Paper, pen, thought. I have paper, pen and thought. My pen is smooth, my paper is bare and my thoughts - GONE - a respite - no fear.
I miss my nakedness. the dirt and the stars. Worms, my puppy and all the pot you can smoke for miles. I miss the backhoe, the smell of diesel and manure. I miss screaming and knowing no one can hear.
I miss my home when Christmas comes and I don't even like Christmas; with its dead trees and boxes filled with plastic wishes.
It's my birthday today. I'm alone. I miss being held, and loved, and fucked.
I miss my nakedness, the meadow and the screaming, screaming because I know no one can hear me. No one will come.
I was there as I am here, alone with my paper and pen.
I miss my nakedness. the dirt and the stars. Worms, my puppy and all the pot you can smoke for miles. I miss the backhoe, the smell of diesel and manure. I miss screaming and knowing no one can hear.
I miss my home when Christmas comes and I don't even like Christmas; with its dead trees and boxes filled with plastic wishes.
It's my birthday today. I'm alone. I miss being held, and loved, and fucked.
I miss my nakedness, the meadow and the screaming, screaming because I know no one can hear me. No one will come.
I was there as I am here, alone with my paper and pen.