Sentence^ (Paperback)

The trees are above me, I see it now, even with those limbs, reaching for my eyes, reaching for revenge, for the hope of revenge. Pointless, a tipless arrow, and still I swallow, hard as concentration. I know what is coming. <p>It doesn't make it easier. Nothing makes it easier. A new kind of hot, the same shade as Night's closed eyes, and thick, thick with soft and sharp noises, blending together, a symphony to choke upon, something else to choke upon. I am fear. I know nothing else here. Something was good and now there is this. Prison, and I am the thought in every form, I am the dread which is placed between the hands of two creatures in love, the terror which makes bones crunch so that further loss cannot come. </p><p>My sentence is to remember my every sin, to become my action, my victim, to become the blood which I have spilt, and make then of that blood my ink.<br>There is always more to a crime than the crime. There are the ripples and the echoes, some fade away in the end, and some, some more backwards to the beginning. </p><p>I believe I am surfing those ripples, those echoes. I am trapped on a wave, moving back to a point where I can be blameless, then blamed for everything.</p>