I found my pen, so I opened my head and let the na na's out. I had to, you know. My fate was sealed - in that matter anyway.
While pondering the magic of impressionism, I spun out and lost the race.
Buckles to laces. Toe to toe.
Call down the Valkyrie.
Send in the next contestant.
Do I really need my na na's validated?
Do I have any power left in this life?
We fortify ourselves with our little boxes - more holy than any cathedral.
Me? I'm wilting slowly in the winter sun - unable, it seems, to fight anymore.
Too intuitive for this world. Too much like a Monet.
The colors have run together on the big pallet.
Trying to sleep.
Let the sound of the rain on my tin roof wash all of the hues - and cries - from my mind.
(Gotta get my psychic shit together...)
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