Wednesday, November 16, 2011

ghosts and restless tides

it's the madness and chaos of hormones and night that make me want to chuck everything out the window right now or burn it down, right? is it that sickening dread that sits like a dark and evil ghost at the end of my bed. the fears of pent up crisis crawling out of my mind and taking shape in the real world. sleep calls and comes but her draught isn't sweet. it's the stuff of haunting dreams and rude awakening on 333. the claustrophonic sense hovers as the grief weights down like a hard and cold rain...this can't all be mine this emotional baggage. who's sending me their bad juju, have i been mistaken for a angel of reckoning? the white queen of restoration unable to pull herself out of the shallow grave?

here the fairy godmothers are on strike and the genies distracted by union bartering...rumpelstiltskin's in the corner make bets faster than a bookie on the last fight of the night. he'll give you a loan but the price is always on the steep end of high. there is no magic wand or spell to make this go away. assaults and sorrow come through the overheard great words of advice, their truth is the knife just a bit too dull and tight. i guess it's that season of wintertide depression, the reminder of my need to hibernate and hide.

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