Tuesday, October 2, 2007
write what you know.
take your time, hurry up, the choice is yours, don't be late. take a rest, as a friend, as an old memory. when i swear that i don't have a gun, no i don't have a gun. am i the only one? in a shape of things to come, too much poison come undone, cos there's nothing else to do. i've got seven reasons and almost every time, it ends up with you leaving. and out in the garden where i planted the seeds, there is a tree as old as me. by the cracks of the skin i climbed to the top, i climbed the tree to see the world. this could be the last train.michelle at 4:20 AM