under the rugs was the reader n' he came out. dust. it's been more than a quarter n' a half month n' still not over 50 pages. busy? and i was born in the boredom and the chowder. awake. still feels like a dream. i sleep after swimmin' in my own bed.. not with thoughts but with love. n' lately i've been tainted.. still hoverin' around the raucous boundaries of my sanity. my vocabulary inflicted by yours. will... surrendered.
- D'yer Mak'er
- “...drifting to the streets of no destination was my eternal passtime... n' then comes the moment of gettin' caught in the swamps of memory... followed by hurried motion of arms n' legs. suffocatin' in the depths of past again n' again. all of these had a custom of layin' myself down in the tracks of reality.. n' then' would come the train of life... tearin' n' shatterin' every part of me. to still carry myself all torn n' withered n' broken was undoubtedly the worst part.”