Distance (ccj) wrote in tornpaper,

*hopping on the bandwagon*

a story if despair... hopelessness... no... not really... it's really about being about nothing... -_- well... kindof... just read it.

And so I looked down; watching my fingers like little ants in an ant farm, scrambling from place to place... or watching a construction video on fast forward... Pecking... scrambling around looking for the right keys. Finding their way to the one labeled "backspace" quite frequently. Watching my hands type down these senseless wrods, for most likely no reason... just to know they're occupied, I suppose. "Idle hands are the devils playground." Or so I hear. I was never to interested in being a host for the devil. So i'll keep these fingers busy with their own projects. I guess every word in my head kindof plays into one... all the letters hooking up, dangling from one another, forming new words, cancelling one another out. Resembling somewhat of what the investigation scene of two collided airplanes would resemble. Minus the gore, flames, metal scraps, and press sharks trying to get a glimps of the poor, unfortunate souls, who felt the need to defy the boundaries of human existance. Something I so wish to do without the assistance of a large mechanical contraption. I feel I should let my soul go free and join these words together... form what they will, as an angel would. every dove eventually molts it's wings. The souls in heaven catch these feathers as they fall... and collect these prized posessions... because soon enough, they'll collect enough feathers, for their own wings... and they can fly with the other angels. I pick each of these words as they form in my head... each special one impressed with such impecable precision. I'm forming my masterpiece... with each word... I assemble my wings... and I'll make this nothing... this jumble of words... this activity of the fingers.... fly away.

sorry, i was inspired... everyone else was writing... I suck at typing, and i refuse to spell check or read over. sorry.
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