(Inspired by The Beacon Post Office)
We scratch out simple messages, and shed our pale white, scribbled skins,
To leave behind remains of time. A brief percentage of ourselves.
Live on, these stains, immune to change, while those who bled them shall begin,
Like snails, outgrown cold stony homes, abandoning their paper shells.
To leave behind remains of time. A brief percentage of ourselves.
Live on, these stains, immune to change, while those who bled them shall begin,
Like snails, outgrown cold stony homes, abandoning their paper shells.