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12 August 2008 @ 02:19 am
-- on the glass, i traced the sun with my thumb. it sank into the ground  
sometime between saturday and tuesday, i want to go the a pier, guys. one with lights and ferris wheels and neon colors. i want to take lots and lots of pictures. anyone?


live a little, talk a lot; it's the way this goes.
i've come to fear the little knives beneath their well-pressed clothes.
their arms are reaching; reach is spreading through the neon glow.
their mouths are moving, but their voices sound like telephones.
the traffic hums; the traffic grumbles near my old window.
the street lights flicker; glow and hover like suspended snow.
i used to watch the moon retreat and wonder where it goes.

now I just wonder why my head is overrun with ghosts
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Current Location: through the window.
Current Mood: cheerfulairy
Current Music: electric president -- good morning, hypocrite