Tuesday, August 16, 2005
The words I would unearth within within myself are as thick as tar. I will be fossilized in them, preserving me as a specimen for distant times and cultures. They are black and vile and will sting you at the back of your throat, composed of the decaying flesh that's falling from my back even now. You wouldn't want much to do with them, because they would be petrifyingly honest.
I'm waiting for the archaeologists to dig them up.
I'm waiting for the archaeologists to dig them up.
