Gentle ambition lives among the fears of wasted breath. No sooner had I clung to this revelation than the cliff stopped abruptly at the entrance of my fall. Honestly, rude.
Remember you die, so you do not forget to live.
Do you ever wonder, in a million voices screaming at you; hey, why am I such a loser piece of garbage? And you know, you know, it’s coming from somewhere - past, present, whatever. Then you realize, it’s just one voice: it’s just yours. Even as you write you know you know you can never share this because relatable trauma only, please.
If solidarity were enough,
I would write until my fingers bleed.
If it made a difference, I would cry,
for every broken heart
I am speechless, I am distant,
but I am not silent
and that is not enough.
Now and then? More like: all the time, everywhere, all at once. That sounds like the most British thing I've heard. The only thing, honest, and you should be honest. Tell me how to get there and I swear to you, by sould, by blood, by iron, we leave. Well, did you find a bowl or not? Have you lost your mind? Your head sloshes full of soup. Consider that, your eye half eaten by the falcon, Horus. Maggots wriggling about the lens - have you no shame? Nothing to see here, not since I lost my eye, after all.
What does that even mean? You cannot have your cake and have it eaten too. It takes two to tango, honey, and talk is cheap. So, I speak by the hour, and pass collection when the hook penetrates your soft, upper palate.