quoth_the_raven
Corpse
Sara... :lol: Mind if I make my own version of that? 
Adam: Doooonn't look at them or a I will grind you, you biiiitttccch!
Sara: Oooookkkaaaay!
Nurse McKay: Aaaaadaaammm!
*gasp!*
Grissom: Open the doooooor!
Ass Who Can't Use A Key Right: I don't have the right keeeeeyy!
And Night, I'm taking that as a friendly nudge Jorja wrote a poem and I'll post the words for ya
Moving
Every minute tells a story
Some are in my head, and some are in the reflections of the headlights that shine in on me
I'm stretched out in the backseat of the car
I could look out forever at the houses and the train tracks
Cold beer and cigarettes, French fries, cold coffee, pancakes and potatoes chips, baked potatoes, iceberg lettuce and lots of aspirin
These are the ingredients of a well-stayed, extended trip into the world of someone you know very well who is very sick
Chicken broth and gelatine, morphine and macaroni & cheese, mashed potatoes and codeine, ice chips and Ensure, the adult supplement for optimum living
Pearls of a demonist, ever seeming transition
You, sinking deeper and deeper into the centre of the bed
There’s pillows placed between your legs to keep them from bruising or breaking each other
Your circulation crawls slowly up and out of your body, your hands and feet grow cold first and your breaths become more and more shallow.
Blood tests, chemotherapy, cat scans, radiation, surgery, amputation, spinal taps, physical therapy, bariums, probes, catheters, pills, Iv’s and drips, bed pans, fresh flowers, id bracelets, sponge baths, phone calls, bandana’s, scarf and a hat, wheel chair, sun block, sore muscles, vomiting, hallucinations, confusion, despair, exhaustion, shortness of breath, vertigo and lots of television.
Rising out over a stretch of highway next to a disco, a senior citizen centre, a k-mart and the loveliest crest of the ocean.
There are dolphins and raccoons there, and beautiful gardens.
I lost you to the heavens; I sit here on earth like a token, like some kind of souvenir of your living, like stardust or gasoline.
It’s late in the evening, now, in my discontent, and I‘m sure now that grieving and healing are the same thing sometimes and, magic and death are the same thing sometimes, and, trusting and failing are the same thing sometimes.
-- And you can also listen to her read it on purejorja.net.
Adam: Doooonn't look at them or a I will grind you, you biiiitttccch!
Sara: Oooookkkaaaay!
Nurse McKay: Aaaaadaaammm!
*gasp!*
Grissom: Open the doooooor!
Ass Who Can't Use A Key Right: I don't have the right keeeeeyy!
And Night, I'm taking that as a friendly nudge
Jorja wrote a poem and I'll post the words for ya Moving
Every minute tells a story
Some are in my head, and some are in the reflections of the headlights that shine in on me
I'm stretched out in the backseat of the car
I could look out forever at the houses and the train tracks
Cold beer and cigarettes, French fries, cold coffee, pancakes and potatoes chips, baked potatoes, iceberg lettuce and lots of aspirin
These are the ingredients of a well-stayed, extended trip into the world of someone you know very well who is very sick
Chicken broth and gelatine, morphine and macaroni & cheese, mashed potatoes and codeine, ice chips and Ensure, the adult supplement for optimum living
Pearls of a demonist, ever seeming transition
You, sinking deeper and deeper into the centre of the bed
There’s pillows placed between your legs to keep them from bruising or breaking each other
Your circulation crawls slowly up and out of your body, your hands and feet grow cold first and your breaths become more and more shallow.
Blood tests, chemotherapy, cat scans, radiation, surgery, amputation, spinal taps, physical therapy, bariums, probes, catheters, pills, Iv’s and drips, bed pans, fresh flowers, id bracelets, sponge baths, phone calls, bandana’s, scarf and a hat, wheel chair, sun block, sore muscles, vomiting, hallucinations, confusion, despair, exhaustion, shortness of breath, vertigo and lots of television.
Rising out over a stretch of highway next to a disco, a senior citizen centre, a k-mart and the loveliest crest of the ocean.
There are dolphins and raccoons there, and beautiful gardens.
I lost you to the heavens; I sit here on earth like a token, like some kind of souvenir of your living, like stardust or gasoline.
It’s late in the evening, now, in my discontent, and I‘m sure now that grieving and healing are the same thing sometimes and, magic and death are the same thing sometimes, and, trusting and failing are the same thing sometimes.
-- And you can also listen to her read it on purejorja.net.
