the knitting of yarn indoors can be wierd. so i’ll sleep and ignore the others. okay..
colgado-los secretos & celtas cortos. good song..
i feel comatosish. let me sleep. i’m still tired. oww. still cold here the class room’s an icebox. we can freeze to death in there. so i had to escape. just great.
lets bable. i sprout feathery night black wings. pained screams sliced through the air. i fell like a toppeling domino brick. a delinquint scrambles closer wondering why’d she die so easily from a few blows to the head. bedazelled eyes flutter open. they arent brown but the deep magneta of a sunset in hawaii. she rises from the ground as would a marionette by the strings pulled by its master. bright blinding lights bounded out. snow inexistant, soft tuffs of easter grasses bordered her. the desolation of this melancholy person drew the tears of one person, one who was far, far away from the epicentre of her lamenting wails.