I am a spoiled peach
with a pit as my vascular organ
As my body has become softened with time
my heart has become hardened
Bruises and tearing of the skin
a tome of inner vulnerability and weakness
When did the rot set in
so much putrid pulp traveling my veins and arteries
If only they’d used kid gloves
when handling me
Now leave me beneath the tree to decompose in peace
lest I contaminate the ripening fruit
Still histrionic, still a bookwhore; just faking competence because of my kid.
i've choked on my words for far too long
It's not the length of life, but the depth.
This is my mind, it’s not supposed to make sense.
Where Sarcasm Gets Drunk and Lets Its Hair Down
Shining the light of truth on delusion
Researching, investigating, and writing about the paranormal.
You either get it... or you don't.
Inky blackness, a yawning void ~
"Eye Fly High"
A weekly series edited by Jena Schwartz
Read. Ingest the words. Like little blue pills, they will affect you.
the stories behind the pictures, and vice versa
Just my thoughts for all to behold
🍃 Fully Living The Unfinished Things Of Life Through Writings. 🍃
A baking and dessert blog.
Writer, Tarot Reader, Designer
a little bit of this and a little bit of that
Seeking Beauty Beyond the Scars
The home of Emma O'Brien
The musings of a scorpion who would have been an eagle
I blog now. I know, I can't believe it either.
Paul Johnson's comedy blog: I didn't get into comedy to be rich or famous. All I've ever wanted was to be loved...by somebody rich and famous.
Fat Bottom Girl Said What 
Don’t let go of the fact that the pit holds the promise of new life, if given the proper nurturance and care.
I can feel, through your words, a beautiful heart. Still beating. Only awaiting the recognition and acceptance that will allow it to permeate your spirit again.