Wednesday, October 13, 2010

it always starts small

I want to talk it out, rolling in clouds and clouds of words; some above my head and some sinking, disappearing. Others sticking, catching inside me; rearranging the molecules and worlds that I am a part of.
Save your ink for my skin.
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1 comment:

  1. AnonymousNovember 11, 2010 at 5:41 PM

    Spoken words ,one may seem ,words are just words ,that would be fitting to feel ,when no one is listening to each other ,

    spoken words that never gets spoken ,drifts through the air ,as it aches to be spoken

    just as much as it aches to be heard

    to listen

    I am ready ,to listen

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