"steadiness" poems
How beautiful art thou; rain.
Pittering and pattering, into nothingness.
Dripping and dropping in a steady beat.
Splitting and Splattering but soothing.
What a feat.
How beautiful art thou; rain.
Small and light, crystal and clear.
Sent from the heavens above.
The gentle weeping and tear.
What a sight.
How beautiful art thou; rain.
With soft drops to the loudest of splashes.
Big but small, quiet but not so.
Call upon the lightening, your company.
What a sound.
How beautiful art thou; rain.
Washing away sadness and bring new life.
Day or night, you see through everything.
Morning or evening, your steadiness fails to change.
What a night.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
My breath is lost as I gaze upon the magnitude of the mountains that surround me. I marvel at how beautifully the water reflects the sky, pure white clouds stretched across blankets of soft pinks and blues as the sun sets behind the trees. I see the steadiness of Your hand in the horizon. I see Your love of variety in shells scattered along the shoreline. I see Your flawless detail in the veins of a maple leaf. I see Your creative spark in fireflies glowing subtly against the darkness of an airy August night. I hear You in the winter wind, I feel You in the summer heat. My soul is flooded with joy at the sight of Your creation. I cannot help but lift my hands and praise You.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 2:47 PM UTC
Lend me your eyes.
So I could fill them
with the bursting stars.
Telling tales of the spellbinding universe,
singing songs of exploding suns...
and of splintering quasars.
Lend me your thoughts.
So that if I may,
write of them.
Fantastical scribbles of love
and praise.
Meticulously lined
and carefully stitched...
with immaculate lace at the hems.
Lend me your breaths.
I'd catch them as they fall...
between the words you would say.
Merging mine with yours...
introducing colour...
and vigour
to my monochromatic world of
black, white and grey.
Lend me your heartbeats...
for mine thumps erratic.
As if beating in silent mock.
I depend on the steadiness in yours.
So they could usurp
the ticks of worldly clocks.
Lend me your hands.
Palms up as a sign,
perhaps as an invitation...
for me to take them.
And maybe...
hopefully fill them...
with mine...
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 10:06 AM UTC
_“perhaps the sun is a teacup, spilled by a girl in a skyhouse who laughs in polka dots–”_
You wrote like someone
who had been listening
long before speaking,
each poem a hush,
each repost a gentle offering.
This space once held you,
your words, your calm curation,
a gentle steadiness
in a shifting field of voices.
take this small goodbye
not as an end,
but as a door left open,
just in case
you return with your light.
Until then,
may strength find you
in soft moments,
and peace arrive
never needing to be earned.
Jul 24, 2025
Jul 24, 2025 at 6:28 PM UTC
******
A symbol of denial, congeniality, and assurance of love;
the fate of maternity, motherhood, that is witnessed
and cherished from afar.
From a sacred little haven;
from a struggle of motherly defense.
O ******
Temptations are to you never a bother,
in the tempests of lush dreams,
the draining of purity,
and veritable sensations.
Steadiness is your notion;
it barely leaves your mind
you may be deeply hurt
but never hurt,
you may be a stranger
but your grace is your power.
Truth that is unpardonable,
veraciousness at my simplest words,
clarity that is gleaming in your eye,
a token of pleasure but indestructible affection;
adorable as you are,
serenity is beyond question;
dreams are but inseparable from your docile life.
O ****** the sweetness and gentleness of thy eyes
are my irreplaceable silence,
my appraised soul,
and my most resolute
and irrepressible invocation.
O ****** one that is so rare a rose
Many as in the May-day dance are tainted;
marks of annoyance, omens of indulgence.
With hunger for nothing but moans;
unsober groans, and quickening breaths in paces of outward satisfaction;
intoxicated desires but unloving movements;
on the grounds for endless dancing;
there is the thirst for grips, the grossest of stateliness!
Voluptuous romance, perfidious touches, and
false-hearted toys!
In the wakeful dreams of which
I long for you, a handful of thy chastest kisses!
I pray for your hands, so delicate
as mine, how they shall fit into each other!
