thornglitter

Is this how our lives turned out? Our lives seem to be slowly trickling out of our cupped hands. Is there no love in your heart that you would kill the lost and wounded soul that is yours? It is an etcha- sketch of your life. Still some grainy remains are stuck on a sad and lonely screen. A crack through the middle I can no longer turn the knobs For it is useless, for if it is broken it shall forever remain that way. And so I remember your crimson frame that was my friend. But now inocent blood has been spilt! The pure and holy blood of an etcha- sketch. NO MORE! Shall I burrow in this sad despair of sorrow? I will buy a new toy tomorrow for you my one and only... Etcha- sketch.