The night is cold, never felt this cold. Inside a ripped sweater, fingers grasp to hold. This is what the body needs, if to make sure it still bleeds. If only to breathe one last time, bur never for free. Just fade out; it's dark but eyes blind anyway. I'm sickly devout; and this is the mind's way to pray. The world is hot, never felt this hot. Sweating and half expecting to be caught. It's not for the thrill, it's never the thrill. It's just an extra fill for the memories of the killed. Just fall down; the sun is there but the world doesn't care. Pain doesn't make a sound, and no life will ever feel wholly fair. The body is hot, never felt so hot. The heart beats twice for every second bought. Where does the liar lie when waiting for his promises to die? And with no tears left to cry, how does someone say goodbye? Just pass out, the body in the flames the mind instigated. Can't put it out, the mind's become everything it hated. The body is cold, never felt this cold. In such a short time a life grows old. The answers are far and wide and empty. The eyes go blind, while the mind is failing. Just black out, some things just stay forever. Turn the lights out, in the darkness things look better.

"I've been picking fight with darkness and I will never win. The needles that shine in sharpness, give answers without question. The words are so affecting, so infecting. So vicious, we all become when protecting. Even onto ourselves we may attack. And continue on without looking back. In the arms of a memory, sing a song, 'Won't you come back to me, won't you come back to me?' You can't, so I just can't. If I were an angel my wings would be bald. You saw that I fell, so weak; my heart has stalled."

The mind awakes; awakes to a sound of barraging metal and the feeling of tremors. Does the body still seizure? No, it is the track. The mind knows this track so well though. It doesn't run, not anymore. Half of the metal is too rusted to even hold a human, let alone a train. The body reacts through logic and rolls itself away and twists and turns for sight. The eyes find themselves on movement unidentifiable in utter darkness. The world flips over as the body finds itself standing up. The eyes recognize the sight of a locomotive, but only partially. The mind has never responded to such a thing. The train is there, but it bleeds at the wheels. The body fumbles for a reaction, but knows of none. The ground around gleams in dark red as the body feels its legs succumb to the cold. The mind wants to run. The mind doesn't know where to go. The mind wants to stay. The mind wants to drown. The body runs.

"Saw me against a wall seeping through the cracks. You drank dreams from your head next to rusted railroad tracks. Drugs to paralyze as glazed eyes met glazed eyes. Addiction always lies. Haunting lover dear, it's a funeral for your ghost. I'm praying that your soul didn't have to hold me quite so close. Love is for the guilty. Is there a chance you'll let me be? The past is never willing. Is there a chance it'll let me be?"

Hiding itself within the graffiti laden overpass, the mind takes in account what it has just seen. It recoils with the sight of the world it no longer knows. Reality has folded. The mind becomes aware of a body asleep under dirty blankets near. The dirty blankets move. The dirty blankets get up and lean an arm against the wall. The dirty blankets open black holes of eyes and turns on the eyes of the mind. The eyes look back into the black. The black holes draw nearer, and a near suffocated breath resonates through the ears the mind wishes it didn't have. The body tries to move, but nothing ensues, accept a cowering. Black holes dance on air, then droop and shut, and then fall. The blankets collapse forward, and a hand falls out. The mind reacts to the arm. The eyes notice bold lettering upon going up to the underneath of the elbow. 'The hole in your arm was the hole in my heart, and the hole in my head.'� Now the mind and body react simultaneously. Together they run through the underpass and do not bother to let the eyes look back. They run until they cannot run any more. And that is when the world around really strikes the mind. That is when hell is apparent. That is when the mind knows its dead.

"Haunting lover dear, why don't you let me go? It's been four whole years since LA imbibed your soul. I can't do this. God broke all our promises. This is just a false tryst in the pacific mist. So nostalgic to where I once held you close, before your eyes bored through mine as you faded to a ghost. You're alive only in lamented song. My bleeding arms were never strong. I couldn't hold you for very long"

Gasping for air, as all the world, oxygen and vision, is swallowed into a figure. A figure whose excruciating beauty tells the conscience to strike upon itself with a dagger of broken self worth already coated with dripping self pity. The awe of it all tells the body to fold, tells the mind to forget its place in time and space. A form not even God could perform upon the earth with all his might without first admitting her to be his successor, a form so agonizingly bright and gorgeous sits before.

"Before the solemn everywhere, things where getting better. It was a swear, a swear that was compared to forever. Forever until death do us part; you fell and shattered your heart and took mine with you. The goodbyes always fall through as you do."

Without a sound, or at least in the absence of sound, incandescent wings protrude from behind. A smile, that could pick out and prove every one of nature's flaws with just one veneer, makes the knees buckle to each other, and then to the ground.

"So lift our heart from the grave. Things are better where you lay."

The wonder of it all hits harder than a thousand mallets. The eyes stream half for a painful blindness, half for a marveled sight. The thought that the figure is recognizable strikes a chord burrowed within the heart. Yet, her familiarity makes it all the less coherent.

"No longer will you live in pain. It was too much anyway."

The eyes close, while her eyes widen. The keep widening, so far, in fact, that the veins are distinguishable even in the blinding light. The veins sear across the white, like fire in the black. Just like fire in the black. Defocusing on her eyes and then on to the rest of her shows a body consumed by flame. Consumed and tormented by flame. The smile does not fade, but the fire intensifies. The wings singe, yet her beauty does not wane. But now the splendor is so painful that the mind dares not to comprehend.

"More than any heart could contain."

Her arm rises, and picks off a charred feather from her now bald wings. A second glance shows that it is no feather she grasps, but a needle; a needle that shines in sharpness.

"No longer will you die in vain."

Knowing what is coming, the mind makes no attempt to react, and as the needle comes down, about to pierce the skull that contains it, the mind realizes that it is now turning from it and into the left arm of the dearest sweet angel. Sound settles and screams, and tears through the ear drums which react in recoil with hands to cover. But the eyes see, and suffer the sight.

"But I will."

The angel's veins excite themselves to the extent of a bursting point. Her body opens itself to the pain, and then lets out what blood is less congealed. Her body splits, while the mind aches for her memory, once again.

"I will."

Her smile ashes and falls down onto the blackest of earth. And almost as fast as she hits, the figure is reformed in the ashes. Just as fast, the body's agony doubles and is left useless in its futile attempt to grasp something tangible. The mind endeavors for reality, but no longer knows what it is.

"I will."

And again she turns from painfully beautiful, to painfully gorgeous, to painfully gone, and back again, forever.

"I will."

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