Skip to main content

𝗇𝗓

Search This Blog

Showing posts from February, 2024

Posts

"Эмили"

on February 29, 2024

"cloudy"

on February 28, 2024

"Read"

on February 27, 2024

"Headache"

on February 24, 2024

Boycotting

on February 24, 2024

Cotton

on February 23, 2024

Plum

on February 23, 2024

"grateful"

on February 22, 2024

"Sunday"

on February 19, 2024

"Soon"

on February 18, 2024

"Dayrise"

on February 17, 2024

"Drowsy"

on February 16, 2024

"frogs"

on February 13, 2024

Imprisoned

on February 10, 2024

Clusters

on February 08, 2024

æ

on February 08, 2024

"logo"

on February 07, 2024

"death"

on February 07, 2024

"staff"

on February 07, 2024

"Assassinz"

on February 06, 2024

"Thanks"

on February 05, 2024

Birthday

on February 05, 2024

Feb

on February 04, 2024

Favela

on February 03, 2024

Fields

on February 02, 2024

Salmon

on February 01, 2024

Gremory

on February 01, 2024

Archive

November 20245
October 202413
September 202420
August 202412
July 202416
June 202423
May 202429
April 202420
March 202425
February 202427

Show more Show less

Popular Posts

Brat

Brat: What's wrong with you, aunty Ami said you were sick? The Mother: I'm the Capt. Ahab of my life. Brat: Aunty Ami said you are clumsy. The Mother: Aunty Ami smokes marijuana and thinks you are a glass doll. Brat: What is the Garden of Eden? The Mother: It's a place where everything wanted to live as God and everything has its time, especially the serpent. Finish your dinner. Brat: What happens when I get old? The Mother: You will collect dust on a bookshelf, why so many questions, I have a headache. Brat: Why do you wear glasses instead of contacts like aunty Ami. The Mother: Because sometimes, brat , I can't see the light that life has to offer. The mouth, shut it. Brat: Aunty Ami says you are mean, why are people mean? The Mother: Because they grow up, because when they're a brat like you, they think of only stupid things, asinine questions and the invincible dreams of a child. Brat: What were your dreams when you were little? The Mother: I wanted

Cutpurse

Again. More distressed than I was. Again. Sorrowful of all. Grieving. Again. Unbearably unhappy. Again.

Dawn

The coffin almost matches the dirt. It's an unhappy red to sleep in the soft, old clay. The 5th month, the 12th day of the month, I don't know the year, the priest stands by the river repeating a sermon, I feel like the sun breaking through the snow, impregnated with thoughts of rubies and bright, shiny things that are meaningless. Palms upward, gloomily standing and seeing all that is buried like gems, the parachutes of reality falling slowly like the freezing flakes that aren't there. Cloudbursts, heavy droplets of fat blue rain like medicine on my protruding tongue. The Heavens open for me, it's a great fire and unbelievable brightness, inhuman torches and you should kneel. Kneeling, I hear the growl of thunderous lions and the birds grow quiet, elegant wings arch upward, the sun-scorched bodies no longer alive. Everything is burnt brass on the muddy riverside and shimmers like newborn diamonds deep in an eyeless mine no one will ever find. My sad, horrible eyes cl

Powered by Blogger

Ͷ⋜