Kinda ‘fraid to read on days when words bleed off pages… Just being me is a tragedy knowing directions circle flapping wings licking tongues ready to make the kill. So… is there a plan to right the wrong or steep longer in a stew cut-up songs keys askew melodies that don’t belong. Just being me…
A reason to read (and reread) WP. If i needed a reason. Hell no, no need for reason when reading Ray. Just read. The Ark Of Sanity The Ark Of Sanity — Read on raynotbradbury.com/2018/11/09/the-ark-of-sanity/
the world has chance to be and so do i and if all fails i remain in peace this day to watch leaves dance in lovely eyes hear cooing beyond the winding lane lips pressed against the quivering terrain the quiet settled amongst the ripple washed ashore to dreamily weave our tired cries and blanket…
curious too… write to extract a hurting heart, leaving the unease let’s get to know -you witness sorrow desert the photograph cracked skin filled with sin and so it goes love lies in drought
a distant knock heard beyond Spring low hum of summer october seeds drown the mind winter dreaming awash in yellow petal captured
she died before she ever lived and in time watched the sun rays beam upon the rock where nothing breathes… from starkness came blind men running
don’t listen to her chaos heart spirals downward cowers in comfort numb fingers touch skin outsiders peering within lewd lips lick her sin notice more than she… rather dark… another spark desperately hoping… i thought he had gone… rampage… i couldn’t sit still flying words swarm me
What am i doing here this morning? Did i not say i was gone from WP? Well a thought entered my head after reading a post in a closed group i belong to on FB… and decided to share here as well. So, what is the group? Survivors of Suicide. A group i did not…
Look. Do you see? This picture of me. Look. I once stood in such a door. My vow to not share. My sacred word. My vagrant thoughts. I break the rules. So am i desperate against myself? I truly want to be alone. Do you believe me? I think not. What will any of this…
what becomes of summer when it is the air we dread anticipation as the ripples form ice yesterday was common now all sound releases energy to gas bend near, dear scrape the fear leave marks of roots tangled your reaching fingers on high tide stir the memories deep inside glass houses and yellow rooms gleaming…
