(no subject)
The creamiest milk...a treasure. The night must stay...My days will soon be of looking and working for the man...how heavy the feeling is...how I loathe the mundane, the stale,...I am a tropical fish in freezing waters...I ponder bodilessness...This voice, This voice...I contemplate my escape into eternal song...And it is coming..The transition into remembering...The silence yearns to receive this ancient self...This lack of song is a knife to the chest.