On my way over I stopped to write-in my composition book. I had to search to find a blank page. I was looking at the hits on my blogger page and I see some are from an unknown region. Do you suppose the Martians or watching me? I don't know what to believe anymore I'm just going to go back up on the stupid roof.
My face isn't carved in a mountain. I've never been struck by lightning. I've never saved a crying baby from a burning house fire nor have I over come my misfortunes in life to acquire a name for myself. I consider myself a writer although all I've written is only pieces of torn limbs of my distraught existence. Everything is a poem to me, it's my shorthand.
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Thursday, August 30, 2018
My latest composition book is titled if it bleeds it leads
I'm at work right now working on a roof in Loch Erin Michigan.
On my way over I stopped to write-in my composition book. I had to search to find a blank page. I was looking at the hits on my blogger page and I see some are from an unknown region. Do you suppose the Martians or watching me? I don't know what to believe anymore I'm just going to go back up on the stupid roof.
On my way over I stopped to write-in my composition book. I had to search to find a blank page. I was looking at the hits on my blogger page and I see some are from an unknown region. Do you suppose the Martians or watching me? I don't know what to believe anymore I'm just going to go back up on the stupid roof.
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