Thursday, May 13, 2010


Pushing through as the others fall, catch your tongue. Only as good as they say you ought to be - conforming curls of yellow spheres. Encounter the sheep who gave you her wool and offer some grass in return. It's from the bribe pile, you'll have more to choke on tonight, this isn't much, you're selfish.

The days will come until you go. Until it all runs out, without a cause. Anticipate the worst will come after the long run of highs. Disaster along the fragments caged in. The ink will burst eventually all over your nails on the tips with the seam from underneath. You will jump back but the return will always be awaited, leave your smiles in the bags outside. Quiet in this place.

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