I could swear that the light feels different
maybe I’m indifferent
Let me shuffle, cackle, wither under the weight of our sins (your sins)
Don’t bother to convert –
My heart’s made of granite
full of shackles and barnacles
(depending on the guest).
These days were a visceral reminder that you can’t always believe everything you
Writer and photographer from remote Labrador, Canada. Just another cold Labradorian chillin' in the Big Land. Can most likely be found walking my dog Grace or behind an iMac screen slowly taking over the interwebs.