particular thoughts of a certain daylightless evening.. mom keeps refferring to the the ceiling light fixture as the "moon" and begs for someone to shut it when the shimmer outside turns gray dad keeps demanding respect because he begs for authority brother #1 asks: "how are you?" brother #2 proclaims that yoghurt is delicious but devious the wind likes to use my hair as his fingers to tickle my face and pick at my eyes to disturb the calmness of it as a child, taught to not be picky, led to my lack of preferences, even if I [knew] it tasted yucky i am mad, as mad as a coo coo bird i loathe scents that transport, they remind and hurt, no matter what.. lotion=beach, chapstick=winter, vanilla perfume=hugs in the metropolitain a man preoccupied by his own head will be oblivious to the portruding obstacles of his face why do facts always turn into questions? or perhaps questioning (of)? feet hurt pressure is put just when i thought i could live without, i realize i am without living i put myself in other people's shoes more than i put myself in my own always capitalize your "i's, you are selfish and your "I" should prove it i remember that there was a time where i thought without words, images were more important and sounds were muffled words extend ideas, prolong them, diffuse them and make them spin in circles while constantly chasing after themselves things linger, always turning themselves back into a fresh bruise purple blue yellow and bloody_ on the inside ---- that's it for me. peace out miliana
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