there is not much your own voice can offer you other than the crazy. i know the voice has been sensationalized into being the wise one, the one that knows, the one that is ever present and therefore always right but nowadays, i find my voice wavering, my voice wandering off into the crazy. today i walked down the pavement only to be brought into reality by my voice saying something about how pavements are like riverbanks without the risk of waves.
i paint my nails brown but it does not bring me any closer to the earth. the earth is not brown. the earth is every other colour but not brown. brown is not a colour. if i were to publish this and you were to read this, would you love me?
love is brown.
love is brown.
love is brown.
love is brown.
love is brown.
love is brown.
love is brown.
love is brown.
love is brown.
love is brown.
i paint my nails brown but it does not bring me any closer to the earth. the earth is not brown. the earth is every other colour but not brown. brown is not a colour. if i were to publish this and you were to read this, would you love me?
love is brown.
love is brown.
love is brown.
love is brown.
love is brown.
love is brown.
love is brown.
love is brown.
love is brown.
love is brown.
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