"My beast wears rings and he hides under the shadows of my silent hesitations. each image is so clear, yet I have no hands to adore the precision. the finest gestures of the air are traced on my eyelids. I see them and they see me, but there is never a reply. No hollow flash when the light withdraws, leaving with it a crevice where the angel signals, only to begin again." from, "fear of dreaming," by Jim Carroll pg.117
shit! If only.
shit! If only.
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