That's what I'll be. A silhouette, rarely seen, and yet believed in.

So you want to know all about me. Who I am. What chance meeting of brush and canvas painted the face you see? What made me despise the girl in the mirror enough to transform her,turn her to into a stranger, only not. So you want to hear the whole story. Why I swerved off the high road, hard left to nowhere, recklessly indifferent to those coughing my dust, picked up speed no limits,no top end, just a high velocity rush to madness.

God wasn't love, couldn't be love. Because for me, love was a corpse.

Hot flush, raging bluch. Ice flash, instant crash.

The problem with resolutions is they're only as solid as the person making them.

I hate this feeling. Like I'm here, but I'm not. Like someone cares. But they don't. Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here, and escape lies just past that snowy window, cool and crisp as the February air.

I'll Stay ...leave ...me. ...I'll ...follow ...you.