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.
Listen.
Listen closely.
Listen to my fingerprints
pounding those keys.
The rattle and hum
the vibrations at dawn
pleasing your inexhaustible
desire, your longing for
more.
Unchained I will devour you,
mercy blanket won’t suffice,
the vitals revealed, again; the
recovering; processing of tender
bones; sucking marrow dry; stay
fettered; stay safe; stay you;
free me not; whatever you do
There was no physical abuse as far as I can recall, though I lack certain insights to happenings prior to reaching the age of four. What I can clearly recall, and now also brand, is mental abuse, the use of silence to wreak havoc in an innocent kid. Imagine a child growing up in an environment where one parent would decide to go silent, go into hiding, not responding to asks, for weeks at time, would that not cause harm, long lasting worries, and permanent damage to any child? Such was the reality when I grew up, suppressing the details I think I have though special events keep floating to the surface. Throwing tantrums as anyone does when growing up, was recorded; put on tape and later replayed as part of the regime of parenting. Without going into any more details I will only say that permanent damage was done, I never had the courage to ask question, fearing anger and rejection so often the result when growing up.
