| Why are you here? | ||||||||||||||||||||||||
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The Lost Thought - Emily Dickinson I felt a cleaving in my mind As if my brain has split; I tried to match it, seam by seam, But could not make them fit. The thought behind I strove to join Unto the thought before, But sequence ravelled out of reach Like balls upon a floor. | |||||||||||||||||||||||
| There is no order here. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||
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Fragment scatterings of myself, sliced and cut bluntly with utter disenchantment. Uncorked - sputtering for air, traped in the web of my making, another link another day, do you honestly care what fingers type these words? As if this could really be my home. 20MB of free ram, sleep here, I have the bottle covered in a brown bag.. Dirty blanket leaves a trail of flea bites. | |||||||||||||||||||||||
| So go off and on your way. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||
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Myself in a list: | - Writer. - Disco Queen. - Net Princess. - Unquestionably neurotic. Stamp a label, fit me in the catergories ofyour mind. If you can neatly file me away, email, curious - I've been attempting to do that all my life.
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