:: Wednesday, December 03, 2003 ::

Choking. Suffocating. Gagging on the words that want to spill through my lips and drip, drip, drip off my chin. My jaw is locked in place. The words keep running towards it, banging against it, trying to knock down the door. The hinges are rusted shut. I think I swallowed the key.

I'm teetering on a tightrope halfway. I can move backwards, forwards, but if I just keep standing here I'm going to lose my balance and fall. Soon the words are going to give up, retreat, back down my throat and into my chest to hibernate again. They go back, I go backwards. I can't see what's on the other side but I have a feeling it'd be better than this.

Where the hell is that key? Get me some WD-40. I need to slide past these metaphors and say what I mean.


~song~ Spark That Screams - Cracked Curb

:: Katy 2:32 p.m. [+] :: ::