Sometimes I feel like writing; I don't claim that what I write is good,
but I like reading what I have written.
sep-26
Sun Sep 26 23:01:08 EDT 2004 i saw the forest, and looked for a tree yet the closer i look, the less that i see is life then a masquerade a game that i am forced to play ? impressionist masks covering empty faces, no heart, soul nor mind -- simply blank spaces and yet i cannot spare a sigh i see but absence yet fail to cry i look instead there for a girl whose value exceeds that of the world secretly hoping she isn't there she wouldn't want me-- I, too, am bare.