Thursday, August 19, 2010

Caradoc's Play

Only a little at the time, quaint amounts, because it's loose, seething into pockets of my syrup ear, inhaling all of space around me while something lucid is lifting me. Strings noodle my demons around their neck and the notes are prettier than me, prettier than their graves, leaving a bad day at that, breeding today's plans in a flat minor, making me smile a little at the very time..

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