#tangled wool

Gradually, slowly. I can feel my bones, branches stretched beneath by a film of skin. It is getting warmer everyday. Spring creeping, returning to my insides. Soon the vines will be all grown over, and the hogsweed will be in bloom. The remains of winter among the dead are fading everyday. Quiet returns to the world, but still, still, still, i will not be left be. Something creeps. Something lingers. A sun in the east has risen for years, and set for years. Does not go. Does not suffice.

an alien feeling of being soft a gentle fuzz, full of l i ght From some foriegn body like I could become air, if I stayed in the window long enough. Like I could become anything in the world, a spectrum of color, on carpet, on the walls, on your bed, in the spaces between fingers A visual ambient soundtrack

These days, in the hours of artificial light, feeling stifled by the abundance of voices and noises around me,, in moonlight, under starlight, i glowed in stereo. My toes would spread, i'd feel the soft in my fingers, pattern sought, in equal parts agony and longing,, Beneath the sun, i melded skin with natural warmth in every shade of yellow and orange and white, a stretch in every limb and hair and leaf to increase surface area,. at one with the earth and the air, all at once,,.

We compare ourselves to stars, though in truth, We are machines, with bundles of nerves and tendons and muscles and meat. But, i do not think that makes it wrong. Do not be disgusted or ashamed with yourselves. You'll always have a home in these holy branches.

Had a dream that was more memory than dream. I wouldnt mind staying in that state of mind a little longer, caught somewhere between the real and a warm haze of comforting unreality.