Sunday, March 10, 2013

Lost . . .

. . . is being a small-headed pin nestled between long twisted strands of carpet, when where you wish to be is several feet higher, stuck in the pin cushion poised to be plucked up and interlaced through layers of fabric. Oh to be that useful! Oh to be apart of some cosmic plan!

My soul weeps because I cannot figure out how to become freed from these carpet fibers, thick and dark like a forest. Existing only to prick someone's toe is not a purpose that inspires me to live.

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