l'll admit to it. I am a lottery ticket i will never win I am a l'll admit to it. I am a lottery ticket i will never win I am a thousand puzzle pieces of white I am a trickster magician, I’m sorry you lost your quarter.
Among the dice that is life there is a shell. Discarded homes used for growth. The words “vacancy” is a halo circling my head. My body is home to a saint.
She didn’t look up from the cracks in the sidewalk nor did she turn down the street to go home. Instead, she just kept walking.
She walked until her feet were bruised and bloodied walked until her lungs were on the precipice of collapsing walked off the maps edge and into oblivion. Every direction desolate void of civilization.
She found sanctuary in the solace of loneliness and wished the construct of time was just that. A construct.
Not an 8am punch in not a noon lunch or evening dinner but a sleep extended deep into space where the stars outnumber the grains of sand on earth.
She hoped to be weightless. She hoped to be gone.
