I rise from sleep, as a ray strokes my shoulder. Wishing to walk unveiled to the world - my flesh on view. These things stand in our way - the cold of the earth, the state of our minds. And the camouflage. The sticky threads that communicate the meaningless in a thousand different ways. My voice shuns your honey words on hour gla** shapes. On the fragile, unreal, objects of desire. The words don't flow, neither the feelings. No more ink on wood to betray my thoughts. Just this - a cry on the dark side.