Beautiful veins, and Blood-shot Eyes
-april 5, 1994.
A shot has echoed through us all, and I am left here alone. One Chuck Taylor on, a broken toe in filthy sock of my shoeless other foot.
I have no gun powder on my hands. Merely an empty remnant of oxi-cotton. Three days alone and we were all found in a garden.
A stranger in a sort of rock n roll limbo, we wait for our next suicidal saviour to hide in.
But Kirst said, we must remember the music, and so we do, and though I've never gained a knowledge nor learned a secret that would damn or save my soul, a bell has rung once more and a phoenix is born.
"What else should I write? I don't have the right."
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