consulted in its composition.

sixty three sins in the bucket, and i've been counting them for about three hours now. seem to have lost track of time as i finger the razor edges of each one of these little beauties, counting over and over again how they've left their marks on the underside of my arms.

i've pushed myself away. (quite happy to keep you at arm's length ... just within reach, just far enough to blur your vision.)

landlocked and kept in time, i'm sure once i come to i'll be that happy little thing that you go on and on about. but for now, i'll keep myself thank you ... locked in my land, head bent down, counting these sins.

they make a nice plink noise when they hit the bottom.