Words from my Fingertips

11:53pm: lack of news= poetry
Leave now or forever hang onto your bordem as if it were a second skin!

Okie *rubs hands together*

i sit
on a bed of nails
and you would think sitting
on a bed such as this that I would get hurt
I would just like to specify
that a bed of nails is actually quite safe
and it is the paranoid anxiety
(pre-existing in association
with the pointyness of nails)
that draws one to their
previous conclusion.

but,
as I was saying
there I sat
or sit, as it were,
on a bed of nails
(which I've conveniently come by)
and wait.

wait for what?
(you might ask)
just this: something
a change of the wind perhaps
(though I assume that as I am on a bed
I would presumably be indoors where,
lacking the presense of a "wind" per se
there would be no breeze for me to then
calculate the change it would precipitate)
(alas, my conclusions do not take into consideration
that a bed of nails, being made of such [nails]
might not actually be found indoors...)

as I was saying,
I wait, attempting not to roll to much all the while
(on account of the bed of nails which I lie on
and the paranoia instituted by such a situation)
and while I cannot detect change on the wind
with the notible lack of any sort of breeze
I do find that if I sit still enough I can imagine a breeze
and waiting long enough might "feel" it to be large enough
to proceed to end this period of waiting
and move to a much more comfortable bed.

(perhaps made of down).


[that was a very odd poem/story of sorts, I do appologize for it's... unusualness outside of usual elena unusualery]

[[I do so like the word unusualery... what ever happened to that dictionary I was making of my own vocabulary?]]