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.....

2006-02-08 9:19 p.m.