we are the brand new beatniks. we are the down and outers.
we are the bleeding hearts, beating syncopated, broken rhythm.
our speed is often break neck. we need to slow it down.
tired of being sleepless. tired of being broken.
While i was away over the summer, some random guy slept with my pillow and had stuff (not so nice stuff) written all over his face and it imprinted on my pillow...
Why do you people keep digging up old threads? They disappear for a reason you know.
I faced death. I went in with my arms swinging. But I heard my own breath and had to face that I'm still living. I'm still flesh. I hold on to awful feelings. I'm not dead... My chest still draws breath. I hold it. I'm buoyant. There's no end.