2.5.07

freedom.

i really like doing this.
hopefully it doesn't get obnoxious to whoever actually reads this. (i never know)
i just found this and don't even remember writing it. strange.
sometimes i blank out.


Maybe the land is created or maybe it is fallen into the sea, perfectly, into darkness and recreation. Maybe the light isn't really light but an old fuse blown out to prevent ideas from exiting your tired old mouth. This taste inside my nostrils is too much for comfort, too much for fear. I am overcome with senses. with fatigue. but soft is the hand that sings of water, yearns for sand. Soft is the idea of love. Warmth is functioning as a vessel for our souls, you and me, on a boat of boats to deliver our message. I have an itch inside my brain but i am only capable of scratching as far as my hair. My cheeks, though, find themselves quite red, quite appallingly blushingly red always. I'm not blushing, just me, just always slightly pinkish in color. My ankles were crossed in the most malevolent fashion, like heroin, like a heroine, but nobody could tell. The skirt was too long to see anything but ten unpainted toes, ten signs of apathy and natural beauty. There was no hiding from it. Laziness is telling me to nap, but determination is taking hold of all I've ever told you. It's almost time, it's always almost time, we are almost free. Surge up and over, all over, and love me.



i only remember writing the word heroin, because as i wrote it i thought "wtf"
but that's about it.

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