Stage Coaches Will Eventually Become Pumpkins

With all that has happened I'm finding artifacts from a time when I had a little more faith. Metaphors and amphetamines are flowing through my bloodstream, but every sentence I form seems to take the wrong tone. Words mean more this week. Mostly because they're all we have left.

If his ship was sinking then what was the point of walking the plank? Why were you so anxious to hit rock bottom?

Saving your voice mails from hours before it all went wrong. I wish you would have "pressed 9 to save," but you hit "7" to delete... But more than anything I wish I would have just picked up. I should have answered. It's too late to question, so in the mean time you can find me basking on the beaches of crocodile tear swamps.

She calls to say the most random things and I love her for it. In these times I'll be a shoulder, ear, or heart to fall on... just to get her to the warm.

WriteCrookedThinkStraight

Writing my heart down on the wrinkled, folded loose leafs that I keep in my pockets at night. I keep them there because I can never tell when I'll spark some sort of frustration that I need to get out.