danielfang7

we're crowned with a majestic pair of wide spread wings where angels sing of beautiful things, and things not so bright. While we fly through the blackened skies, respiring moist breaths of our frustration with it all, and watch with furious inability as it comes crackling, and crashing. Bellowing sobs that never come, billowing lungs flap in the wind, singing sorrow and yet their song is still unsung, and tears that have every right, that will never run, run a river inside, and patiently, carve away at every hopeful angle. So all we can do is fume in the blazing wind and express our rage, our cousin wren, who's feathers singed red hot in the

years ago I could sit down in a chair, and stare and stare into a space that wasn't really there, reflecting on things with friends who never really care about what we actually said. "in my experience" was our motto because that's all that actually mattered to us. reality was a standard that we would use to measure ourselves by, while spinning lie, after lie, after lie. we breathed in air, and exhaled stories until the space was filled with experience as real to ourselves as the bright reflection of the screen that I was staring at. we didn't care about each other, but not for lack of imagination. The truth is we never cared if anyone else ca