Angles of nighttime corners...
i think i fell out of a paper airplane, looking like a defeated angel, with bloodied wings. crippled and unusable. i don't know why i'm so anxious to protect the things that don't belong to me, or why ferocity wells up inside at the smallest effects now. i am underworked and overappreciated and worn from doing nothing. i'm no longer allowed to sit in the driveway for as long as i like- just sad prisoner to this place and its incentives. unfortunately for us, until today i had never heard so perfectly what was wrong with me. you don't even know you said it, but i feel so robbed upon that realization that i can't even speak. i feel like somebody pulled me up from the garbage, like a bent umbrella, not accepting the concept that i am just too broken to be of service...