Because You Can't Keep Up The Illusion

If God Has Nothing Better To Do Than Punish Schoolgirls For A Bit Of Tomfoolery, Then I've No Use For God.

It's As If I've Inherited A Skin I Cannot Quite Fit, And So I Walk About Constantly Pulling And And Tugging, Pinning And Pruning, Trying Desperately To Fill It Out, Hoping That No One Will Look At Me Struggling And Say, 'that One There- She's A Fraud, Look How She Doesn't Fit At All.

We've Left The Moment. It's Gone. We're Somewhere Else Now, And That's Okay. We've Still Got That Moment With Us Somewhere, Deep In Our Memory, Seeping Into Our Dna. And When Our Cells Get Scattered , Whenever That Happens, This Moment Will Still Exist In Them. Those Cells Might Be The Biulding Block Of Something New. A Planet Or Star Or A Sunflower, A Baby. Maybe Even A Cockroach. Who Knows? Whatever It Is, It'll Be A Part Of Us, This Thing Right Here And Now, And We'll Be A Part Of It.

You Are Working Up To Mr. Fantastic Fiction Levels Of Zombie Expert, Which Is Like Playing Guitar Hero On Some Level That Actually Melts The Guitar Controller, Burning Your Fingers With Searing Hot Plastic Till You Scream In Pain. Only With Words. And Zombies.

Clothing Left On The Bed Unfolded. Books Stained With Coffee Spots. Tabs Not Paid Until The Last Possible Second. Boys Kissed And Then Forgotten In A Week’s Time.