when.

so old now, yet so young still inside.
tired of the soreness and the hunger still the hunger.

why's the point; all this waste all that numbness.

trees are dying big as time, still are falling, so am I.
why's the matter; all this effort all that waste.
only one and small as dust
rotten mixture running rust
waiting hard for dawn to visit
light and warmth to melt the snow
mend my holes and threadless pockets
wipe this shadow from my centre
set your star inside my lie

I've had a pretty rubbish weekend and the above was written as a result - it was kind of done in stages which is why its a bit allawatheshop, but the only way I could express things. The other day I had a dream where I had loads of shards of glass in my face and mouth and they were so delicate and thin that I couldn't get them all out and didn't know what to do. For a variety of reasons (all too ridiculous to deserve their own individual mention) this weekend was like that emotionally for me, just out of the blue, and of course my response is to sleep it away. (and while I can see it isn't a good way to achieve anything, I do feel it has some 'restart' type of effect for me). Hennyway, feeling better every day, thanks for asking. Trying not to be so hormonal though (as if).