dear hair, grow faster.

that is all I can say.

new poem thing:

hey vestal. i though about the yesterday and you should shorten the hearspeak. i can only taste the jargon when i got to that one porch where you ripped your shoe lace, but i don't seem to remember the shade. madison was smaller this year, shrinking the porn shops to doll houses, in a child love sort of way. my mother will delete this. vestal call me two ten. and then.
and then.