cellar door

relivin' this half life yet again... n' i have to because it's kind of short... can't hope in the lines of endurability or persistence n' so i mostly live in patterns... deliberate misobersations sometimes give me a way to see somethin' new. n' maybe after some 20 years of consumed consumption of myself... all these flashes seem so distant.. it doesn't even look like mine... like remote traces of gun powder from some ancient silo... a bergschrund of memory or somethin'.

i'm a ferris wheel junkie addicted to myself.... addicted of bein' someone else n' want others think that's me. mostly scared by the matters of reality eludin' myself from my kingdom of ghosts.

p.s. visitin' places don't always mean you feel at home there. sometimes you're too scared of not bein' invited never again. n' i was thinkin' i could have been popular as well if the first choices took a day off.