trimming a line of a great depression between your honeymoon soul and my onion scraped eyes i would rather be a stewardess flying in the sky and bringing them some butter cookies, while i dreamt hi jacking the airlines off the sky because they condemn the sky to the ground while i was damned from the earth and they paid me well in fact i didnt do much my terror was a psychotic silence and a relic smile of pulling a hair out of each lander i saw sleeping, and thinking of my mentor how she probably ate her baby and the life is not in fact worth the suffer because it never gets published and it is funny there is no view alltough we are flying.
celine charcoal
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