garbled I want boxes. Nice plain cardboard boxes. Big boxes. I want to squeeze a lifetime of everything I own into those boxes and just go. Run. Be. Feel. Touch. Taste. Laugh. Cry. Love. Fuck. Instead I stand at the edge of this beckoning hole. Black and omnipotent, yet somehow familiar and safe. Stasis. That's where I am. Swallowed whole by the steel bars of the cage. I thought the mouth was freedom..... |
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