well, well, well. almost 6 months later.

it's been 2 years since i last wrote. i can no longer write the rocky plains or insinuating thunderstorms i used to. i am still a singing feather being dragged under the chemical trains. things no longer make sense. the hope i had has dissipated. the phones ring. the hate-machines beep. there is an empty mask at this end and im no longer in control. my hands burn with the guilt of ten thousand frail words. there is no feeling left inside me.