Nothing around here happens without my permission. space, taker: i'm sure you give but i'm not sure what. Shall i sacrifice some light for a lack of darkness? What we could do if we wanted to. Kites don't feel like this, even if they miss the ground. It's not a decent beauty if it excuses itself. (You can say whatever you want, butterscotch if you say it like that.) Me: No longer an open sore for you to gawk at (this is not a real poem, rather, an amalgamation of running the gamut over 3 years.)