3:25 p.m. - 12/27/01
>>certain these ::clouds:: -go- somewhere...?>
[this is where my journal takes on that odd nonsensical feel that ranges somewhere between pathetic and poetic as I safeguard myself from English in an attempt to bypass reality.]
be warned<-- she tells herself stories about grief gardens where girls in british beds wake up halfway through insomnia to tiptoe through the grass
and women tending daisygraves look up to ask why she still hangs onto cement stones when there are seeds of freedom planted at her feet
they meet in the moments before bed when tracy's a thunderstorm inside my head, lightning so loud music cannot drown out the silences - i tell myself stories of the war we might not win
at least when you were attacked by terror you were in a safety net of grief, at least you had that global guard to offer some relief
who am i? if not the other end of her blond hair? unaware of where to go, where to go, where to go now
there
is no one
there now
there
is no one
there now
there
is no one
there now
where
is there one
there now
where
is there one
there now
where is there
one there now
there now
there there now...?>
and they say sleep but if she does not wake up who says I will?
chord
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