I still don't have a camera cable. I mean, I have one, I just don't know where it is. So instead of the photographs that you actually come here for, I am ready to torture you with more bad poetry. You're welcome.

I never intended to post this here; it's too intimate and too honest. But for some reason, of late I seem to be all about honesty, about being who I am, in the hopes that I will be accepted anyway. Trust me, it is a big step. For me, also of late, there don't seem to be anymore little steps. The next one is starting to look more like jumping off a cliff. Nevermind. If you don't come here looking for poetry, you come here even less looking for my mindless ramblings.

The Little Death

 

The time slips by

hardly to be noticed

The life slips by

hardly to be missed

The love will die

waiting to be wanted

The lips go dry

waiting to be kissed

 

The darkness grows

hiding in the shadows

The rage it shows

hiding in the heart

The soul, it knows

dying isn’t living

The tear, it flows

falling in the dark

 

The hope will fade

            sinking like the sunset

The love unmade

            like the unused bed

The debt unpaid

            ties him to his sorrow

The long charade

            leaves the passion dead

Fin

I leave you with this quote, from of all places, a soap opera: "I don't want to look at the world through rose-colored glasses; I want the world to be rose-colored!" Sadly, it is not. And my glasses are broken...