Mother bird, miniature lamp posts, broken glass

April 5, 2010

It’s almost as if it were a fucked up fallacy of a little girl’s life. The mother bird calling her name, waiting for her to come back home to eat more cookies and drink more milk. But those damn miniature lamp posts were everywhere, telling her what to do, to be like them, to join them. And fuck that broken glass was exactly to be a metaphor of the troubled road ahead. The little girl knew better, but was lost along away, and just hoped she’d make it back for dinner.


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