I guess you could say ink and paper make the writer, and I guess that's why I choose not to use them.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
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It's been years since I felt the rain I can tell you because you won't speak back unable to utter a sound fearful of laughter and joy and confidence even a stinging drop of water from some untold thousand feet there is or there isn't one or the same and the same spilling out breathless what the hell read on because you can't now it's my turn now it's my turn to taunt you to taunt you to take it out on you passive silent but terrible waiting for the rain to fall you you're soaked thinking you're dry standing in the light covered in shadow and wet and shadow a fucking idiot with darkened clothes and damp hands outstretched grabbing at everything seeing nothing thanking no one you don't deserve the punctuation I've left out and you'll never get it so while I wait for the rain under this cloth and steel and sweat you can dance in ignorance or whatever you call it pulling everyone down and draining the world
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