pres612

Seems that another day is coming to a fullfilling end as every bit of sullen light has left this side of my evergreen dark and creepy like the eyes of silent wolf in slow movement through a campsite suddenly hunted down by the bullets of waterproof flashlight. I think I'll take the boat to the islland tomorrow and not write. Hide myself under the bedframe empty of the matress we used to sleep on and pretend when the morning sun rises up over the corner of my eye on that third day the world will be at rest and everyone I know will be kind. That's a joke though because I know as soon as my feet hit that dirty land I'll fill the nearest tree trunk up with whiskey and pray on my knees for some sick slow death to creep in me like a wet disease.