I Black letters hanging aimlessly beneath the skinny lady turn red as the invisible words from the letter dance around me, tired. Making their long way from the past shaving the time and silence that lay dusty on the tablet, twelve years and many brown crumbled dry leaves later they will be tired, I assume. II Much of the crazy looks of the stubby face the mirror is so used to belongs to the past. Change has been slow. Searching about in the empty bag, I realise that silence is the best word when it comes to her. The double headed metal evil speeds over the two veins drilling the night with a tunnel of light and piercing the silence ahead. III From the black of the space under the covering comes the words. I agree, it is time to go. Drooling rain wets the mud path leading to the rusty iron gates that seem never to close, for it matters not. As I walk away from the gate towards nothingness wondering if I turned to the left or right, With rain dripping from its stretched arms, against the dark back drop the white crosses stand silent.