|Current mood:|| high|
|Current music:||'nipple bit off by a beaver.'- Jeff Foxworthy.|
Wow. Winter's creeping in. But it's diluted. It's not straight agony. It's bitter love and words to fill the aching cold breath. Space in chests finally comforted by the right smoke. It's not desolate, howling nights of--There is no word for it. Agonyterrordyingbloodiedcrawling? That sounds about right.
Fuck. Lost my train of thought. The comedian on tv distracted me. Is still distracting me. Jeff Foxworthy's pretty funny.
I dunno. Car accidents in Winter and the feeling that it's all a lot of crashes but no arrival. I dunno. That kinda sucked. Ian's being a fuck in my right ear and I'm getting to want to slap him. It's pretty fucking obnoxious. Anywho.
There's nothing left unsaid to these Angels and the Core of my life. Everything is known and I am out of words to express the beauty.