I long for your lips, your spotless, uncorrupted cheeks,
My demand is for your hands;
for sanity, and sincerest cordiality
Despite of my guilt and former unconsciousness
I shall amend my grief for you,
for you only,
for oureth perfect, unconquerable happiness,
and the union of our souls
in a day of holy matrimony.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 7:35 AM UTC
(I hate poets.
They annoy me deeply.)
I.
There are the balladeers,
Working in service of their inner Service,
(Though, despite the seeming impossibility,
Their hackneyed verse is even worse)
Creating tortuous rhyme
Which slows down labyrinthine narratives
Ending up in some deus ex machine
So implausible that it would make Euripides blush
(Most often courtesy of some unforeseen projectile
Or sudden viral contagion;
Would that their creators meet such a fate!)
II.
I come not to praise the so-called sonneteers,
But to bury them.
They are an earnest lot,
(Lord knows that they are earnest)
And they will make their fourteen lines rhyme
(Though sometimes the rhyme scheme screams for mercy)
And hang the cost.
Though their narratives are head-scratching things,
And their iambs proceed with the steadiness
Of a nonagenarian church pianist
Doing her damndest to fight the wedding march to a draw,
They are content, nay, proud of their work
Because babble rhymes with Scrabble
(Though they are not particularly proficient with the latter,
They have the former down to an art.)
III.
Let us not forget the Buk-zombies,
Those apostles of aphorism,
Most of whom speak of their departed deity
As if he were an old drinking buddy
(Never mind that most of them were two or three
Or perhaps not even a bad idea
In the back seat of some mom’s Buick
When he exited this mortal plane, stage left, even.)
One’s mind is boggled whilst considering
The expanse of the bar required to accommodate
Everyone who would like to
(Or worse, have claimed to)
Buy old Charlie a beer, not that he’d stand for a round.
They are a sullen horde, this lot,
Best dealt with by aiming for the base of the skull.
IV.
Ah, the confessionals, Lord have mercy upon their souls
(For they shall have none upon ours.)
They feel so many things so deeply
As such things have never been felt before
(They have not read their Sexton, their Snodgrass,
Their Lowell, their Pl--well, no,
They have all read their Plath.)
It is, from the moment they arise in the morning
Until such time they set aside their fears and let sleep take them,
All too much for them,
And they bravely face the days
Until such time they care bear to take action
And fling themselves from some convenient precipice.
We should, as a service to them and ourselves,
Ensure the soles of their shoes
Are sufficiently worn and slippery.
(I hate poets.
They annoy me deeply.)
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 11:22 AM UTC
there’s a moth crawling up my kitchen wall
I had the sudden urge to **** it
smother it with a kleenex
swat it with a rolled up magazine
it keeps crawling up
losing its steadiness, almost falling
then regaining its steadiness again
moths freak me out
they look creepy
they look fragile
they look contaminated
perhaps they are contaminated with curiosity
so am I
their flickering flame is my flickering self-sabotage
I had an urge
I wanted to **** it
I’m just like this curious creature
just as fragile
just as contaminated
I might as well be looking in a mirror
and I had the urge to **** it
Sep 1, 2012
Sep 1, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
Infinite amounts of definitions could not depict
The extent to which a structured norm
Is measured
Blindness adjoins clarity, while sight provokes vanity
It is an aspect unhindered, lacking certainty
A single word yet so many portraits
Drawn on the canvas of our linked pathways
If you ask me about beauty, don’t
For my lips would quiver nonsense to you, to me
The mass of the universe that surrounds our whole being
The endless rows of glimmering stars that speak to our vulnerable eyes
Or perhaps, the raging force of life that springs from within us
If you ask me about beauty, don’t
Because you would have to look at yourselves to see
The beaming smiles corresponding with velvet risings of cheeks
The abundance of glistening tears that have embodied those very same
And even, the flashing spark of joy which invites a feeling of utter content
If you ask me about beauty, don’t
Otherwise there would be an influx of sentiments towards
The prettiness of colored nature, steadiness of height-breaking hills
The calmness of the bare sound of waves crashing into an advocacy for peace
The building blocks of surroundings that determine you and me
So if you ever want to ask me about beauty,
Bare the consequences in mind
Just the elaborate thought of such a question
Could raise a plethora of reasonings
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 7:21 AM UTC
I like to walk the bridge at sunset.
