it’s never enough just to think about it. i write it down, but it still won’t fall from my mind. it forages and flits, searching, secretly, for a piece of life. to ravage. to tear apart. to fill the emptiness and satisfy the mania that rages, day and night, for more. it’s never quite enough, but will forever feel like too much.

my pulsating heart can’t take it much longer. the thinking and the writing and the not-speaking-about-it fling between life and me… it’s getting old. like a well-wrinkled face. my life, flashing before my eyes.


and i don’t remember past wednesday, or saturday. any day. ever.

so, what if i take a million photos, will it still soar by so fast? just stop. slow down, please. let me catch my breath.


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