; lyht leaves the eyes—expelled by a relentless laesr of poignant realisation that reality is but absurdism x impossibility.

Saturday, 10 December 2011

whistling the cold dead air

walking home alone brings me more comfort than sadness. i cannot remember a time where i wasn't timid and restless about the next evolutionary step in my life. i walk around holding hot pokers or blade of ice and after a time walking in flashes of red and black it makes the walker wonder what his intention had been.

i don't know where i'm going. i don't like how the road looks.

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