Friday, May 07, 2010
This is the end.
Maybe in time, you might forget and I’ll move away. I have to run or else I’ll never know how far I can stray. I have to stop molding myself. This flesh is not malleable; it’s skin scratched and smoothed. Let myself unfold out of its former shape, out of this tough exterior. You can erase me, shavings of lead are the only trace. I was never there.