The presence of her is still here.
Our parents are not what we'd want them to be and the past is a constant reminder of the things we haven't done. The future mocks us with possibility, and we jump higher to catch the carrot.
Feed me, my love.
Package me and sell me, to the masses.
My soul covered in bubble wrap and sent to India.
You will find parts of me everywhere.
This is globalization.
Soon my thoughts will automatically be twittered into the universe.
there will be no use for these mouths, these bodies, except to suck the life out of each other, with a simple kiss, which will remind us of the simple things, the way they were before.