what is that in the mirror, or the corner of your eye?
what is that footstep following, but never passing by?
perhaps they are all just waiting. perhaps when we are all dead,
out they will come a-slithering, from underneath the bed.
Truth is singular. Lies are words, words, words.
So,how is LA life treating you?
it’s good! though i’m so pale there’s a lot of hiding from the sunshine. everyone’s in slouchy jeans and flip-flops and i’m like, “NO, I WILL wear my black velvet cape!”