Yesterday The biting wind chill blew leaves against my window and the tapping reminded me of the nighttime horror so long ago. Of lying awake in my bed too afraid to move as you climbed up the stairs at the crest of dawn, sniggering under your breath. Then the way you lied, two-faced folly, waterContinue reading “Passing”
Tag Archives: working through trauma
Footprints
The night is too long for the drooping moon, I tell you. We lay in the grass, scratching against our backs. You laugh at me and we spend the night talking to the trees and the air, listening to the words in between. Dawn climbs up the horizon and we hang to each other, unableContinue reading “Footprints”
Highlands
Forget the way it hurts, Dust and whispers, That pain fades away To be happy again.
Karma is a Bitch, but Not in the Way you Think
Every karmic cycle is like a candle burned to the wick; fighting to stay lit in the chaos of the world. It is one belief that tricks the mind with illusions of everything good, banquets of love filled to the brim of the sweetest treats. Temperance to understand and to rule the wailing soldiers longContinue reading “Karma is a Bitch, but Not in the Way you Think”
Death Revived
The gates of hell are full Of whispers of who we were Promises ripped from vines sweet And forgotten retribution The wolf howls With flowers in its mouth Teardrops of petals Hears no echo Chilled in sky graves Of fever dreams To lay with the fallen soldiers Dragon mountainous death The poppy, red, red, redContinue reading “Death Revived”
Can’t Fool Me Twice
The way that good and bad is portrayed in the media becomes ingrained in the way the world is consumed by people, so much so that the black-and-white classifications is the measure people’s character is judged by. I think most people are familiar with the portrayal of this battle between good and evil in DisneyContinue reading “Can’t Fool Me Twice”
It’s nice to feel the sun sometimes
It carves a path in the hidden pockets where swaths of trees stick together, rings of ivy and moss crawling up rocks and toppled over trunks, and spring flowers bloom between belts of sagebrush.
Ecosystems of Living
Death is like every attempt at authority that I cut down. It is fear that binds the loose to the detriment of living; of wandering in the apocalypse of hopeless romances of life full of success and validation. Death is such the looseness that defines where I cannot be, and that looseness devolves to chaos. Continue reading “Ecosystems of Living”
Ugly Child Blog 