THIS IS NOT AN EXIT
Gott weiß ich will kein Engel sein.
It's funny. I awoke at around bed time and found home wrapped in a comfortable haze. You know the feeling, kind of a -- "someone's been sleeping in my bed" type feeling.
So I drift through life, mostly asleep, and find myself sifting through my notebook. This one in particular is like a who's who of the shittier versions of stories I finished well in other notebooks -- a purgatory for fiction.
But of course the night seems eternal and rather dull (much like eternity) and I seem to be watching it through watery sleep. And yet my penmenship has not been affected... not that you can tell in this forum.
This year must start with any hope, and end with anew.
I can hear them, the Ghosts. They're howling for you; always for you.
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