Bottled messages. Bottled emotions.
Fermenting to the point of being toxic. Proof positive that this vessel with drift forever unclaimed.
Nerves frayed, exhausted because I've hung by a thread for more than a score.
A rolling stone...rolling stoned. The high leaves before I arise, but the lows shack up and reproduce.
Faith? Who has the time for belief? I'll take a wish sandwich to go.
4.6.11
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
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