I dream of a woman made of paper. Pixie-hair, manic heart. She whispers syllables of courage into cupped hands. Conspiratory bravery sewn together from desire and cotton-candy. It begins to evaporate under overcast guilt and a drizzle of suspicion.
I step to, and wrest away the accountability. Like claiming a knife from a murderer. Or is it candy from a child?
She flees. The blade of blame is too sharp to shield herself from shame.
I remain behind to see the task finished.
I bring to bear heavy hands to strangle to sleep my milestone dreams.
Roused in the cradle to be murdered without ceremony.
10:03 p.m. - 2015-03-12
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
My profile
Archives
Notes
Diaryland
Random
RSS
others:
As-I-know-it
Nicim
Breathe-Salt
Swordfern
Star-Brite
Swallowthkey
ATwoWayDream
HumHum
Secret-motel
AndWeBreathe
MovingSands
WeAteTheSea