Phantom Limb.

At first I acted just like everything was the same when of course it wasn't. At the grocery store I found myself buying dijon mustard and feta cheese, when i'd come back I'd find all the dishes I'd dirtied then cleaned still on the drying rack. My little plot of bed space would continue to be my nation what with the Monroe Doctrine and the routine engrained in my existence. It took months to muster up the gumption to roll over or spread my self to the edges of that world, a trepidacious Marco Polo landlocked on a queen sized planet. I cannot remember how I got here, unwhole. In the backyard, the brambles and thorns of my garden of evil catch and sting, threatening to take me whole. There is a tiny believing spark in me that hopes that were I caught up in the vines and snags my own hands have wrought that a small insignifigant sprout from your garden of good would venture, would risk the ugliness that has me and work a magic of undoing. Who will shepherd your side? The garden of evil's ranks swell with poisonous toadstools and strangling vines, barbed trees and carnivorous plants all under my tuteledge. Your garden of good passively awaits spring for its colors to shine again turning back the miasma my side spews forth. But will spring come next year?

Found!

Check out my new favorite website. http://ffffound.com/

As of right now, it is invite only. If anyone has an extra invitation, send it this way.