So I decided to fill it. With a different sort of emptiness, albeit, but it's something, maybe.
On certain nights. If you want it.
Everything's in the subjunctive now.
How boring, how commonplace.
I write. I'm not a writer. There are works
and there are vignettes, but I'm not a writer.
I haven't found anything to vindicate me.
Maybe someday.
I don't like believing in things
but I can. I do. For a while.
I wanted to say that I write things.
I used to draw, I used to art,
but now it's just sort of.
whatever.
That's all.







--
I have a pocket sun boy
I\'m everything that burns in you...
--
An Irishman has an abiding sense of tragedy that sustains him through temporary bouts of joy.
--
we will fold and freeze together far away from here.both are really appreciated (:
--
we will fold and freeze together far away from here.--
[kmw]
as it was meant to be - bokonon (vonnegut's cat's cradle)
--
An Irishman has an abiding sense of tragedy that sustains him through temporary bouts of joy.
--
look here [link]
...the point is, who will stop me?!
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