...itching all over with curiousity like powder...and there's
that hard-to-reach spot on my back that i can't seem to reach.
anonymous crush: could you possibly scratch it for me?...a little to the
left...no up...god, right there...(now put yr hands over my eyes and tell me
to "guess who." and i'll get it wrong and feel awful and that's when you
turn me around and identity is revealed and i can stop itching all over.)
nature has gusts of wind. i have gusts of feeling...gusts that bend a
sapling trunk over backwards and send it snapping to and fro like a
rubberband...lastest gust: i am completely and utterly alone...how
existential of me...standing in some dark and shadow drawn alley way
shifting my eyes narrowed to slits and hundling into myself for protection
from the desolation, the cold. damn this gust.
this is irrelevant. and contentless. bare. (but not beautiful)
oh well. no one reads american posts anyway.
-listdomlisa
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