Come inside a smokey room. With a paper and pen. Incense and cigarettes, flowers and water. They all go together, too well.
This is our journey. And our love, will sail us through.
Monday, July 04, 2011
It gets very lonely in here sometimes. So queasy and cold that it makes sense
To not talk anymore and you will know it well, if you have read my skin.
My silence only means that I am hungrier to speak more than ever before.