And who would come knocking on my door when all I am is nothing but a dead bolt, no keys, no place. Empty pockets strewn with ghosts of memories I touch every now and then. I want to leave but I cannot say no. They do not laugh about it anymore. Their smiles have melted and sunken into the ground – the cold and dead ground, just like their insides. Hollow eyes, can you see? How they pierce your skin and you fall…fall away silently into delirious fever? I heard they gave it a name and it is love. Profane demon of the innocent mind; it will eat you raw, spit you out. You are left with nothing but holes and scars and pain that never dies. Whosoever said it was a game said it true. You might win, yes. But they will return one day to reclaim their prize, your heart. Never forget that. There are no do-over’s or miracles in this game. Just a cold bottle of your soul and a fake smile, pass it on. Can you jump the fence? Can you kill the rabbit and climb down its hole? Or will you just stand there as a passing memory, as my passing memory? So I take the razor’s edge and a sip of the brown and off myself. Goodbyes were never really my thing anyway; too mediocre for me.