No last cigarettes

There they are , tired of looming from the dark. No excuseses, no obstacles to be taken any more. Dazzling white and pitch black. The last evening light hits the knive on my desk. Shall i cut her...?
Or no, wait! Together with my old hairy friend. Yeahh.
Oh my god you lost a lot of hair, but then again, that puts more character in it.

The black silent scraperboard looks mysteriously grimm to me, there is no way back now. We both know that. I grasp the moment and put it in memory.
Here comes the white pain.

Our first story is now being illustrated, as we speak,
softly
in the dark


regards kenter