![]() The BuzzA Story by VanessaI’m up to my knees in some sort of vacancy, and there’s orange Gatorade that’s thawing my toes. It’s only me and you here, buried in shredded newspaper that’s marked with words that kill or surround. I flushed in the holes of the receiver when you said it, burned a crimson twinge to hear it more; the buzz grew in my stomach by way of the words, in means of my optimism that has grown intolerably.
I’ve melted into the carpet where I lay, my love; fallen into the stupor once more. I wonder, perchance, if there is ever a hope of advancing from this state. I wonder, conceivably, if I would ever ask to be removed from the status that I irrevocably remain at the friction of familiarity that has come to me so recently. I still get the buzz.
I’m drowning again, in the salty daze of pizza rolls and movies that fulfill what I wish to obtain, what I lack. I don’t know what I’m feeling, because the chief has thrown toxins into the atmosphere once more, and I’m much too taken right now, from the buzz.
I feel like I’m back, now. The piece is where it should be, until I expire again. The grass is at my toes, filling the creases of my fingers with due. Buried in forsaken daisies my hands wait, alone and wanting the keen relation, no matter how many times they fall broken, discarded. © 2008 VanessaAuthor's Note
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3 Reviews Added on June 15, 2008 Last Updated on June 15, 2008 Author![]() VanessaAbout-As an introduction . . . . every place that I go gets an even number of steps. Yet, I don't very much like symmetry. -I love the smell of wet moss when it rains. -There's this ama.. more..Writing
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