All of my true friends are astronauts. My head is so full of winter. If you blur your eyes just enough, the streetlights below become a thousand tiny ghosts trying to make their way home. Shooting stars that are firing back.
Looking foward to filling picture frames again. All of this is, and has been adjustment... and my absence comes with a handful of "I'm sorrys."
A trunk full of explanations for my new friends. You know you've lived right when you have to document your past.
Life is what you manage in between the sweat and blood on the long road towards a dream.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Who Shall Play The Role Of Taman Shud?
Flashing the house lights to let you know I'm back from intermission.
Lightning struck, and that lonely whistle from the clouds was nothing more than an echo... chasing the Brown line to Sedgwick.
Empty Chicago bottles just get you caught, might as well stay. Hope at the end of the rope, or was that home?
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