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THIS IS MY LOT, BEAUTIFUL STRANGERS.
Why do we have to love our friends so much, when sometimes all you unwrap of the gift of exchange is a reciprocation of mindless words dressed in their beauteous armour layering uncertainty with invalidity? When all you need are little things to show that you don't come in third, but first, tied in with the others. I think, I feel, like I'm riding on a carousel alone in a made-up pastoral & euphoric captured polaroid still-smiling like it's real. Smiling with the wooden horses with similar painted made-up smiles, with similar plastic jubilation, thinking someone has their backs, thinking this crumb of a soul matters more than anything else in the world to a very reluctant protagonist, to some very distant token-holders. - just sometimes. TonFlyingHigh!12:50 AM *** |
Behind The Wheel; 
- - - - - - - - Navigate;
- - - - - - - - Playing On My Mixtape; |