wash in sunlight,
clouds,
rain.
lost
composure
vanished into
the living.
talk to the heir, boy.
maybe they’re only already normal –
sailing simply,
looking at nothing,
staring,
not going out
gifted.
(like you, honey,
no, they’re not like you.)
Aus Gott wird man gebor'n, in Christo stirbet man. //////////////// Und in dem heil'gen Geist fängt man zu leben an.
"If you're not living on the edge, you're taking up too much space." - anonymous
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Vingettes Of A Memoir
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