my senses uprooted from somewhere.
I was a kid once, I swear, with gold hair and light skin, a charmer if any, and all the wiser than I am now.
funny, it's a week till christmas and eight days to a year older and I don't feel changed.
well of course I am, but at this second no. was the epitome of teenage catastrophe, with bloodshot eyes and all the rest, screechy laugh because really, what is there that I could say that would change a thing? She spends her times with her old friends and new, walls spinning and pen ran dry with lack of inspiration. She gets nowhere. She sees too many things. She falls in love.
She is me, but not so much anymore. My palindrome, I suppose, my reverse that could be the same, it has enough potential anyway.
the calluses on my fingers peel and dry, cracked under pressure and dry cold air. It makes me smile, however small and my back hurts.
loneliness makes me glamorous.
