These past days are a reel of negatives spoiled in the light.
I'm anguish and exhaustion and pain. Sweet, sweet pain that runs its fingers along my spine and creeps into the vacant sockets of my eyes.
 |
| almost home |
Yet how content I am to allow it to satiate my being.
It's the kind of tired that stems from days filled with too much thought.
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| music |
Perhaps I live in the broken spines of books. Books filled with crackling pages and spidery script. In bygone times. Maybe this alieness is more than my faith. I'm an outsider inside-out.
We walked in the rain. Their fear is eating me.
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