Staring at the faded lights in the darkness, the longer she stares, the more they seem to mesh.

A canvas of all black, through her eyes, splash of color travels through the seams at the condescending speed of light.

A bite of the bottom lip, boy this book is interesting, a shiny lighter makes its personality known.

A beat, a rythm, and a ciggarette is lit.

Menthol according to her high prefference.

Paintbrush in hand, her soul seeps through the paint much like blood through a vein.

The image of a door, light screaming through the crack, is this the place to be or is it just fantasy?

The clock moves its branches, swaying its hours to ambition.

Minutes fall like leaves of autumn, running away from the dull tick of electronical symphony.

Much to her desire, it was 3 in the morning, and insomnia made its usual prescence.