Killing Time


The sound of your voice 
painted on the backs of my hands.
the slope of your mouth 
etched into the moons of my eyes.

Tormented touch, withheld.
In feverish darkness, I stand.
Stronger than yesterday,
weaker than tomorrow.

Tomorrow...just another day,
where everything loses more meaning
just another day
where I care less.

Digital alarm clock, red numerals
crimson minutes drip onto the floor,
flourescent blood of days slain.
I'm just killing time waiting for you.

(c) 2001 by (++)Laura(++). All Rights Reserved


My Subliminal Guide To Insanity:
2001: