What better way to express my grief, than through the writing of bad poetry.
Requiem for a Shopping Arcade
for all those whose livelihoods who have been lost in the fire; for the community of beautiful freaks that allowed an escape from the madness of this country; for my teenage years; for the good times; for the Maddens and their dream of bringing good coffee... Read More
it is a bit bleak. i love bleak. i'm not familiar with norwegian climate, but it's quite cold here, speaking as someone who grew up in ohio.
there is no story. i'm doing an experiment wherein i write a poem every bloody day whether or not i want to and see what comes out. it seems to be about killing myself, though.
edit: i will certainly summarize Island for you as soon as i finish it. =)