but still, the truth remains lethal a lie made by man,
where my shoes become hammers and my words become sand.
like a sour patch, a wedding batch of roses you threw across my floor
in the rusted arm rocking chair away from your storm.
~blue october
felt like it. not much more to say this time...sorry.
=lockstock, sxc.hu
You can view the journal entry here: [link]