I sing a sigh of a thousand already known regrets. I can't muster anything other than sadness. Despite a shellac of entitlements and pleasantries, guilt remains. My responses are dull and predictable. I exert the mastery of sledgehammers to bring them in line. Anger placed aside, an unruly and tantrum-prone child. Disappointment chided gently into exile. Indignation crushed under a mercilessness of zeroes. Hope drowned quietly to sleep.
My little marigold ember becomes more a facet of Myselves and less a Memory every with each cycle of warped widdershins.
Less a reflection of an infinity of singular deities. Swaddled in potential and unmarred by hubris. Before being choked to death by the weight of my ego.
11:08 p.m. - 2014-10-30
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
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