v u l v a l i c i o u s
I won't forget when Peter Pan came to my house, took my hand...
We barely even pass each other on the weekends any more, and I sometimes think that's alright. This weekend I am buried, anyway, thinking about a trillion other things and hoping against hope that I dig my Self out by Monday.
Things are too much right now, and I keep crying at absolutely nothing.
I hear that song, sing one line; I am standing in the kitchen and two tears fall, one from each eye, and I brush them off.
I would like it very much if someone magical would come along and whisk me away. I want a trannie Peter Pan to come crashing through my window with Tinkerbell jangling with hir, and I want to be taken to Never Never Land.
"Second star to the right and straight on till morning," she said the other night. Sometimes I think I wish she'd come crashing through my window, but then I think better of it and opt for an imaginary Pan, someone who doesn't have any place in material reality.
It's safer that way, really.
I'd like very much to bleed soon, and feel magically connected to the earth again. The only things that can save me, I think, are either that or a good flight through the stars.
What shall I do today, and shall my Cunt come too?