thirtyleven

Ruined by the battle I took with the pen and paper this morning, I found myself staring through the window and through the forest, where Jason lies beneath the maple tree. The shadow dancing on his face. Slowly he opened his eyes. blog, an apple fell from the maple tree.

Sometimes its better to write things without intention or purpose. Just write it for yourself. Like poems within poems. Realizing the beauty by looking through a prism without a light under a lake of fruit juice. melting from the popsicle stick, and slowly spinning down the drain.

Jason smiled. He now realized that he too, was a figment of my imagination.