"unquestioned" poems
Beneath the rose, redundancy of death, lie the unquestioned, dances of sleep
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 9:19 PM UTC
wind like a south wind carrying a plane south
deposits him, beneficiary of a backwards current
on a branch with nothing companionable in sight -
no answer, no voice to answer, no voice,
no alarm, no succor - just an afternoon
and nothing pressing. No urgent business,
maybe only the rigors of trying to prevent
there being urgent business later.
He's not all smooth. A little feather
cowlicked on his narrow jaw, and I don't know
how he bathes, what he eats, what he wants,
who would want to eat him. I don't really understand
anything that is going on around me. But look,
I understand more than him:
the tree is dying.
Oak wilt blew in from Canada,
took a long time coming and finally cracked the veins
and this one is all bad on the inside, a meal of
corked-up flesh, big spongy patches and tainted roots
at the search.
(Amateur diagnosis. The tree is probably fine.)
There is a similarity neither tree nor bird know about.
Or his legs know it, and that message
is stuck somewhere. Or he's afraid.
The blighted oak is all fungus and refusal, and he:
his skeleton is spun from delicate copper.
If you open him up, he's like a penny -
pretty, and useless in this economy.
People and things always trying to get rid of him,
and he's listening because he knows it,
and he's singing because he knows it.
Open the tree up and the whole food chain comes down with it.
(Listen to your sweet flesh that wants to go on living.)
It's not a curse, not specifically:
just one fragile thing standing on another
but - count mercies -
too light to break it.
A basic brazier licking behind a splash of yellow, he chirrups.
His song comes from the throat.
His song is about something he saw once.
His song is unquestioned, muscle moving
without will.
His plumage is mostly air
And the tree is anchored in the ground
by the very thing that chokes it,
and we're all standing together:
me, tree, bird. At least until
I finish my sandwich, packing the greasy paper in
a rectangle, with unquestioned neatness,
and leave whistling.
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 2:01 PM UTC
Helen sends me scraps of poems for repair. "Shreds of lettuce," she calls them. I fool around with them in my role as Poetry Doctor (see my banner photo). In her extended absence, I will post our convolutions. While the final product is mine, the vision, the imagery, the notion of the poem is all hers and therein lies the true authorship.
From Helen, Dec 2
Here is the last of the salad,
dressing not required...
savoir-faire [?sævw???f??
Upon a plate
of deliciousness
the lettuce
is usually
pushed to the side
to wilt
and be scrapped
into an
Industrial bin
were we all begin
as fodder for worms
turning garbage
into words
Nourishing
nothing
but our own pride
bon appétit
Helen
---------------
The Human Word Salad
Now it is dressed....
all poems, no exception,
the bad, the exceptional,
all begin
in an
industrial bin.
wormwood,
wormword
the ancestors,
feast on the scraps,
garbage letters discarded,
the wilts of alpha lettuce,
the word waste of the
every day beta jabber,
plate pushed-aside decorations,
all but none, bystanders
and they
turn them into words,
though inedible, incapable,
of nourishing life individually,
yet their recycled deliciousness,
unquestioned.
when
each sole word,
re-birthed in the compost
of the delivery room of that bin,
meet in the maternity ward
of our minds
words wed,
poems form,
and all the true nourishment
the world needs
begins anew.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
aesthetic is etiquette
is:
what is & isn't
either:
yet is both: in that they
are the same:
disparaging meanings...
nouns: the source
of ultimate meaning,
crux words...
and the source of
the thesaurus...
i wasn't looking
for a mathematical
conflation of grammar
either...
but...
aesthetic ≠ etiquette...
but...
it does! to keep up
with the formality
of norm, of power,
then
(the)
aesthetic = (the) etiquette,
but there is no "the"
to begin with...
yet...
if the aesthetic ≠ the etiquette...
why, either?!
dumb questions usually
prescribe
a continued willing
to perpetuate:
unquestioned...
hence the dumb questions...
my dumb question
lacks any elaborate ploy
to topple the status quo
for the sole reason that...
my alternative
matches
no genius of the originator
basis...
wordings are not
simply chanced to
be worth debating
a miscarriage
of implementing
the averted coin-flip...
