Curiosities.
Category: Writing and Poetry

There are wolves in the hills









and they are waiting to meet you.

6:52 PM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

It’s no matter. (First draft.)
Category: Writing and Poetry

    Here it is, almost 2 am.  June.  And you still can't sleep...again.

For about three weeks now this has become the trend.

Maybe it's just the heat; that sickengly, sticky, thick heat that suffocates.
(And still, it's only June)

    Perhaps it's just the pant's you choose to wear to bed, a comfy worn-in pair of sweats, with the only problem being that the band is far too thick and in the middle of the night makes its way up from your hips and into a rather uncomfortable spot upon your spine causing you to toss and turn endlessly.   It would be rather easy to find another pair of pants, of course, but that would require more effort that you're willing to give; at least for right now.  And besides, they're already worn-in.

    However, you know the truth.   It's everything that has been building up to his point.  You have rent and a car payment, with that comes insurance and a phone, not to mention you must put gas into the damn thing.  Food, well, at least you don't really require much of that lately.   Stress is a rather effective appetite surpressant.
But it's more than that, everything seems to be slipping through your fingers, you're trying to figure everything out and seem to only be running in circles and ending right back up where you had started or maybe even a few steps behind that.  Hell, do you even know where it is that you want to be going? 

Success in this world means everything. 


But to whom?   And to what level?   Who gets to decide what success ultimately  is?  It can mean several different things, but to many it simply means power. 

And with that in mind, you click the knob to off on your radio that plays nothing but publicly-owned-college stations, cross over to your ivory-painted wooden desk and click off the light (turn the knob three times...that's the habit) and in the dark (because you've memorized the map in your head) make your way into bed.   Sheets with a light flowed pattern upon them, your comforter thrown onto the floor and upon the bed are pillows, about 12 of them, two for your head one to two upon either side of you, two for your feet, one for your knees, and one to hold onto and the last two as backups. . . fillers.  You surround yourself with pillows so that your body won't crave that extra touch.   So that you, in the middle of the night, will not become lonely. . .at least physically.

8:45 AM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Night.
Category: Writing and Poetry

Cricketts and windchimes.

1:03 AM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Perhaps.
Category: Writing and Poetry

So here is the one thing standing

(in the way)

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Evening.
Category: Writing and Poetry

It was the only way of being.




The only way of breathing.

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We are here.
Category: Writing and Poetry

And so spoke the mother bird:

"I have spent years of my life, raising and setting free the little ones from my nest.


But now, upon the eve I find I am far too exhausted. For all they have done is take and I have nothing left to give. So I sit here upon these hollow shells and sharp twigs and cannot think of a single moment that was not lived for them. And as I gaze upon the ground where each has fallen; and where the fox has smeared their fragile bodies upon the ground, I do not feel remorse; for that is the way of life; and now, within my eve I finally understand what has taken me 9 young ones lost to understand. They will only take and disappoint and as a mother all I can do is give. . . give until my body refuses.

"

8:29 AM - 4 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

I have been away for far too long.
Category: Writing and Poetry

"what is it you find to be the cause of the ridiculousness within the void of nothingness by the times of meaningless sex and prosperity?"











And the sheep said to the wolf:   "There is nothing left that I can fear for you have brought me to the edge and now I will remain but refuse to maintain the proper reactions within this situation; and will become the only one to believe in the mountains of meaning that I once believed were so very true but now, am beginning to see how very wrong we all were.  So I am sorry, but I will not taste as sweet for I am filled with sorrows and have grown rotten upon lies. . ."

1:29 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Sunday.
Category: Writing and Poetry

Wisdom should come with age.

6:55 PM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

The Games We Play.
Category: Writing and Poetry

Laying there.   The temperature far above your own or what your body is used to; burned at first. Makes you sleepy.   Lethargic and nautious.   But it’s calming. . .and you won’t get out anytime soon.

Your hair: weightless, moves about your face and neck; forms it own patterns. .takes it own shape and mind into consideration.


(Prunish.   You’ve always hated prunes. )


One.  

11:44 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Beliefs. . .in what? Unsure.
Category: Writing and Poetry

She isn’t what you are used to.



Isn’t what you have known.

11:07 AM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment