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It's back: the familiar, hungry aching that only makes me feel emptier as it fills me. It's like that old joke about what gets bigger the more you take away from it - the answer being "a hole", incidentally.
It's that longing to fall asleep in another's arms. It's that intrinsic need for a soft voice and a kind word. Why does it feel so far away, a ( Read more... )

Draw me, color me in; illustrations of crippled children, our shoulder blades bleeding for the loss of wings, appear on skin as though carved by some imaginary blade, the point as fine as a quill. My eyes are static as I dream of television screens turned on singing cacophonous symphonies of our doom. The rain washes away at the the black holes ( Read more... )