indigestion
shopping bags with inflated egos,
wallets with false senses of worth,
senses with a false state of self
i find myself surrounded by such.
you are what you eat,
and my dinner's gone cold.
winter digits
chills run up my spine
they sting my extremities
'buy some gloves' someone told me
never, the cold keeps my fingers humble.
complacent ones do no good
for me.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
wednesday the seventh
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