December 17, 1998


What would I care if I was let go? Freedom, right? I have come to the realization that money isn’t that hard to come by.

My chest is heavy. Tonight is a celebration for whatever might pop up. I am trying my best to stay positive but each morning is unwelcomed. Every day has become predictable. I am beginning to loath consistency as a whole.

When I am only able to enjoy two days out of the week, something isn’t right. Focus. This is not long term.

I know it’s not me, but the thoughts still enter my mind. Where do they come from?

Taste of teal with a hollow glow. Chin in cheer surface with toe. Sand and sea with tide fall low.

Inside out, outside in, whichever comes first is how I describe my position. One short breath after another, reaching for the clouds, cursing the ground.

Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist