imitating warm tones
"i think you will probably know what i'm going to ask, but..."


a record on the gramophone.when a stranger steel wools your eyes for the first time you understand it:a record on the gramophone.
the incoherency and frayed wires begin to braid invisibly to the point where you think they must both be the same, when the sleeplessness puts you into a daze and into molded statue shapes not etching with time, or wear veneered in gold with smiling golden lips and melted hair watching white walls with unblinking eyes in the dead of winter which slithers into the interior and exterior, regardless of beckoning calls or repelling screams:
i think that is what i was supposed to say but never really said it, and i moved your sin


nice thought.in some shifting glance, the speeding by (think window shopping window shopping) becomes slowing down (to the minutest detail) when each grain takes on a painful significance butterfly needles and finger pricks mark the flexibility of time in clear tubes and skin is marked with a distinct redness that winter made the hands taste redness which it aspired tonice thought.
our end approaches upon the ever familiar figurative tightrope where the suits and ties say, "you haven't even got a taste of the world, kid"
and where there is overwhelming brightness and darkness,
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*happyness*
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Paige Tadpole
Everyone sees who I appear to be, but only a few know the real me. You can only see what I choose to show. There's so much more you just don't know.
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