the day will forget
the wind is tight like a poor man's pension. i wonder what you would possible do should you stumble upon wealth. would you spoil or would you shine? and how would you know. to be rich from a bitch fate is to be a drop within a dream. just the split of the nite would shatter reality as you dreamed it. ten thousand and two and then there is just the shared experience of fantasy. eyes wander and windows show but the room within is still the bare essentials of crayons drawing echoes of will in the imagination. do you believe do you dare? i do not. for too contagious is the tender heart to and unforgetable is the blind childlike spin. everyday blow a kiss and watch as the drifting lifeless blues washes out the stains that is adventure.
posted by fillshe @ 1:33 AM
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