I could see your hands glowing, in the dark they stood out like like a lighthouse along the southern coast.
I think you honestly believed you could heal, but delusions are like trees in the forest.
I feel for you, honestly, but please let go of the dreams, and fast.
Note: This episode was never broadcasted
Hello Children and welcome to another episode of Home Baking for Fun and Fiction, today sponsored by “Zipher – World Health ‘R’ Us”.
Let me first remind you that it is always good to have a parent to help you in the kitchen as those grinders, whisks and meat cleavers can be a handful if you don’t have the strength.
Today I am going to show you how to make a Winter Cake to cheer you up before the festive season starts.
Before you start preparing make sure you have all the Ingredients available, it not ask your parents to unlock the special cupboard, they will know which one you mean and keep insisting if they pretend to not knowing.
The ingredients and amount you will need to prepare the Winter cake are:
Ready? Let’s Cook!
First set the oven at 400F.
Mix the ground ingredients: flower, Priadel, Sertraline, Lamotragine, Diazepam and baking powder in a large bowl.
Add ½ cup of Vodka (or Gin) and stir until the mix is smooth. If you find it doesn’t set you can add a little more flower.
Pour the mix into a baking tray
Add the Quetipine and Fluoxetine on top but make sure you press them down slightly. If they are not fully covered they will get burnt and the cake will have a bitter taste.
Check that the oven has reached 400F and insert the tray into the oven.
Leave the cake in the oven for around 30 minutes. If the cake is slightly damp you can leave it in for another five minutes. Let the cake rest and cool down before serving.
The cake is best served in small bowls with spoons.
Cut the cake into suitable pieces and splash two cups of Vodka (or Gin) on the cake before serving. Pour the rest of the Vodka (or Gin!) into tumblers.
After all that hard work you can now relax and enjoy the Winter Cake, Vodka and each-others company.
But don’t forget the washing up!
I hope to see you all next week when I will be showing you how to make a showman.
The wallpaper was too busy, yellow with white and brown stripes, not suitable for a child, leaving scars like hitting the head on a radiator repeatedly, only more subtle, and less blood.
These days collar bones turns me on, and shoulders, and hip bones if not too hidden in fat, and attached to a woman of my fancy, covered somewhat.
They need to please my eye, more than my mind and heart, the radiator is to blame, me thinks, as a striped wallpaper never would do any permanent harm…
You will have no way of knowing, without scratching the surface.
Nothing can be seen, no one can be heard, until the ice is broken.
Do you trust them? I don’t, never will.
They say the truth is closer than you know, you just have to scratch the surface, and it will all be revealed.
Bollocks.
Sun-kissed and birdsong
not doubting I’m in love – proper
the sweetest kiss and the
everlasting love I found
fading fast as I awake
My exploded chest folds
back into place and
hibernates
I did not know what I wanted – then
I do not know what I want – now
Will I ever know?
At the Grand Central you’ll
meet The Maker and
he’ll be driving a cab taking
you further than you’ve ever
been, deeper than you’d ever go, but
are you still fulfilling your dream?
once more we face
the end of the
the world as we
know it and we
can no longer go
on as we did so
we have to change to
improve to forgive and
forget but honestly it
is just the same shit but
a different year
There were compatibility issues
and too much drink
The desire to escape
when rooting would have helped
You spoke with your mouth and
I heard voices in my head
disjointed messages coming
from the dead
Though you were the gifted one
the fickle gods curse
you gave up your life’s purpose
in search for normality
in your own words
The story was a simple one,
fit to be read to a child,
but it ended with a cat running off
into the woods never to return again.
The story made him sad so sad, he
didn’t want to hear it no more. He
told them so, in words and with
tears, time and time again, to no
avail.
The scars still itch, deep down
inside, but scratching’s not possible
now. He’s given up hope on finding
the cat, but the bully is dead,
thank god.
