Every roll of the dice leaves a mark upon the dirt. I reached for the ground but the grass was so high ....... so high, I couldn't find them anymore. I left them in the tall grass along with a piece of myself I had never wanted. I don't want it anymore ..

.. take it ...... take it! .. I'm tired of my hands rotting.

Immobilized to my own self unsatisfaction. I'm not sure what I'm reaching for anymore. I'm not sure if these are sticks or knives. I can't bend my knees anymore because I've been on them so long.. they're bloody now.

Within these hills hold something treasured and forgotten. Underneath the willow and beside the roots. My heart lies torn inside a locked chest. It's waiting for you to find. And all you have to say ... is ... whispers.

xxxx