Onnnnne second...I'm being distracted by a charming young woman from some god forsaken land that isn't my own. Isn't that way it goes.
Sometimes the light flickers instead of rages and it is during those times that I sit here and enjoy blood flow and breathing. This is a pathetic way of saying I have nothing virulent to write.
Don't you hate it, absolutely HATE it when the gears grind to a steady hum and you are able to steal away a few peaceful grains of sand from the big ol' fuckin' hourglass that rests between bloodthirsty Andromeda and Canton, Ohio. It's hard to find words for it without reaching into the bad poetry bag, blissful, serene, not cram fucking packed with intense rectal tearing, but I will try... well no I won't, bad poetry bag saves time.
Oh bad poetry bag... how did I know you'd be crimson?
June is the start of the new year and when it happens I will tell you why.
No comments:
Post a Comment