older now and haunts

oh, and a heart to heart, a savior in your hippocket keeps the ministry away: you can have those lost and tragic angels in some new solitary dark night sense and turn it over (a shining moon of time and loss and muck and fucking inside) we're all so much sweat and wind so much sweat and wind, a stack of bones upon our endings and that's us, that's our story, just endings---some grander than others---and the way it happened, the way it was born we just owke, spoke turnstyle i remember when it all wasn't so blinding or strange for you.

so let's sit around lackluster and waiting, hoping for something else and drinking wine from bottle (but only fine wine) and maybe, sleep will be easier hating yourself won't turn out to be the best way at all.



2004-01-08 | 7:33 p.m.
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