One Hundred and Twenty Eight

Lemme just. write.





the more i stare across the room at my yellow sun-lit blinds, letting the view envelop my sight, the less all this stuff looks like what it actually is. it becomes static and alien-- shapes and shades without name. one composition. meaningless form. fading out of my mind's eye.
sleep.




goin' hey hey hey hey hey hey heeeeyyyy.