I like the feeling of the
Light autumn breeze on my face
As my calves burn,
Pacing myself for the
Two-mile-long journey.
I like the colors the skyline makes,
The soft periwinkle that fades
To turquoise, that
Transitions to a pastel yellow
And drips down into a warm
Scarlett.
I like the art
The city buildings paint against
The sunset.
I like the peacefulness,
Steadiness,
Tranquility in the river,
Its current rippling
Gently in rhythm
With the steady beating of
My half-broken heart.
I like the way my heart has begun
To mend itself,
Once shattered to a million
Itty bitty
Pieces,
It strings itself back together
With every walk,
Every step
Across the bridge,
Across state lines.
Sometimes I'm surrounded
By crowds,
Other times
It's rather calm;
But the faces, regardless of bounty,
Are lost on me
As I lose myself
Deep in thought,
In reflection,
In an attempt to
Forget you
And remember me
As only myself,
Before you and
After.
Day by day,
Step by step,
Sunset after sunset,
Ripple after ripple,
Autumn breeze by autumn breeze,
My senses are heightened,
One by one,
My pain is relinquished,
Little by little,
And my broken heart is mended,
Bit by bit.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 8:19 PM UTC
One day I felt that sleep would do me good, and that one day just never stopped.
Falling without feeling,
without thinking,
even knowing.
This steadiness sees nothing end.
A constant,
a stagnant,
there's no such thing as propulsion;
no say or do of any kind.
Just this bleak, empty void, that fogs up my mind.
Begingings must come for an end.
I'd stay there, just not here.
Next time I might know when.
You stood across, the corner's gaslight.
Watching, baiting, biding your time waiting,
tell me what you mean by those words.
But I can't ask.
I forget, I'm asleep.
That night is so long ago.
I'd wish it back here, replay the scene, in the doorway.
Change my words,
just this once.
One last time.
Instead, I'm asleep.
Stare into the white.
Stretch to see,
understand what you mean,
there is no possibility.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 12:43 AM UTC
*The cordons of existence are constricting
For the keepers of the dream have let us down,
Who will buy tomorrow if performances are hollow
Causing all the global spectators to frown?
American has been the silk pyjamas
Since ’45 they’ve lead the world’s display
In health and wealth and brandishing the muscle
But in recent times it seems they’ve seen their day.
For since Clinton’s time the National debt has spiralled
They’ve departed brushfire wars in disarray,
Default now looms obscene with disharmony supreme
With Congressional leaders ranting in the fray.
The fiasco of a Government held to ransom
By a faction of extremist’s from the right,
Whilst the greenback in decline won’t change water into wine
The dire threat of fiscal chaos causes fright.
So global confidence is fading in the dollar
And the watchers shake their heads in blank despair,
For the willingness to follow is now a bitter pill to swallow
When the USA’s rock steadiness aint’ there.
So, what’s around the corner for tomorrow?
What aspirants are waiting in the wings?
With a fading USA perhaps it’s China’s turn to play
Though that’s going to mean adjustments made to things.
Of course we’re venturing into territory’s unchartered
And the crystal ball consulted, isn’t clear
But one thing I can assure, if this is what we must endure,
Is that our tomorrows will be something, now, to fear.*
Marshalg
Auckland N.Z.
19 October 2013
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
~ Losing Innocence ~
Why do we risk it all for love?
No matter how exquisite,
Passionate, wonderful it is,
We lose;
Always.
Whether we part for differences or in death,
We lose;
Always.
No matter how much we try to hold on,
Change ourselves or our other,
Govern and protect the relationship,
We lose;
Always.
Thus, why do we do it?
We do it for the moments that will reside with us,
Always.
For the craze and lust.
The fury,
The fervor,
The obsession, infatuation, excitement.
For the zeal, enthusiasm, passion.
We do it for us;
To penetrate over into,
Our partner.
Me and You,
We wanted it all.
None of the pain,
Just the good stuff.
Well, we had it.
The good, the lovely.
What a surprise!
But then,
As Always,
We lost.
We lost ourselves,
Our way.
The rhythm and balance
We perfected.
How did we not see it coming?
