November 2009
1 post
anonymous
my fingers are always demanding things of me. they taunt me, like a shoulder-dwelling devil, in the face of absence of movement. blank walls, idle hands, blank walls, idle hands.. the charcoal lays stirring, seemingly undetected, silently begging. “what looms ahead?” my fingers reason. “only good things.” ahh, fingers. you’re precious, like a young mind. i listen to...