(funny, how the articles
prop up,
miraculously)...
etiquette?
a macabre variety
of aesthetic...
nothing more...
but... etiquette is
still subordinate of
aesthetic...
isn't it?
hardly:
etiquette is still
subordinate off
aesthetic...
is it?!
a month spent
in a monastery of a novel...
cradle these words
unto a course
of nullification...
if i'd utter them in
a clutter of sparrows:
i'd be a equivalent to a mute
stone...
if i'd utter them in
a lion's harem:
i'd be a cat's meow (if not less)...
if i'd utter them in
the crow's shamanism
of all shadows...
i'd still be less
the croaking hark
of a voice that
might dictate: obey...
so...
so...
ah...
was kommen:
was ist...
und alles was:
ich, ich sterben...
ich war geboren?
ich war
nie sein: geboren....
ich war sein: sterben!
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 8:33 PM UTC
i remember the temperate souls more than the sun
new faces hiding old friends
eager for fun and so kind
what are the words for this beautiful iteration
this reminder of childhood's unquestioned joy?
i too seek incontestable delight
trusting and guiltless
the only life is happiness
the only happiness is gratitude
i have seen myself in a thousand gentle mirrors
my heart is light and knows the way
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
Had I ador'd the multitude, and thence
Got an antipathy to wit and sence,
And hug'd that fate, in hope the world would grant
'Twas good -- affection to be ignorant;
Yet the least ray of thy bright fancy seen
I had converted, or excuseless been:
For each birth of thy muse to after-times
Shall expatiate for all this age's crimes.
First shines the Armoret, twice crown'd by thee,
Once by they Love, next by Poetry;
Where thou the best of Unions dost dispence:
Truth cloth'd in wit, and Love in innocence.
So that the muddyest Lovers may learn here,
No fountains can be sweet that are not clear.
Then Juvenall reviv'd by thee declares
How flat man's Joys are, and how mean his cares;
And generously upbraids the world that they
Should such a value for their ruine pay.
But when thy sacred muse diverts her quill,
The Lantskip to design of Zion-Hill;32
As nothing else was worthy her or thee,
So we admire almost t'Idolatry.
What savage brest would not be rapt to find
Such Jewells insuch Cabinets enshrind'?
Thou (fill'd with joys too great to see or count)
Descend'st from thence like Moses from the Mount,
And with a candid, yet unquestioned aw,
Restorlst the Golden Age when Verse was Law.
Instructing us, thou so secur'st thy fame,
That nothing can distrub it but my name;
Nay I have hoped that standing so near thine
'Twill lose its drosse, and by degrees refine ...
"Live, till the disabused world consent
All truths of use, or strength, or ornament,
Are with such harmony by thee displaid,
As the whole world was first by number made
And from the charming rigour thy Muse brings
Learn there's no pleasure but in serious things.
2k
War; absolute
This will be my macadam into re-assemblage
For if I'm not on edge, I'm taking up too much precious space
What wickedness lies beneath the surface of the skin?
I should know this place better than anyone
But my landscape has become mercurial
Ever changing, impossible to map
I am forced to navigate its pitfalls in ever complicating ways
It has become a desolate place
I alone should rule here, my sovereignty unquestioned
Yet I've become content to be complacent, and have allowed a sickly intruder to slip past my walls
They infect, demoralize: turn my skin to stone
They must be expunged; cut out, snipped from the healthy flesh like a cancer
As one removes a gangrenous foot to save the leg
Though my tools at the moment are blunt, I sharpen them daily with the whetstone afforded to me
They will not continue to expel bile into the bloodstream for long
My strength returns by the hour
They know this, and they tremble
I am the goddess to whom this altar is devoted
I am righteous fury, come to cleanse this blight with holy fire and flood
The war drums sound as the gate is lifted
The iron bell tolls -- judgement day cometh
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 8:25 PM UTC
I took a far peek at your seek
and glanced into your eyes
Eyes wide shut.
You sunk me in and inaugurated me
I peep in slightly to be magnified
Star gazing at life's mystery ,
Your Sky is ever so gracefully true of mendacity
Taken away by your master mind
sailed away majestically ,
Accompanied my heart of blue
I look up, the twinkles run my mind and anchored ,
Settled to disappointment too.
