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[untitled12___]

I hit the sand and my hands are just like them, worn down. Meshed with flesh, I'm rooted. There's a cracked rock out there, but it is not that my eyes touch, but a bright fire. I find solace in the sunset. Although it must drop off the shelf of the earth, it stayed up for me, anyway. And it stayed. Its dance was in my crosshairs, my pupils peasants

Comments

[glycerineclown]

Whoa.
That's awesome.

It's an incredible feeling when little things like this just flow out, and you have no idea where it came from. :)