Stumbling on to a new realm.
One in which we operate alone.
The composition wrecked.
We smashed into that brick wall.
Afraid to leave,
Co-dependent.
I knew you wanted out.
Maybe a break?
You opposed it.
We could not come back from it.
I could feel the coming loss.
But not in the way I expected.
A trip!
To get us back.
The excitement could mend us.
It did for 72 hours.
Then the ultimate force of depature
Came upon.
In a small elegant English hotel,
You died in my arms
On a Saturday morning in London.
Thirty five hundred miles away from home.
The initial shock blasted my mind and body.
The detonation of torment pierced my soul.
Unadulterated suffering terrorised.
I lost my equilibrium and steadiness.
Embarking in an unknown world,
Where the dwellers seethe with agony.
A spot was saved for me there,
Where fumes suffocate.
A Hell on Earth
Where Innocence is Lost.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 11:02 AM UTC
“When people move-when they travel-they look at where
they come from,
not where they’re going.” -Martin Amis, *Time’s Arrow
*
Let us now take this chance
to praise those dancing demons
of ambition,
whose feigned clairvoyance
of fortune
and exactitudes of fame
burn as the smell of smokey fallow
to the new-retired mare.
Travel, and all its takeoffs,
all its energies in skidding towards
an unopposed truth, makes its mince
by outlining all we ever look for
but leaving the chalkdust prints
of what we fail, at first, to find.
Yes, spaces contrary to the familiar exist
Carnivore cities of grind and result
cascaded above the floodwalls that save
the vagrant’s midnight search.
Coastal clearings of pacific civs,
best kept secrets where trees are still planted
and further kinds of nowhere that you never expected
to simmer with all the prospects of bored and implacable youths
who pine to efface the status quo, which ,after all, is quite the average,
is quite like “HOME”
Though I suppose, we eventually find
whatever space can be considered our own
when everyone grows up and stops
pretending they read Burroughs,
have a lot more going on, or are a lot less busy
than they make out over infrequent coffee meetings
(where it is also admitted
that they brew their own hot beverages,
or tell their own jokes)
Somewhere in the near-space continuum where Travel has
become for us what essentially differentiates
the commonplace in nature from
that most human of neuroses,
the acceptance of a willing to improve the conditional.
And so to Ambition, and its fiery fops who make us refute
steadiness, accountability, the routine of the resolute
Who let our ships of sanctimony attack
implied with the luxury of steering back.
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 5:29 PM UTC
To all my demons:
Hello and welcome – back.
My chest is open for your return,
Pining for the familiar pressure
Of your phantom limbs pressed against my ribs
And slowing the blood flow to my heart.
I wonder, has your presence really lessened me?
Has your presence really ruined me?
Because the lower the blood pressure,
The harder it is to gather up
The courage, the steadiness, the willingness
To act on your orders.
To all my demons:
Hello and how are you – today?
I can’t say I don’t think about your well-being
The moment I wake from the loneliness,
Thinking maybe I’ll never get an answer
If you ever stay away.
They say you’re never really fulfilled,
Until you wish upon your enemies
The same happiness you want for yourself;
And here I am in this pit you’ve dug for me,
Floating on my tears,
Hoping in silence for your own freedom - from me.
My own pruning hands will hold the door shut
As I say this,
Hoping you continue to suffocate us both,
Gracing me with your reliable company – daily.
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 3:17 AM UTC
*Nature is the greatest teacher
Crooked trees in the forest
Standing tall, exibiting peace
Indicating individuality of beings
Teaching we can take imperfections with ease
Lucidity of water
Absorbing all colours, flowing free
Indicating true nature of mind
Teaching we can severe from conventions unkind
Air all around us
Remaining oblivious, fueling life
Indicating selfless presence
Teaching we can become generous saviours
Solidity of earth
Accomodating all, feeding life
Indicating endurance
Teaching we can be helpful with no expected return
Vastness of sky
Spanning across space, inspiring heights
Indicating grandeur
Teaching we can stand tall with big hearts
Agression of fire
Igniting dynamism, demonstrating hold
Indicating fearlessness
Teaching we can be creative yet bold
Steadiness of mountain
Defying age, exuding independance
Indicating determination
Teaching emancipation
Freshness of rain
Falling free, spreading coolness
Indicating calmness
Teaching we can be soothing to cold hearts
Shine of sun
Spreading warmth, sharing energy
Indicating synergy
Teaching we can be light to someone
Shimmer of moon
Soothing darkness, glowing in phases
Indicating change in times
Teaching flexibility as time changes
Glitter of stars
Decorating skies, falling in while
Indicating transient fame
Teaching we all fade out with time
And so on................
