December 2007
2 posts
2 tags
Angel Thoughts [Vignette]
I am down on the floor, lifeless and eternal with Hemmingway beside me. My wrists are cut and open and beautiful. Did I do that? I don’t remember. But the floor screams a shade of staining crimson, the colors of my skin degrade to black and pall. Colors run out of my wrist and not blood. No, not blood. Blood is not a color. I am alive, because my eyes are still open. But I am also dead. I do not...
2 tags
Lost
When dealing with something lost, one must assume it is hiding, and perhaps, doesn’t want to be found.