I grow tired of my thoughts, heavy satin ribbons which wrap tighter and tighter... strangling... cutting. Frayed, broken... my soul won`t last the night. Thin worn edges, like pages of a book read and re-read, curl inward. Trapped. The cage is myself and the bird, my heart... Longing escapes my throat, floating delicately to the ears of anyone who will listen. The effects of bitter notes, stains of crimson, eat away the ropes of creamy lace that once lured me toward my only means of survival. The ribbons cover my eyes... block my senses... chain me to my worst emotions... They unthread past scars... unlace fears, sadnesses... Lonliness. Tattered lonliness envelopes me in its strong scent of musk, drawing each breath out of me slowly... deviously... There may be no escape. There may be no assurance of salvation... There may be no guidance, not justice... No rest.. No peace. But crouched in the hollow tunnel... a whizzing tunnel, a silent tunnel... is hope dressed in its silvery veil. Translucent, yet stunning. Hope grows with every breath I lose. That is how it must be. That is how it is meant to be.