I've sat here for hours rubbing these sweaty hands waiting for something to pour out of them, it was when I closed my eyes when it all came back to me, bullet fast and fired by your apathy. Where oh where have the riddles been, They've been here, hidden beneath dirty laundry and half empty books of matches that were used to burn your scent away. Another week long stretch of personal desolence seemsthe hue of this forecast; weathered, that's what it is, I'm far too weathered.

Goodnight.