In lost forms we rise..

Within the traced lines
Upon my skin
I slowly lose the feeling of 'why'.

Remain blurred edges, of an existence before
Of the memories held close
And the fire within my blood,

Whilst a sculpted form drowns,
Only a ripple left in time
Draped in the mockery of lies.

And with each wavering stroke,
Crushed fingertips loosen their hold
Sinking in through their palms.

Grotesque and alone
A standing statment to remind
For those who start to forget..