Wind as still as death
Is what remains in this place.
It is not my home.

Hm. I’m trying to tell ya’ll tehre’s not going to be a post but I can’t seem to get this blog to want to post.

Ah well. Such is life.

Huh. I feel kinda of depressed at the moment.

It’s like I had a good morning, that carried me through to the afternoon, and now I’m kind of in a rut.

In other news, it is all but confirmed I shall be in Indiana again at the end of February, and hoping to get to spend hte weekend of March 3 – 5 in Bloomington with my girls. I miss my peeps already.

Something is missing.
I feel its empty breathing
Does it have purpose?

As all things have ended, so too does time begin to start. The heart beats in time with the resounding echoes of the inner monologue. We move our feet and our feet respond. Time has begun.

The mask lies heavy upon my face this morning. It used to be an effortless thing, wearing the mask. It became as such that I no longer needed to remove the mask: the face was hidden beneath it’s grinning form, some hideously ugly thing trapped in the darkness of the airtight seal. The mask fused with flesh.

And now the stale air of morning in the city once again breathes. The mask fits fully once again where it belonged.

He returns, as always, to lay claim. This is his ground.

The shadow of the ghost who cannot be…