A finger across the blackest board, a sound unbearable. The mind rejects
and the heart flinches, rakes across fragile wavering shields. Desperate shackles and feeble
graps, as the heart fights agaisnt a battle that can never be won. Like the last crimson leaf
thats falls on a chilly autumn day, the promise of harsh unwavering cold seeps into the mortal
coils of the receiver. An act so pure, so uncalculated and wanton, an impact so overwhelming
and deadly. Like rising bile and poisonous sulphur, a scent most foul and lingering hangs on
with its seductive and gripping tendrils. Is the balance between acceptance and rejection always
so precariously balanced, does the heart always freeze so easily? What then, is this love that we
men so speak of, so revere and worship? Is it a state of mind, a lie? As with the fall of the
last crimson leaf, all questions and answers soon to be buried in a graveyard of ice
and nothingness.