We must understand
We cannt live without nature
Nature can standalone quite
We need to learn from it
Wear its qualities and requite
Alas! We invariably live againt it*
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 4:26 AM UTC
I'm thinking about hands again.
I'm thinking about
how yours are big
and mine are small
and how yours fit
nicely
around my throat
mine claw at your back
and i gasp
**** me*
And I'm thinking about your steadiness
and my shakes
and about how we both create
universes
with just our hands
and our lips
and our teeth.
I'm thinking about how
my hands would like to find yours
in the dark
and rest in it's spaces
under your ocean
of blankets,
like an empty glass waiting
to be filled.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
the kind of sad that doesn’t fit
anywhere. mine to keep. the world lets so many
ugly
things exist i’ll never learn to
talk,
words come only when i’m the solitary
witness
it’s not your fault, it’s nobody’s fault
our parents could have taught us but the ugly keeps them
quiet
who wants to speak of that?
you say you are
weak
and i think of all the times you were my
steadiness.
i hate these tears because they make you
ache
you are too good for the
ugly.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
A safe haven
an English town
a solid rock of calm
a rose within the madding crowds
with charismatic charm
this peaceful soil is fuelled
by spanish working men
where traditional English rule
calls us back again
a monkey's retreat
where wild habits prevail
a comfortable seat
with an occasional gale
a land of Britishness
spells safety in it's shores
reliability and steadiness
oozing from it's pores
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
It's late at night,
I dully stare at the pink glow
Of my lamp,
There's a draft under my door,
And some sort of funny ache
In my chest.
*The lazy afternoon light
From my murky glass window
Bathed your sleepy smile
On my pillow.
Your calloused hands
Ran
Around my stomach
And my back.
My fingers found a birthmark
On your ribs
I had never noticed.
Our noses touched,
And breath mingled.*
My neck aches
From nighttime worries,
There's a funny taste in my mouth
From things I never wanted to say.
The ocean is a kaleidoscope of colorful fish,
And all I want to think of is you.
*Your frame shivered
In the chill summer breeze
Rolling off of the lake.
Tiny round sheets of stone
Stuck to my damp toes.
You tended the small fire on the beach
While I hung on your arm and every word.
On the car ride home
We sang our hearts out
To old songs about rock and roll,
And the wind blew my hair dry
And into your face.*
The old pictures feel like yesterday.
They're a patchwork quilt
Of moments with you.
It's the kind of lonely
In the pit of my belly
That needs to be shaken
With strong drink.
My mouth it etched in a frown.
*I tried to cook for us
The night of our Anniversary,
What normally came easy
Made me apprehensive.
And when the meal went to grief
And I was close to tears,
You marveled at the science
Of how it had happened,
And inspected it closely,
Until you got me to laugh.*
My jaw is clenched,
And my brow is knit together
Like a stocking,
But my head knows where it belongs.
On your shoulder,
Held in your hand,
Talking about music,
And space,
And past pain.
*It was the smallest hours
Of the morning,
Cuddled up on your bed,
When I dared to touch
A long scar on your lower back.
I asked you where it came from,
You said your father
Had hit you so hard
He'd left it.
I was quiet.
My angry, protective whisper
Covered the lump in my throat,
As I promised I would
Never
Hurt you like that.
You said you knew that already,
And you'd never told anyone that story
Before me.*
You're waltzing through
My thoughts tonight,
And you always danced so beautifully.
Taking my clumsy movements
Into your stride,
And guiding me across the floor
With gentle steadiness.
You're jump roping my brainwaves,
And caressing my consciousness.
How I miss
Your whiskery kisses.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 12:25 AM UTC
my head in your lap
my thumb on your cheek
and you look down at me
and say, What?
