Monday, January 13, 2014

I am faring poorly indeed.

Dear Diary, 
I am faring poorly indeed. I fear the season has wrought the worst upon me. I am a withered vestige; a dusty vessel. My arms hang loosely like severed anchor chain. Unable to lift myself from despair, I vacillate freely between tears and frustration. How many more months can I go on like this? I am watching myself from above, and I cannot save the man I see. He is hopeless for the time being. His empty carcass drifts pointlessly in a labyrinth; slowly, for the exit is measured in time not distance.


Anonymous said...

I've come back five times to read this paragraph. It's just so beautifully phrased.

We're in your corner, dude. Do the best you can.

Pixy Stoneskipper said...

Thank you for the compliment. It really helps. This entry was a goof, but this season is a shit.

On second read, this goof got a little too close to the troof.