if written if I thought before typing this might make some sense anyways I have drifted from my purpose and forgot why I started this but to save the essence I go on meandering without a theme and does that make my day without sun or my meaning any more interesting like I have any cares when daily struggles are so near and death and loss are so much more poetic than anything I could possibly dream up so I go on streams of some poet said a long time ago about thought thinking better when like he planned his stream like outlined his whole thing he wrote all of a sudden.

Hatred lust and anxiousness so we meet again, hatred saying nothing while my lust moves with the wind. Only after post disaster does my anxiousness attack, finding blades with finer points deep inside my back. I see the sun when time to run in fields with pens of sheep. Where wolves will hide in smaller prides to eat their flesh in sleep. All the love i had malformed to hate, inside my heart does ache, outside the spark is fate.

My friends are always here, cold or hot shoulder. His love was like the burden of a boulder on a cup holder.

Love too much? how does one do that? How did i love you so much that our enchantment flew back? how did I who wanted us high like the sky watch us die while you ascended without me i watch you fly.

My friends, mal or bueno you are here and i love you, you stayed without fear.

Barefoot, blistered and bleeding
She wanders in from the street
People stare, flabbergasted
Very odd, unheard of in fact

She doesn’t know her size
So like Cinderella, she tries them on
Randomly selecting pretty colours

Silvery, glittery heels
She twirls for the mirror
Sales assistant sighs
Wellingtons for the garden
If she had one!

Satin ice skates
She would glide on the icy pond
Pretty sandals
To feel the sand between her toes

Boring, black brogues
Perfect!
With no pennies in her pocket
She wanders back to the street
Barefoot, blistered and bleeding