The moon drips down into my soul and her light illuminates places and moments  I’ve tucked away for my own protection. In the easy plateau between asleep and fully awake there are memories that can be accessed by my nearly-conscious mind.( or is it my soul, because I believe that’s both a time as well as a place)When I fully wake I am so heavy with the knowledge of my life, dear and bad, I am sure for a minute that I glow, pregnant with silver-blue light.

I’m waking up with my coffee and the moonlight’s fading away, but some little thoughts stick to me.


~i am not made for suburbia

~have I been so many different people, so many times that when I sleep my soul splits its self into pieces, only to  reconvene in the morning?

~ i remember where I lost a doll under a couch , a tan/brown overstuffed one in a living room long dismantled, but the moment is forever preserved, screenshotted.



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