April 3rd, 2002

primary butterflies

I'm doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over.

too many words going through my head
the emotions churn and swirl.
continuing around same never-changing circle,
feet treading the same well worn path.

I can't break free.
I'm a two dimensional object,
dimly aware of the three dimensional world, but without depth.
The addition of alcohol to all of this does not make matter better,
but I find solace in my new ceramic geisha girl,
which was the vessel in which my chi chi was delivered.

I desire to be nice, but sarcasm slips from my lips instead.