Nothing, I say
and glance away,
redrawing your face in my mind--
the curve of your nose and cheek,
the steadiness of your eyes,
how your hair just grazes your forehead--
wondering what you're thinking.
I ask you what you're thinking.
And you answer, It's like you expect me to say something.
No, I say. I'm just looking at you.
And I remember
head on the pillow,
thumb on the keys
when I miss you.
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 12:12 AM UTC
You're the grass beneath my feet,
tickling at my toes,
and darling,
your softness is inviting.
You're the sun that lights my face,
teasing out a smile,
and darling,
your warmth is inviting.
You're the swing set in my back yard,
strong even after all these years,
and darling,
your steadiness is inviting.
You're a mug of cocoa warming my hands,
so pleasant after a snowball fight,
and darling,
your sweetness is inviting.
You're a picture of loveliness,
hung with care on my wall,
and darling,
your frame is inviting.
1. Your sweet embrace
2. Your grinning face
3. Your cherry lips
and
4. Your cheery quips.
The first four in a long list
of reasons I will
always
accept your invitation.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 7:36 PM UTC
At times I feel I've lost my way,
I evanesce like dreams at wake.
The memories resonate with tears,
as I clash myself with all my fears.
Lost and gone; drifting away,
troubled waves crashing down on me.
The time, the pain, still I can't breathe.
Lost and gone; now lost at sea.
My anchor now, where have you gone?
You held me tight, you felt so strong.
The steadiness that I need now,
I see you're gone, nowhere found.
So I drift about, and I float my own,
trying my hardest to find my way home.
But the ocean gets so cold at night,
I need you here, I need your light.
Just as my hope began to fall,
I see it in the distance now, standing bright and tall.
The light is overbearing, but I finally found my shore.
You were always here to guide me by, I was never on my own.
Lighthouse lead me home.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC
She hammers out a heartbeat,
Clinging to its sound,
A constant noise to bind her,
To link her to the ground.
To keep her feet from slipping,
She follows it in time,
As though it were her duty,
Her singular design.
All she hears is beating,
Blocking other noise—
No tunes of trifling children,
No giggling girls and boys.
For noises are distractions;
They make a mess of minds.
Distraction likes the clutter—
Against her ears it grinds.
She holds fast to her heartbeat,
Latches to its hand,
But finds it too erratic,
Dribbly, like sand.
Up and down it dips and flies,
Makes her poor head spin,
Sending shivers up her spine
And tremors down her chin.
She’s lost her steady rhythm,
Lost hold of the sound,
The beat that duly held her
Anchored to the ground.
Her mind can’t find its footing—
It panics in its stead,
Lets inconstant rhythms
Muss her weary head,
Lets the twang of heartstrings
Orchestrate her cares,
And tangle with her fancies
And trip her down the stairs.
It sends her stumbling dazedly
Without a steady beat
To keep a constant tempo
And keep her on her feet.
She tends her bumps and bruises
Desperate, now, to find
Some steadiness to cling to,
To hold her glassy mind.
But nothing seems a constant
Except erratic sound.
What, then, can withhold her
From sliding off the ground?
What can keep distraction
From tearing through her head
And keep her fears from springing forth,
From crawling to her bed?
Can she fight this madness,
This urgent need to seek
Some constancy to bind her?
Or is she just that weak?
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 6:29 PM UTC
Stress consumes your mind like fire in a forest
It ignites the anger inside to arise as smoke clouds around your eyes
In this moment you are so horribly enraged,
So terribly uncomfortable inside and out,
That you can't control your actions, your words, or the way you feel
You snap, you glare, you place the blame
Once you calm down you realize you are only angry at yourself
And the anger is replaced by regret and fatigue
You're tired of this cycle
Tired of feeling so out of control
This is what stress does
It eats you apart from the pit of your stomach and only consumes more and more till it reaches your mind and you are entirely taken apart
Like the string on an old sweater stress frays the steadiness you contain
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 12:04 PM UTC
stimulation from situations
usually leads to complacations
steadiness brings advocation
to keep from retaliations
from your temptations
that should turn around your situation
from your provacation
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 10:37 AM UTC