:: Friday, September 05, 2003 ::

I would stop I would stop writing in my blog but i'm too busy thinking to not. Sitting here feels right, stuck with Nilla wafers, trust my hunger to burst. Keys slip forward, fingers go backwards, and neither presses for a feat. paper staring contests with blank, intensive eyes. Strings of piercing money rip my shirt and fall. Was that bunny dust? Babies crawling out of cribs, fighting for their lives on staircases. Up the staircase down the staircase, tumble tomble tumble bomble. Tickity tock why must it all be fluent and yet contrasting. Bring the noise through filtered discs of slashing reflection friction arsenic parsley falling down. Why don't I just wrap myself in plastic and fold the pages of my book shut so the guitar can softly flutter bye into silent reflection on hissing and popping of the not-so-empty world around me.

:: Floydthebarber 9/05/2003 11:41:00 PM [+] ::
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