April 30, 2005

Words rambling around in the head of the insane. Something isn’t (w)ri(gh)t her(e).
pen to ink to paper to mind to lips to ear. whisper that secret out, little girl.
It’s always the wind, who you’re talking to (?)
I’m not really understanding
all this static
that seems to come from your eyes your mouth your simple one finger wave

undulate your toung and
form
some
simple words.

She walked up the staircase, the oration was finished. smoothing over the smothering sheets, smelling of smouldering skin. slipping through the endless everwhere, echoing erradicated irridescence. find the lost, her journal said.

pen to ink to paper to mind to lips to ear. Whisper that secret out, little girl.

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