Sunday, 11 November 2012

erratic clouds.

• The sky echoes my mind. There's something on fire - besides my heart - and the smoke is clouding my eyes, burning my eyes; what's true? The chill catches my breath, mimics the smoke, the clouds. At least I'm breathing. At least I'm still living when I want to fade like the smoke; like the clouds I want to rain down as something new. •

The beautiful skies earlier, and some words that I scribbled down as I watched. I am content.


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