Walking back last night,
numb fingers, last cigarette;
darkness in her room.
posted by peter pan at 6:41 pm
I do not know how to swim, yet the sea calls to me. I sit on the shore for days and years and let it watch me. It is peaceful. There is calm and there is chaos, there is violence and serenity, there is perfection and coarseness, there are pieces of paper that float on its coloured waters. They are sometimes blank, sometimes with a word, sometimes pictures, often they hold more wisdom than all the books in the world, sometimes they are the little boy's toys, sometimes they find their way here.
Walking back last night,
numb fingers, last cigarette;
darkness in her room.
posted by peter pan at 6:41 pm
1 Comments:
beautiful macha, fucking beautiful.
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