This is something I wrote on Thursday, May 14th, 2009.
[ What am I? ]
It's gotten to be so dark that even the hand in front of my face cannot be seen. However, I do feel the light that many claim to be nonexistent. No, it's not that I see this light, it's just that I know it's there. Even so, I refuse to move. For I'm so tired of trying that sulking is all my mind calls for. So for a while I remain, complaining to myself between weeps and slobber. I feel disgusted, but it feels more pleasing to stay seated. Yes it's true, I don't even budge. In fact, it seems like it's been so long that I've become a melted mountain in my own spit. I'm als