i’ve got this urge to fade away. everyday.

sometimes stunned. mostly still.

it occurs to me that life is indeed a drug. that stops working on a cold winter night. like today.

i’ve been waiting. my fingers have gone fat. my guts have gone soft.

like any traveller from a ruined land, i tried to adapt.

where did i go wrong? what did i misread?

and when will you reply? to my eight hundred and thirty two words.



~ by rb on December 13, 2011.

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