Drawings
I lay awake drawing. Behind a closed door where the world awaits, asking for more than I can give.
The door pulls me deeper into the abuse of my thoughts, searching for a light in the murky linger of death behind my face and above my throat.
I draw with silver and it pulls away in red splits, satisfiying me with a shot of something other than numbness through my vessel that I mistreat in vain.
Drawings
I cover...

Photographs.
I'm sure you always have the memorie of your mother or father taking a picture in that moment when you felt invincible. When you were free from troubles, free from the fear of what lurks in the world. When you were young.
Now, when you look at them, I'm sure your heart aches. For when you WANTED nap time and to recite the alphabet. 
You look at yourself in the photo. Surly you were never that young, so.. so.....