It's Been eons but wounds heal slow when you're dwelling in the garden of pain and rose thorns keep tearing at cuts and scrapes that hurt more than memories of a shit load of shit It's been a while since knives cut but blood still flows and pain still ebbs at night alone and cold with no loving hugs or 'It's alright... I promise' But They always break them and can't keep anything Its been a long time since I slept soundly in the embrace of night without staring at cold ceilings and thinking about things that dont matter anymore..