Author Information
Walk Like Ghosts Glide
They told you, you'ld be great. Poured honey in your veins and fed you to the Earth's fate. Now we can tell it's getting late. You fix another drink and watch infomercials you'll never remember, you can't sleep in the hours you should. Awake for seventeen more not doing a thing so you're tired of nothing and it's the nothing that has a place in all of us.
Disconnected in the odd hours means I paint a face on in the even ones. I do my "Hi, Hellos", I do my "Firm Handshakes", but the feeling seems fake. You need truth early on, I agree. The grindstone paints a different picture. A grisly one, where you settle on everything until you're up late again, insomnia with nightmare beings.
I walk like ghosts glide. Into and out of people's lives. This hole I have is all I have. This hole I have feels like home.
