Farm life.

Fall season once again.

The farm is still filled with wilted emotions and root crops of laziness for sustainance. No new inspirational seeds are coming out of the market. Poultry and the rest of the barn crew quitted on supplying golden eggs and necessity milks and feel wools. Townsfolk are strangers than strangers and care is non-existent to my farm who contribute to them not. Winter is coming, I am aging, my thoughts are drying and my love is dying.

Looks like I’ll be sitting in my rocking chair, facing this black and white idiot box pretend, staying in the farmhouse of your bathroom voice and long distance presence that even if that hurricane of frowns migrates here, I know I’m safe and sound.

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~ by protagonist on September 26, 2014.

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