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Tuesday, December 22, 2009


Put yourself in my shoes, and see that I do what I do because the old guard still offends
Go without,
Till the need seeps in
You low animal,
Collect your novel petals for the stem,

And glow,
Glow,
Melt and flow,
Eviscerate your fragile frame,
And spill it out in the ragged floor,
A thousand different versions of yourself//



I don't think I can give you up, myO. I think this might end up becoming a personal journal, of sorts. No one's going to read it, so why not? I haven't had a guestbook entry in almost two years. No one comes here, anymore.

Why do the abandoned, decrepit buildings make us the most sad? Is it because they used to be so full of life and vitality?

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