The church bells ring on Sunday morning
reminding you of sins committed on Saturday night
You like to pretend you’re a good Catholic boy
so you wash the memory of me away with holy water
I don’t believe in fairytale gods or threats of perdition
but I also cleanse what we do with cheap wine
When we’re touching each other our worlds blend
and we no longer know or care who’s sinner or saint
We only know we’ve found some other sort of religion
in each other
Fiction, and other made-up stories
Still histrionic, still a bookwhore; just faking competence because of my kid.
One Therapist's Thoughts-Before and After
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 ~
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
FOR DISCERNING READERS
🍃 Fully Living The Unfinished Things Of Life Through Writings. 🍃
Spiced with stories, served from the heart
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.
Fat Bottom Girl Said What 