I wondered why so down while life waves aimed up hi
I conceived a facade love story that just began in my mind ,
will this nightmare end in horror or in sweet serenade.?
A question that ignited our flame
searching and fouling out with words of shame
Attending to this nautical phase, unquestioned !
Redirected attention and navigated back to my heart.
I sail away back to the start and peep in your telescope once more,
There i realized
Distracted with sparks and accumulated the mind with blind truth.
I fooled myself in falling in love with a fool .
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC
like morse code, you were a code of dots and lines nobody could ever understand
nobody could ever navigate your mountains, valleys, forests, roads, and oceans, even
with help with a map or compass, you're an incomplete equation that can't be added up
a static signal, an unknown error, a dark secret that flourishes under pressure perhaps
it's hidden in the background story, covered in a web of lies and coated with grime
filled to the brim in an air tight cylindrical container with your charming vices
white lies become obsidian walls, obsidian walls become a prison for you, a bird
unable to fly freely and scream it's sorrows to the sky blaming shattered ruins
and broken homes and unquestioned scars to whoever decided to create us
absolutely exhausted of unrequited answers, these questions give no solutions
- kra
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
*Cradled in her care, life begins young and fair,
Somehow over space and time
We seem to know* what's really there,
*And when we die we are strewn
Like fallen angels made of dead leaves,
Around the yard of nature to be raked,
No matter what we want to believe,
Through all the years that it will take.
No matter how far we will traverse,
Even with unquestioned religion well rehearsed,
Renewed in morning dew, mile after mile,
All become the fruit of a compost pile.*
But that's not true, is it?
Life began with one quick sentence,
A crack of light-it must be legit,
Moulded clay, a rib from Adam,
In the end we all just turn to dust,
Hell will freeze over if it must,
So you can never ever trust us again,
New-age science is just stupidity then.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 5:49 PM UTC
The inception of a thought comes from perception
From the desire to create and express
Excitement
The purity is soiled by those who construct labels and boundaries
Causing mental spasms and aborted concepts
The years turn to months
Month turn to days
Days to hours
Hours to minutes
Minutes to seconds
Up until the split moment comes
Always moving forward
Framing your life, organizing it
You can look back but never go back
Death is unavoidable
Progress is natural
Distractions must be ignored
And value must be found
Time is all we have, some have more than others
How we spend and how we waste it is what matters most
But if we so chose to be on the clock for ever are we getting the most we can out of this all?
Beginnings and ends, there must be more
Maybe the answer is as simple as inhale and exhale
Give and take
The bond between opposites that blend and create a balance
Is that what we call love?
Do we look for love out of fear?
Or out of loneliness?
Is it still love then or just something to keep us afloat as we drift?
Selfishness stalls the answer
In the end its definition varies from one being to another
But it should never be held over your head and demand your compliance
Threatening you with cruelty, that is not love
In reality
There are unanswered questions and unquestioned answers
Identity
Faith
Numbers don't lie apparently
And finding yourself is of the utmost importance
While maintaining enjoyment through it all
Until you discover it's all false
And your self image
Your ego dies
You begin to separate yourself from the template
You find sense and logic in your self
In your experiences of trial and error
Reminders chime in every now and again
To help you sort through the nonsense
You become sharp, becoming less self-destructive
You know certain truths
Sacrifices are made
Dreams and denial
There are victims
There are those who run to the safety of monotony
And those who meet their cataclysmic ends prematurely
All in search for what we all want to know
Why?
Simple as that
Why does this life operate as it does?
What does it mean?
And who, if anyone can tell us?
Will it all be okay in the next life?
Or once we get there, will we wish to look to the last?
This is projected on to us through out our lineage
But only so far
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 5:32 PM UTC
Life was a struggle,
Confusion and misunderstanding,
An unanswered question,
Life was safe,
Cautious and quiet,
An unopened book,
Flowers did not bloom,
They remained withdrawn and hidden,
Rivers never met oceans,
Never explored the sea,
There was fear;
Fear of knowing,
Fear of seeking,
Fear of finding,
It was unexplored,
Left as is,
Unchanging,
Undoubted,
Unquestioned,
But then there came a change,
A question,
A challenge,
A desire for knowledge,
And then life changed,
The flowers flourished,
One by one,
The rivers reached oceans;
Discovered new seas,
Fear began to fade,
There was nothing to fear,
Once there was knowledge,
Once life sought and found,
It was searching,
Learning,
Growing,
Changing,
Questioned,
Challenged,
Now life can grow,
Change,
Live without fear,
Face the challenges,
In this new world,
There is exploration,
There is knowledge,
There is a new sun,
The birds can fly,
They can spread their wings,
Take to the sky
And be free . . .
