Meander somewhere between distance and dissonance. Scar the tissue of the wasted words. Scatter smiles. Place the fault on the shoulders of reason. Make an effort to scour it clean. Waste these letters on burning paper. Write your name on all the ashes. This is the following message. The recorded voice right after the siren. This is worse than living. This is the feeling of waiting in the wings.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
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