Dark shades of gray move toward the window, The window in front of which I sit.
Brisk chill from the frost on the glass, giving the dry, tired bones beneath my fingertips a tingle.. I ease back for only enough time to watch the warm print of my index dissolve.
Glazed skies now reflect off these sad and wet eye's.. I looked up to ask my goddess why.. She gave no response.. Though her presence shy.
My conscience dwindles with cobweb covered gears.. I consider the lost time, and motion for my sanity to follow, it of course does not.
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Madness
the sickening... what cranks the gears of society to conform it to the grime in which we live..
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