x newest x older x profile x notes x kelly x poems x diaryland x
white lights
12:11 a.m. 2004-12-27

Like the canvas spill clarity that crept past our windows in reverie. Under moonlit skies blurred by concrete and contrite reminders of a definite tomorrow. somos nada mas que todos los otros we are all blind site bloody stains across our floor painting out the story of a quiet night under the crying stars scouring the windows and violating our lives. Spin the blade in fragile hands, porcelain fingers and crippled glances contain fragmented rituals and the effort of containment. This makes no sense. Can our lives become portraits of reality through the fevered dreams of this divided mind? Split the ocean and scour the construct, ruptured skyscrapers imploding the essence of everything human in the fading dust of our personal catastrophe. Semblances of April. The haze of morning is the root of this paranoial; can you understand? Can you recreate the scene exactly and bring to life the memories long since dead. In the dead air radio waves are haunting us and I am sitting in this room eyes closed, wishing you could feel the power of all of this

back & forth
words @ jake, layout @ kelly