Oct 03, 2007 10:58
October hangs in the sky like dirt and blood.
423 little pinpricks.
Eyelash glue holding my purple lashes.
No amount of rare books can birth a smile.
But I guess that's what death rattles sound like internally.
And the scent of my beloved killing month embodies my tall hill and high tower gates.
So I long and long and long... for the cold weather to warm my soaking heart.
Pele comes and visits, we drink tea and talk of highschool. All the times I never thought I'd ever recover when I was young.
Did I ever recover? And she smiles.
But 12 years is a long time to keep a ghost in my head.
And 5 years is a long time to drag my feet in a mess.
When will I dream under dogwoods again?
I wanna fall in love to the ashes breezes.
I want to heal.
*n