2

Bleeding in the wounds of yesterday. Sniffing salt and live another dead wednesday without any long-termed memorial. Killing the time by crashing the watch. Going around in this circle of death and death. Forgetting to forget the wrong things and writing down words which haven’t been spoken. Linking between two thoughts while everything seems to change. Remembering the day, the world went wrong. And lying on that bed of roses with that white flower for hope.