|Letters from prison.
||[Jul. 25th, 2005|03:20 am]
We're there, bitch.
Oh my. An entry written in italics.
You know it's deep.
Does anyone else get random bursts of strange and powerful words in their heads, I wonder.
Does anyone else work the way I do. Or maybe everyone does.
The fact that there is no way to really know scares me. A lot.
And then it just makes me sad.
And then I feel an odd sense of incredible responsibility.
But I will live inside.
It's beautiful here, you know.
So many works in progress. Gutted canvases, fraying ends. Union, pile of slick debrie.
Again. once over, once out. Inverted and pointed, finger-bones. Milky skin.
One day I'll find my crowded place to scream in.
And I just accidently
went emo wrote psychotic poetry again, didn't I.
I'm trying to stop doing that, I promise.