I write and such

A far away dream, and a long forgotten promise. There she is - mumm ra  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b3pelHCk07M The words, I never said. The thoughts, not worth thinking. My mind a shattered reflection of things it never had the privilege to remember. Promises, Words, Lost to time, truth lost to perception, the memories disentigrating, falling threw my hands as though uncapturable grains of sand. Love lost to time as few things aren't you were mine, even if for a minute Even if for a moment My truth My trust My heart That thing I keep trying to beat down inside of me My soul I  promised you a promise that was taken from me The most ridiculous promise I know today, not all promises can be kept I know love doesn't last I know Iknow I KNOW I know, that I know nothing, that your memory still haunts me, the memory of you that isn't even real Corrupted and lied about and destroyed and used and abused. My heart. My you. You still hurt, hur

The mind is a terrible thing to waste, but Always the first to go and mine left a long, LONG time ago. That thing,  yup that one the thing can't you feel the thing? it's a thing. How can I explain a thing to you when all you see is things? look at it, the thing? Don't you get it yet? It's a thing.  What's it look like? A hole, somewhere gone and previously lost.  Noooooo The thing! It's a thing, a thingama thing. Don't try to turn it into your THingama thing... It's my thingama thing of thing. It's not like yours, for I am fundamentally different from you, as I desire, nothing... Everything you see for my possesion of the thing does not make it mine.  Nor your idea of the thing yours. We agree it's a thing though...? DOn't we? The thing... The thingama thing.  That one, in your chest... It's a thingama thing, but I'm missing a piece of the one in mine. What

When first we sat living life rain dropped by then we stood and changed our walk for now all the sudden rung the clock tic toc, tic toc, and coocoo birds flew by as the rain began to fly. whilst wheeooshing past our heads the clock had stopped and floods had come washing away our steps dawning on the surface of the sand life began to empty our beach filled with life the future bright the forgotten past remembered brought to new light.

Back when I started waiting on hold to speak to a person from the government in 2014 there used to be short breaks in the hold music when you first start holding you still have hope. So you believe that each and every short break is the magical voice you were waiting for at the other end of the line. After the first half-hour, you start getting wiser though! You start to understand they are simply baiting the hook and that the pause is for a message! It was two thousand and sixteen when for the first time they had a system's failure. After waiting for two years on hold you learn to go about your life in a normal manner, some get the blue tooth and t.v.'s others Try and find the secret locations where they can go to shorten their wait. You can buy other people's phones, people who have been holding for seven years make the most money, it had become a profession of sort's in a world where everyone waits in line to speak with the magical person who can solve all of your

The wanderer. A man without a home, I wonder if the world often has a place for wanderers? Without pasts, without futures, no place to call home. It matters not whether it is streets, continents or galaxies a man wanders. Who is a man without a home? A man without a face? A man without a name? Where a man is found is the color of her eye's, where he lay his head and loose his mind. the eye's of a weary wondering soul lost and dilute, for home is nothing without the color of her eye's. No fear, no legacy, as great as the company of her eye's. where you lost? Why her eye's? The care The wonder the compassion of a wounded soul A place to finally call home The faith of the lost, the broken and the damned. That light of glimmering hope can be found in the color of her eyes where the world comes to an end and home is finally found by a nameless, faithless man. In the color of her eye's - Unknown.(well me of course but my nome de plume i

I've often wondered what changes the world has seen fit to bestow. The truth isn't what the truth is, we are all but human's and simply make mistakes. How I wish those small things could be forgotten, those trespasses caused by the loss of my own humanity. I've often wondered what love feels like but I have never had the opportunity to find life. See for within life there has never been the opportunity for me to love. Neither with the smell or texture that I have wished it or the desire of a thousand night's spent hungry. The world itself has deemed to remain loveless in my absence, and by abstaining it has never been the truth of itself. I would of course gladly do or say anything that brought about my knowledge of that one person I have always sought after, however never had the proclivity ability to find. For the truth of desire is simply the desire to seek love, now I am going to have to leave this world and never come back again for I have failed in every and

Well, that's not true... it's not about being unwanted, it's sitting in a room with a forgotten memory after earning everything you could hope for and not being recognized, seen, heard, your words falling on deaf ears, your actions having no merit, everything you do being judged, and your friends turning their back on you for the sake of themselves. Its something more akin to being ignored, it is like not existing for no reason other than someone's unwillingness to look at you after you have earned their attention. It is feeling insignificant to the people you should matter most to, and that isn't something inside you... it's those people that make you feel alone.  You could sit in a room full of people desiring your attention and never be heard. Which I think teaches you your voice doesn't matter, even though it's always mattered whether in words or text or thought... the scariest people are the ones who listen because when you are finally encourag

THE THIMBLE IS NOW A PUBLISHED CHILDREN'S BOOK ON THE APPLE BOOK STORE THANK YOU FOR READING

The approaching party consisted of a fine young lady, dressed in a plaid pantsuit. With long golden curls flowing down the side of her face, her figure resembles that of an hourglass. Her complexion was fair and her stride graceful. She must be their guide, for she had an almost otherworldly luminescence to her. In our experience, we could recognize such people for they stood out amongst the crowd's of more ordinary people and created a wake as the strode threw the world. You see I myself was a watcher of sorts. This particular young lady and I had met several times in our dealings with Irving's, though in this particular instance I dare not reveal myself. So simply allow me to regale you with the story that is about to unfold. Flow was her name, her companions Tony and Scott were strange young men indeed. For they were simply following a young lady to her destination, she had invited them as a matter of course. Though unbeknownst to them they had been summoned. Just as t

The waves of wind swirling around just outside the door, the gusts bringing a cold chill. The cold penetrating down to the bone of the handsome black alley cat, whose green eyes glistened with joy at the sound of approaching footsteps. He'd heard them before these steps of fools, or didn't you know? For he had watched. this particular door of splintering wood opens and closes thousands of times. The brass hinges were always well oiled and it was the last of it's kind. A door that had withstood the ages. The cat knew that there were doors very similar to this one around the world, yet our fury friend was one of the only creatures who knew the true nature of this particular door. As uninspiring as it may seem today, it had once been warm mahogany freshly painted and opening to a field of poppy flowers. It had stood here for so long that our feline company had forgotten what it was like on the other side. He had been a watcher of sorts you see, during his first decade of