tales of a rampaging librarian
stray musings and introspections stumbled upon in the stacks or the recovery period thereafter
Friday, January 23, 2009
This life has past,
slipped away, flown under (always like water, these lines of mine~how it feels, how it looks.)
Water flows, it passes over. It wears away. It slips through. It leaks, it runs. It reflects. It pools. It stills. It stagnates.
Period; Paragraph; End of Report.
hook me up?
Share to Twitter
Share to Facebook
Share to Pinterest
these words of mine