Where I was.

stalker.

boredom, facebook, malaise

no one read me anyway. except the stalker.


private writing, here and there. keep it alive, malnourished and weak.
I took it all from me.  singing, writing, all is life to one such as I 


then a chance
a tilt of the jar, a compulsion to move, something within

a ferry
an island
a magic place
a house
people people people people

who does this?  who falls in love with 34 disparate people all at once?

people people people

i get it.  kill the writing, kill the self.  self told me. self ratted me out to the people. people told me.

my people my people my people



Lory, your jar is open.