, a poem of force.
I am no more a man than a choice to go in blind but never forget. You are no more a sound than a voice. We unwind; we give up; we offset.
Welcome to all the insomniacs: the new hope for an old beginning, the second chance to be told that your last best hope is forgiving.
Welcome to all the anonymous: had it on good authority you also graced our doors and more, you lay down on the floor and withdrew.
You can pay for only the hard truth--what to w...