yesterday, i was already at work for two hours when i realized my shoes weren't matched. how does that happen?


Practice Makes perfectTruth is in tango. Wrenched wrists, passionate force, and running mascara can't disguise this in beauty. Nor is Snow white,Practice Makes perfect
her shame pooling like blood, contempt looking for blame like shears looking to sever withered branches. Me, I'm a tattered sack, full of cold talents and fallen visions, a bitter gift and a reminder of inevitability. Asymmetrical and malcontent I feel about that dance of death. No one clutches my leg, no parting embrace, just what was choreographed:
We part, the music stops, the lights die.
ID2
LAtina

crisisit's a sleeper-cell-kind of empathy. it's not there til the shot goes off, and everyone's awake and on their feet in darkened rooms remembering the kinds of things that fate has done to you, and patting backs to put our wits together...crisis
til the world is right-side up again. the birds are making noise, pitched like
clicks put through the silencers
that guard our rights to whine. when that shaken understanding wears too thin at our demanding that it only go as far as the space that stops us, there is no switching sides.
--
watchtowerwalker: certified probably not insane since 1996!!
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