Living Log

Down here they don't care if he sky is cloudy or not, the ink stains the water pools.
its water but it feels like ink because the cave is so dark and musty.

If i die in my sleep in the dark of the underworld, I know this blog exists on land, in a space that preserves me. I would have written another entry, had not my fingers lost their frantic furioius jottting power. The entire scroll will remain steady, open, and waiting, untill the subtle winds blow it tatter at a time, into oblivion.