On a good day I will tell how I became
On a good day I will appreciate you dream
On a good day I will send you hugs
On a good day I will laugh out loud
On a good day I will not hold back
On a good day I will not
write anything like this
so many words
written in delusion
illusions of that which
will never come to be
no matter how many times
I repeat them
in thought
in dream
in scream
in hurt
“Nothing is written in stone…”, I muttered
“Have you ever visited a graveyard?”, he countered, smugly
Empty bottles
echoes of better times
torrents of thoughts adarken
a final revelation waiting
the length of a piece of string or
bullets loaded for the Russian roulette
the spinning bottle always lands on
me but in the end it does not matter as
long as someone refills my bottle and
squeeze the trigger till clicks follow
clicks and the noose is firmly tightened
as someone kicks the bucket
my final stand
Still concerned about the length of a
piece of string, fairly long I gather to
throw across the beam and back, to
fasten securely and leave enough for
a comfy noose
Born in the snow
there is a growing pain inside me
an envy of you who still reside
where flakes fall silent
piles grow boundless
where hell can freeze over but
happiness overcomes this
darkness outside
the light always bright
inside you
A: Everyone else is taller than you, even the blonde girl in flip flops.
B: Always insist on two bottles of wine, one will most likely not be enough. C: An extended O-sound as part of “okay…” is never an indication to start a cat fight. D: Garlic is not an appropriate attire on a first date. E: The ghost of Christmas past will always be late. F: Even monks get oral exams.I hate it when I reread a piece I posted and realize I used the same word twice within a few lines of each other. So I edit the piece because I donโt like the way that reads. And then I realize the piece has already been reblogged, so now there are two versions. One of which is stupid.
Hear hear,
@staff could we have recursive editing and purge option please
Inasmuch as stars carry weight
in only the part we deem as night
our responsibility for sleep lies
the passing of time shrouded
in a gaze through a sordid window
daytime; daydream; starlight in
our hearts are free; weightless
yet stars nonetheless
I went out into the garage today, to attach the trickle charger to the motorcycle. The Beast needs to be fed, especially during the winter period when I don’t take it out very often, otherwise the battery will go flat and die (yes I have killed a few batteries in my days). The battery level indicated very low but I think I managed to save this one. Pleased with myself having managed to do something useful today I returned to the default lounging position of the sofa and started pondering. Why is there no trickle charger for humans? Something to ensure that they don’t run out of juice completely. I manage to run out of energy completely on a regular basis, which normally leads to a complete meltdown, brain malfunction and the inevitable spiral down the bottomless pit of doom. Months later I normally manage to resurface the cesspit but never fully recover. I wish someone was there to hold my hand, or gift me a trickle charger.
