listening to: Depeche Mode, Barrel of a Gun
checking out: Soulflare.net, blogging for the Human Rights Campaign with bits of history from a queer perspective
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why must I why do I carry my secrets around with me like pressed flowers (or faeries)
keep my pain close and safe in a pocket thin shinysharp a new-old blade, always re-cutting
the same old fingertip close to the old nicks and scratches, ouch that stings, I must be alive, how nice.
(old paperscribble)