Twenty-7

27 dresses and a humiliated woman. Excuses that explain nothing and I'm baffled at why I continue to care for fairy book characters that never had a fairing chance. Sense is something I know nothing of. I prefer paper as opposed to this way of electronics but part of me thinks some how someone, somewhere will hear the things I say. But maybe that's a time for a fifteen minutes whose home does not belong to me. In the end when all things are said and done is that something I'll truly give a flying fuck about? Time tells thousands.

Cushy Pillows

Cushy feelings I cant seem to remember. A blank stare, face, heart, thoughts. Peering eyes from round the bed skirt. Starved attention has so quickly caught up with a weighted chest of now which sits a very fat cat. A muted television. Shows come and go telling stories of utopia and what's so far from it.

I cannot shake my pain painted legs. Fire to flesh is as cold as ice in a world of pessimistic libertarians. Who knew pain could feel this way? To incur the help of others through faults of my own. Amends left for the ages when growing a pair seems like a choice of greater value then the cave dwelling adventures currently in pursuit.

A sensation filled dream devoid of fluffy pillows, unicorns and post rain prism plastered skies. Double faced gourds holding zippered hearts shattered both wrenched and rinsed of memories forgotten. A night ends with dimming light. 24 hours ahead to change it all, page 1 rewrite. Virgin surfer as cherry as the blood red sun. There's a first time for everything.