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 7:35 PM UTC
Dark Shadows
Not one stood their ground.
Shameful has been their march
If Lincoln could speak he could turn us around.
This war isn’t civil but it is still brother against brother.
Concord Valley Forge, Gettysburg, Antietam.
Battles grim many a life in death’s valley grew dim.
Cannon and saber tested your oaths of allegiance.
Doubts and lies purged what do you give final credence.
The nation weathered the storm because it had a Godly soul.
Mothers and fathers prayed, united they stood.
Sacrifice unto death, freedom unity the goal.
Their blood did consecrate it was the mortal strand that held.
By our fore fathers, God the heathen first knew.
In so little time we are now the heathen.
The heights they claimed, we let the standard drop from view.
We are products of a lost spiritual heritage.
Pride filled cold sophisticated, idolaters all marble stone.
America of yesteryear noted for great achievements, today only pity.
Their triumphs God’s unquestioned glory shone.
In rags we parade laughing bewitched nearing the pit.
Faces do register alarm only to find they only regard money.
They have spiritual highs black magic angel dust the biggest lie.
Forthrightness humility they will never try.
But at the same time their whole lives truth they will decry.
The beauty of our land polluted with the morally dead.
No other battle field has such casualties.
The struggle rages effecting our hearts and head.
Remain silent and the perverse will strangle your very freedom.
Iwo Jima, Corregidor the anthem rang home of the brave land of the free.
Our guide posts were God and country.
To our children we seared their minds with what’s in it for me
Shadows deeply stain the constitution and the bill of rights.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 3:02 PM UTC
The endless sands bulging over and breaking
in undulating form
shifting in the winds language of low wolf whistles
and sensual whispers
stretches as far as the minds elasticity
into a sheltered cove where sits,
a desert prophet dreaming of strange rituals
in the mirage of waters and wastelands.
Come time and temperament he will rise
in the chill night to gaze upon the stars
moving within the spangled galaxies
between The Milky Way and Cassopeia,Andromeda,
with Sirius suns rising in a another world
where secrets lay buried in the papyrus
of ancient astrologers who understood
how the earth was born and
other peoples left their mark
for a discovery of millennium future.
The prophet was here once.
Twelve feet tall and striding
between giant obelisks and pyramids
walking oceans, crossing land bridges
and land masses escorting
his forbears to seed the earth.
"I will return in time
ten thousand years after the Aztecs
Machu Pichu, Indus and Empires
built on carved gods and seven headed hydra,
to rule again unquestioned, as before. Think.
Till then -leave what I have left behind
for you to caretake. Stay still. Understand.
Author Notes
Return?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
So how are you holding up?
The decaying chatter by the coffee shop,
The fragile fleshy décor dolls,
The long forgotten scented lull,
So how are you holding up?
The bloke who learned to gulp,
The tears that grew, unborn,
That well perfected summer shawl,
So how are you holding up?
The wrinkled abandoned love,
The ears that await son’s hum,
Across oceans, across heavenly calms,
So how are you holding up?
The flickering light on the street across,
The lad who learnt to scream and dub,
A much too much needed undone?
So how are you holding up?
The ones too tough to glide and quake,
Broken seraphim’s cradled heartache ,
Fettered beings unheard,unquestioned!
So how are you holding up?
Glistening eyes keeping this song,
Vanquished warriors done and undone,
Slain and reborn by dawn,
So how are u holding up?
Thought I'd ask to me and us,
Woe, worry, atrocious treachery,
Condemned, entwined are we not?
So how are you holding up?
Thought I'd share in the red huff,
Thought I'd comfort, care and surrender,
If we are all alone, are we not together?
