I have a date with silence. I'd like to say, lets see how we can shatter definition, if words will lead both he and I to exitinction.

But no, I want this to last. I've always wished for a slow death.

This is what the loss of silence means. The implosion of glass. Castration in attempt at orgasm. This is the world I dwell in, that I thrive off, and now there is an intruder who is even quieter than I. He beats me through negative noise, white space, the words between the lines.

Everything is backwards. An inverted image, dying, fading out by the adding of colors..