# I can't give it up, for someone else's touch.



## Caila (Nov 25, 2009)

I walked upon the streets at 3 am in the rain, it all seemed so strange and 
desolate, and bright, rather than wet and dark. 

It was almost like I was spiting my best friend by showing up,
and continuing to cry to her
even though I knew she had good intentions. I am guilty for 
not showing appreciation to her. She felt like a horrible friend.

But my pain was too unbearable to form a smile. Now I'm tearing down
this tree, this tree cluttered with lights and ornaments and angels.
I sometimes look up at the candle holding angel, and I want to knock her off.

She watches over these fights and cries, still she does nothing.
I hope that joker knocks her down before I can, he seems to want
revenge more than I. With his horribly disfigured face,
my horribly disfigured heart.

The wind chimes have this strange effect on me, they chime, making songs.
songs untouched by human hands, performed by winds, that change, rippling
through out existance- silly things you say when you're heartbroken.

It still, still seems stupid to feel this way. 
The lack of creation in this, it makes everything make sense. 

Even if i could go see them I wouldn't move from this grave of pain. 

Can you taste the pain, the kind that resides in your rotted teeth
but it's only imaginary. The days, they stretch out, long and winding
in an hourglass with wet sand.


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