The waste becomes a way to synthesise disillusion. Wondering what scars will heal and which will not. A verifiable token of esteem. Wittered away easily when complaints are done with the advent of mercies. A killing is in the offing. But we orchestrate to demonstrate and what use are we to argue? Twisting words decide what lies we can break with underneath. The small whisperings amid the low lying noise filters. The tarantulas working their way out of perspex ovens. What are we to do but accept the living fate of lives lost underneath. The traps used to ensnare and the little cost to look at illicit photos decry the path of an idiot's errand. A poor fool who wants to retreat into invisibility. Boundaries forged and crossed. The contents left unsaid. A matter for reflection but rejection is the final sum. A horrible context but somehow unsurprising. The theatrical appeal of being good running hollow. It's all so desperate and disparate to be dispiriting. If I only survive tomorr...
In the moment that the word was said, twist the knife in me. The fact she's not around makes it that much harder. You've moved on from me and to her dying day liked me for who I am. She went to the ends of town to get the right food that keeps me somewhat healthy. I couldn't repay her enough with my gratitude. I'll miss her. I'll miss you. What you saw as hatred was merely fury and frustration at your stubborn refusal. Goading and belittling a genuine interest in things you didn't see as a problem. You never did, the sounds of "see how good I am, see how I'm helping you" just felt like a self-knowing Mother Theresa mocking me even if it seemed genuinely good intentioned. I wish things turned out differently and my anger never showed. You'd still complain about things I never do to you and bring up old complaints again because you just want to lash out. You'd cut me to pieces and expect me to run like a big old dumb machine. But a moment o...