Retrace Your Steps Back To The Grave You Were Born Into

Strange serenity, sleepwalking through the dead end streets. It's so late the clocks have fallen asleep and the roads harden and crack under washed-out moonlight. Turning your eyes into monotones. Your ears sharpen and hone in on the whistling and whipping of trees. You walk in the middle of the road, a sense of taboo spurring your actions as you trace the white line markings with your feet. Thoughts dribble through your mind, seeping down into your ankles then back up to your head. Skeleton cars sit motionless and discarded while the soft phosphorescence of towering lamplights highlight the long trail back to your bed. The silence crackles and writhes. Contorting around you, shaping and molding you to the realisation that you're tresspassing on the night. Tip-toeing through the cold air and leaving your footprints in it like it was snow. Strange humbling in the cockles of your heart and glistening in your eyes. The night kisses you even though you're obtruding on it. It craves that sense of violation. It cloaks your body, the slender contours of its female form fitting perfectly against yours. Wrapping itself around you, pressing its cold cheeks against your dry lips. This strange union of body and time sucking you into a vacuum of Love and Hate and Sorrow and Jealousy. Like a room of valuables, hoarded from the nooks and crannies of someones life; a pair of your mother's shoes, a school photo, a Moroccan lamp. Leave them hidden from the night. It will steal them. Strip you bare and leave you when the clocks wake up. Desert you as the day pushes itself onto the sky by the time your key is drawn back out of the door.

Black Meteoric Star - Death Tunnel
90 Day Men - Saint Theresa In Ecstasy