(no subject)
after several failed attempts to drive. i stand. feet grounded, almost burried. i wait for the sky to give me an answer, or at least cure this dry, cracked feeling. door number one will remain closed and locked tight. so i stare and i think and i feel and i melt. i will spend my whole life trying to get away from this point. door number one. big, red, shiny door. behind you lies miles of dead earth and despair, and somewhere beyond your neglected world is a thriving tree. this tree provides shade over the door where i wait. ... feels like home, smells like home. but i will never taste you. i know too much.