I guess my dreams always know what I want to see.
Smack the face, smack it again
...heh.
A dead branch that falls, is it really part of the tree anymore?
Far too heavy to hang above the cold ground below
it gave to the weight of its own branches and time...
it is something else entirely.
let it be used, chopped, or burned
I'm getting tired of these calls and beeps
That is not my home
this isn't... my home.
How I even manage to have a roof over my head
remains a mystery.
How am I still alive if no one ever wants to get close to me?
What? Do you pity me? Are you afraid?
I care not for these sentiments
The wind isn't my friend
and though I am filled with holes
it still carries me to the strangest of places.
I could not leave this virtual island
couldn't even give my ferry ticket away.
it's fine.
most people are fine without me anyway.
the words I leave will be the trail of which I walked on my own, I suppose.
Who knows how much longer this will last, anyway.
Will there be a future, or will I finally hit my dead end?
View User's Journal
A Conversation with Myself
If you're not me, you'd only be here if you went out of your way to look.
Turn back, or buckle in, bucko.
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