Lost

I lose myself everyday. It’s an art now; I have perfected the practice. I enjoy it in the day and in the night I collect myself in dreams. I lose myself in art; lines trap thoughts and take the memories in their pictures. I leave parts of myself in the distant lands of a book. Books that pile up on the self with enough bones in them to assemble another me. I am mostly gone when I simply watch a movie. I wait to be filled by some engaging tale of debauchery and tragedy and crime. But I spare little pieces for you.  I leave them in the wires of the phone line so when you call I’ll be there on the other end. And we can put me back together again.


Listening to Take Me to Church by Hozier.

Also, would anyone be interested in my making a small poetry book? I have quite a lot of it now so it’d be nice to share. Each little book would probably have some flash fiction (or micro-fiction), poetry with some illustrations by me and revolve around some theme I think.

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