I'm in acres of vapid humdrum spouting wispy nothings and creeping misfortunes. In desolation, nature doesn't stop feeding itself. Elsewhere, the air hangs mightier. It's silent, but I'm stirred. I can and will be ignited.
Why am I shaking? I'm wincing and trapped in comfort. I'm degrading but dieing to feel. I've looked after my body with cookies, and my tumbling mind with a song. When bathing charmed for an hour, I was naked and sweating. Now I'm clothed and blogging. It's funny how we choose to entertain ourselves.
We're conversation and snoozing machines. Haha! Either we hurt each other because we hate ourselves, or my perceptiveness is a little off-kilter. Is my receptiveness a little too filtered? I'll receive a fuckton of Christmas. So please, let's enjoy this most wonderful time of the year.