1.22.2010

the past

crushed, reality often provides us scalding pain, marring scars down our skin - reminders of the used to be, of yesterdays , the past.

1.10.2010

Sunday

the skin is shouting. 
my head is bare. 
I see birds clapping.


oh, it is Sunday.

1.09.2010

stay

she shouted to the thin air. coarsen voice
stalling half-way,
consequences-wise, should she know.
screams - even a universe of 'em - won't make anything
stay.