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.

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