The price of great happiness is great sadness.
But why keep it in?
Hollowed out. Like carving the seeds of a squash. The Sap making your hands sticky. Carving. Like the back of a spoon on leathered clay. Dirty. Beaten. Hand-made. Hewing away at the soul. At the heart. At the meaning of who we are. Hollow Sore. Sick. It makes me sad - unloved on this come-down.
Are you, also, frightened?
Hot pores tingling from wind. Fingertips don’t seem to end. Are you also frightened? All the things you’d think, friend. I’m sorry for my off. Hand. I’m sorry that I’m in the band I’m sorry that our dreams were grand But nothing went to plan. Hence sitting at this fauce window Veins like fire and skin like snow I wonder who it is I know My...
poeticmonsters: Living In A Tree | Priscilla...
There’s hope left for me - To complete what I want to in life. To be at peace with where I am. xxx