the sound of your slippers slumping slow up the stairs, the feel of your fleece where my face buried when scared, the lullaby laughter that lept up from your chair. the worry of my world wore you down, but your hand was always there. my hurt splurged out, but heard amongst shouts was you, promising you cared. an old man who persevered, one old man i never feared, the old man i hold - if i spoke this line aloud, i would choke - my old man who i hold most dear.
safety, softness, warmth, wonder, admiration, awe, love, trust.
i hate to say it but my creative process is always written best when angsty, angry, mad; drunk, high, spiralling, sad cliche as it is it is my one catharsis so i must stay shameless scream, write, cry, edit down; sit, slow, calm yourself down.
roses are yellow she is pure sunshine and i am an ever luckier fellow each day i sunbathe in the light of my wife.
this anger it hits, quick, hisses, spits; slick with viciousness. my anger it thrashes, glass smashes; skin torn by slashes. the anger it SHOUTS OUT! of burnt mouths - without cause or grounds. His anger it grumbles... left hungry... foolishly fumbling: for a reason for a person any project every object to hand it to to put it on to yell it at but He is gone sadly, as of yet; the anger is not.
stuck on the Sad Girl Train, Going Anywhere? just read this easy tip and promptly end the trip!
to be noted down, documented, appreciated, and forever cherished.