Hello, how are you? Let me introduce myself before you give me that face, cockeyed and with the crook in your neck: I'm the same wanderer you've seen day after day, tracking the thin trail from desperation to some great, ragged precipice of living. I'm guessing we've been looking at our feet this whole time, all from the looks we're giving each other at this moment. I'll tell you what I've been doing.
I'm writing pages in a bible I'll read in my next life. All my adventures, picked apart verse by verse, all the big players wearing vermilion robes and lions' pelts. I aim to start secret societies, marked by the well-coiffed bouffants and glass-less eye frames, tracing geometries of m social lives. They will sprinkle it into their own stories like grated cheese.
This is a story of an inside wanting out. How about yours?
...
It's not the falling, it's the never flapping your wings on the way down. You're an angel you know.
Like when you let go, saying you'll start back up, easy-like and with a swagger. But off go the reins, and out go the the habits, the good ones, like closing the orphanage for a simple lack of care, good habits left to exposure, starvation.
So, go ahead, flap those wings, stand up, shake the dust off. Bring back the orphans, the downtrodden duties. Clean, feed, house them, nurture, love them.
They are your unclaimed children.
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