Ambien Broken, bruised and battered, from the outside I look fine. Noting my appearance won't betray what's in my mind.

Not At Fault Am I at fault? No, but my timing was. My timing was a deer running out to catch the headlights. Or was it to cross the road? It matters not when the road is but a worn out path to heavenly hills. I know not the way but my heart claims to have good directions. And I believe him, for he has served me well in the past. Especially that time my spleen and liver refused to talk to each other. Those were dark times. I am crushed by the wait divided by a very small number, which gives me an approximation close to infinity. Which is roughly how long I expect it to take me to forget to remember you. It matters not, for I am not at fault. I lay on the ground, listening to the grass not doing a very good job of explaining irony to me. I see the clouds smirk as they float by, up above, thinking they're better than us. So, I blow them out of the sky with my awesome mental powers. If only to make a point. A point I use to stab myself in the heart, to teach him a lesson. For I need not feel anymore, as I am not at fault.