Keep your fingers out of my eye. While I write I like to glance at the butterflies in glass that are all around the walls. The people in memory are pinned to events I cant recall too well, but Im putting one down to watch him break up, decompose and feed another sort of life. The one in question is all fully biodegradable material and categorised as Rael. Rael hates me, I like Rael, - yes, even ostriches have feelings, but our relationship is something both of us are learning to live with. Rael likes a good time, I like a good rhyme, but you wont see me directly anymore - he hates my being around. So if his story doesnt stand, I might lend a hand, you understand? (ie. the rhyme is planned, dummies). The flickering needle jumps into red. New York crawls out of its bed.
Posted on: Tue, 23 Sep 2014 15:10:50 +0000
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