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the world lay deathly silent, supressing whispers, pining for an indication ~ some sign that the clouds might break apart one last time - to reveal the fading moon and to remind the ground itself of all the days it was praised. the notion of unspoken stories and songs is the hazy light that lightly kisses the uneven surfaces of collapsed buildings, of fallen trees, of your still body. only one soul has fought it's way into this dead planet, you're the only one. during the hours of night, you scream toward where you know the heavens must be, you scream in hope that i'll hear you. who would guess that your voice is that which pierces through the curtains of cloud and creates the art of idolatry. the idolization by the world of silver moon light, the idolization by the stillness of the deafening music that is the ocean, of whispers behind hands, of children voicing innocent theories.
![gothic_girls063[1]](http://im.glogster.com/media/1/0/47/12/471230.jpg "gothic_girls063[1]")