Monday, February 2, 2009

Fat Chance

My thoughts were a troubled, jumbled embroidery of love, loneliness, distance, life and death. The night flashed by like a blurry, pastel view from a childhood carousel. This morning I woke up to the smell of perfume on the pillow case, she had left the bitter aroma of absence that filled the room with the dreamy shards of any youthful notion that life would go on forever. Like every other graffitti strewn, ennui-driven subway train to no where, life would come to a screeching halt and all of the passengers would have to get off.

Anything left unsaid or undone would have to be forwarded to Fat Chance, Arkansas