Diary of Stuff (Volume I)
2002-02-12 04:55:37 (UTC)

Argh, today, was not unlike any..

Argh, today, was not unlike any other day. It had a
beginning and an end. Omnia est potentis. Kyrie eleison.
Besmirched writings upon the walls, the words were stricken
off. Falter along your road, bear your cross. Head hung
low, your wreath of thorns bite into your crown, creating
tiny holes that are the dispensers of tiny rivulets of
undulating blood. Your vision, impaired, unfocused colors
cry out to be discerned. You have a burden that you must
carry, and it cannot be loosed, for it is a part of you,
inextricably linked to your heart, your legs, your arms.
To rest is such sweet surrender, a bath in honey underneath
a warm sun...