chaucer was not here to see my prayers float into the sky

Today, has been two years since i was shot to death outside of the train depot in what i call "clover ally".

moments

in small doses of moments we take back what is ours..

ghosts..

from time to time they.. think we started to fade.. but we've always been here.. not lost against the rubble like they..

*+*:: Å ::*+*!andale!*+*:: Å ::*+*

as wind rattled the rib cages of cloud obsessed sky

it was never quite the same

as my foot left my landing and the door was closed.

textures of ghosts as little girls under stop signs

is a gurgling or rattle-like noise produced shortly before or after death by the accumulation of excessive respiratory secretions in the

to drop

exists not a sound
exists not a sound the drive home was long
the walk was much longer
exists not a sound
exists not a sound the errors of our reports.

yours truely

my name is adelaide.
i am but a tale in the dream

tunnels

this morning i looked down at my shoes all day
and no one listened
is how i escaped

Hue

black

roads can not
calibrate
the amount
of steps

Shapes

i

live in a small space
almost large enough to
fit
anywhere

my name is adelaide.

Our names can never die.