spoken like a true bastard
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Consider this lack of decent sleep as your fault.
Tangled up in my dreams, slighting and flashing. Please, say you're in trouble, what's the problem with a little destruction? On comes with panic light, holding on with fingers and feelings alike, leaves fly by, and pictures turn into crisp blots. Where I am now, there will be no one else; I am here. Much has been wasted, I thought wrong, I did wrong, now I am- no, I was. Whereas life springs from flowing waters and growing trees, I am found lifeless on a wet field, drunk, exhausted, yet familiar. Clutched, a letter, sadness, thy name is sun.
Even then, Sleeping Beauty sleeps with a frown in her porcelain face. Distraction - as was, as is, fairy tales, NEED fairies to work.
smiled at the sun again @ 9:02 AM,
