2003-06-19
white.
when you speak spill tell, you cast snowflakes, by whisper of yr breath they are blown into anothers being....
Casting foggy air full of thought and crystal and things worth remembering.
beautiful perfect snowflakes valid to comprise every splinter of yr existance. at that moment.
yr warm breath carries them into solid form to touch cores and make heart sores.
my snowflakes tell of a heart so full and sometimes a head so hollow.
[they try to form a narrative to explain the way my head is like an empty room, with walls layered with murals, photograpths, words and giant pink plastic hearts.. yet sometimes they slip from the walls forming a giant mish mash of confusion and empty reverberations in my chest.]
I do not wish my snowflakes to make heart sores simply touch cores.
Perhaps by winters end...
.