I look at you through tear stained eyes and the crystalis transforms your smirk to a smile where the crimson of freshly drawn blood seems dulled to a pale sepia that no longer holds any consequence but, rather, is now bland and dead; ripped of all spice to highlight its speciality and so it dies in your eyes, so clear and steady and stuck on a vision that not a single soul nor all the heavens could displace from the sense of righteousness that enshrouds you, that still you cling to with such a fervour as to claim the last iota of light, leaving these tears to fall silent in their prism on an abandoned base of now old and misused tapestry where the tale stops so suddenly in such darkness-the colour is lost and drawn from its weave leaving little but dust on a loom; an emptiness that nothing will console nor heal yet is laid to rest, here, in this story of a stolen, betrayed and broken heart rocking in darkness and in fear, gazing through the endless salinated distortion of lifeless, cornea ridden water.

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