Memory hits the brain as hard as the knife could stab the heart.
The sound of beating against the wall was nothing but a neighboring scream that was only yesterday.
The night is silent, filled with loud sorrow of yester-year.
The moon as round and as bright as the redness of wine that seem only suitable as the flowing blood.
The door shut, leaving the owner of the house with vivid memories silent from the crowd.
No one could hear, as if there was not a single mouth, nor a single ear.
Nothing could be done, only to pretend as though it had never happen,
Only to hope for the coming be better.
Countless times the blade stood near.
Waiting to be used, for a reason, for a purpose.
But the blade has no reason and only a single purpose.
Countless times the owner temp to use the blade.
Yet every time there was a slim reason of backing away.
How long will it take the blade to break the owner's faith?
How long more will the darken season starts to grow?
How long before darkness takes over?
The owner sometimes wonder off its mind,
The possibility of what might comes after...
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Location: Bedroom
Mood: Sad
Music: -
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