I will eat your brain, asking quesions, watching and listening when you think you are watching me……..
I see your flakey little flaws, so easy, i will snap you, you little fucking twitch.
Whimper does not exactly describe the sound coming from my throat
Purr-ing is a feline act, and I am no Pussy, therefore my claws will shred you
In your willingness to bare your throat in such a domicile approach
Unwittingly saying you love me.
What is the difference between 39 and 29…….
Besides an unspeakable amount of variables, the first difference is the ability to navigate the damn toolbar. With THAT said, please forgive the fact I cant undo my mistakes, and when i do find the right button, I get distracted from my point. I cant tag right, and Im sure ive blown the entire protocal for blogging.
What is the difference between 39 and 29?
In this case, I am speaking of my age, and my ability to party all night long and still function when the sun comes up. Im not going to address the variables. If you want those, I’d be happy to feel you in if you ask. Also, if I get lazy and don’t correct the simplest of grammatical errors, just know that if I do that, I lose my train of thought. Im a paper person. If I go back and proofread, I will lose the damn story in some cloud before I post it. Im not 29 anymore. K. Thats my apology. Continue reading
The damn thing almost got me today, walking through what used to be a beach, then drained enough for trees to grow, only to flood back into a crazy fish spot I once called a swim beach, and I could hear this wretched bird screaming some where, but could not see it, and then my eyes focused. The neck was all poofed out on this quail looking thing, screaming up at me at the top of its lungs, like a raised cobra, it warned of striking, and startled the hell out of me so bad that my teenage daughter laughed at my confusion, and all I could say was “the damn thing tried to eat me.”
For two years, I have lost my way to this blog, and suddenly in a moment of lonliness, it finds me. Hidden away in ancient e-mails, the puzzle becomes clear, and my voice can suddenly be heard. Alas, I am speechless. So many bubbles to pop. Rant? Share love? Dawn the workday crisis, or just poetically murmer? These machines tease me year after year. Eating my words only to lock me out with forgotten passwords and such. Yet, here I am. How amusing.
My buried face
Finally finds your scent
Hidden in a pillow
From our last moment
Your arms missed
While in black velvet