He contends with the wind to be where its been, collecting sediments from the lives that powder his feet. He grows weary of his skin as it provides the very itch for supplemental lives. Tantalizing a disconcerting niche. Seeing in degrees as eyes bob in between cardinals. His body: the means, fallen victim to his map of a mind. It wont stop until the sky has parted ways, oh so many times. His body is his means. He demands love wherever he lands. He only has remorse for cities that couldve been better seen. A walking third party perspective. He prospects of any place yet seen. Another busy ant with an angry queen to please. Oh Gods, where have I been? Ive never traveled your world and Im standing at the end. An easy settlement wields enough not enough of a lot of things.
Posted on: Thu, 04 Dec 2014 03:36:49 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015