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My name is David Cromby.
On Mondays I sleep
On Tuesdays I eat
Wednesdays I scuttle around lost
On Thursdays I listen to Skip James
Friday is fish
Saturday is for remembering
On Sundays I often hear the sound of broken glass being chewed in Church. Followed by the swallows of bleeding guilt.
Not every week though.
Is Hell but where we are at & Heaven but where we can be? Is this just a waiting game, a train station waiting room?
As this world spins and I visit a million points in space each day, do I eventually inhale the air you exhaled, thousands of miles away?
DaveyBoyGreen's Genres: telepathy....haha.....I know what you're thinking
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