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 2:18 PM UTC
*we are the refined
the delicate, the rarefied
the genteel, whose words
are etheral and our thoughts
exclude all things physical*
for us the ideals, the pure
the clean and the pristine
conventions suit us best
and the unquestioned
fits us like custom-made gloves
our lives are regulated
there's something in it
for each of us
we have all the answers
and for sure, we are the ones
going to Heaven
couretsy marks our birth
and everyone walks about
with the Dictionary
of Respectable Words
when we kiss
we don't exchange fluids
and when we have ***
we are dispassionate
we bring civilisation to the world
and we sunbathe in idyllic beaches
and we plan to tour the moon soon
we are tourists really all our lives
and when we are not, we polish our cars
and bemoan the State of the Environment
*we are the refined
the delicate, the rarefied
the genteel, whose words
are etheral and our thoughts
exclude all things physical*
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 6:56 AM UTC
I failed my mother – she failed me first.
All through childhood I held your hand as you wept –
You sighed and cried and denied a mothers love.
I was twelve when I sliced my first cut –
I weaved artistic patters all over my arm,
Each hack felt like a distorted piece of sympathy.
You have been cured for many years –
The disease was just passed, unquestioned to me.
You have never asked, or even glanced twice.
Last night I saw you crying –
Your friends’ daughter had cut – it was a tragic devastation.
Everyone was making plans, dinners, lunches, supportive hugs.
You went to help – to empathise like her mother never could.
I have never punished myself for attention,
It’s a sad and sick release from my insanity – for me.
You birthed me and gave me life, fed and clothed my pathetic body.
I know there is so much that I can never repay –
I know I failed to make you happy when I was young –
But why do you give this girl a mother’s love??
When all I have are forced hugs -
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC
My mind feels like a drought --
a conscious lack of thought about the harvest,
it's been ignored,
untouched,
unquestioned,
and "unburdened".
But it still remains a nostalgic sight to those who pass by and see its brown grass,
its veiny leaves,
its weeds in the concrete --
I walk quietly along with music in my headphones, wondering if it's loud enough to drown the guilt of my self-induced disparity and my disinterest in the sustenance I need to be more than just a warm seat in the room,
but rather a warm blanket to the homeless.
All I know is that the next page is blank,
and that a blank page is still opportunity.
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 5:44 PM UTC
I've been here before
Listened to your feet crunch the shards of glass and shattered hearts
Wiping the remnants of liquor and bitterness from liar's lips
As your night of sugarcoated revelry comes to an end
The facade falls
Cracks
Echoing with the slam of a shotglass that pulses through ears
And thumps through my brain with your sneer of rejection
Your eyes don't shy from mine
But they are discolored with arrogance
Hardened by vanity
As cold and empty as the bottle that sweats against my palm
If I close my own
I could reach for a memory of the past
For a sunbeam's reflection highlighting the contours of your skin
Or the childish purity in unquestioned belief
But tonight, they will stay locked
I will watch the candied venom drip from your curling lips, drawing me back under a veil of falsity
And see us for what we really are
I am no longer the same.
I won't be your entertainment
Your distraction
Your pastime or plaything
The show is over.
I've been here before
But this is the last time I'll come back.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 6:17 AM UTC
left, sinistral, left sided, left out,
left behind,
gastropod sea shells,
coiling counterclockwise,
when viewed from the apex
when that all alone,
left-out feeling pervades,
to the party uninvited,
for the team, unchosen,
stand out for not standing in,
invisible moat surrounds and suppresses,
life's outward bound sounds,
vision best,
when only looking inward,
remember this too well..
this world, this work,
was created by an
ambidextrous soulbeing
his soul,
favoring neither right or left,
favoring doing right,
and no one
left behind
cognizant that both sides now
are necessaries
for human and seashell existence
proof be that
the creator,
his perfection, at the very least,
in his design motifs,
unquestioned,
made us all
sinistral shells
and sinistral poets
those apex corkscrewing left poets,
the leaven of human fermentation,
you and your sinistral tidbits
are the influencing spice
of an average world,
keeping the world tilting
on its proper axis
make us and
our daily bread rise,
sinistral yeast,
vive la difference,
you are
the best of us
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
The love will flow like a river.
Unquestioned halted by obstacles.
Let tears carry your joy and your pain.
Let the sweat expell it's jealousy.
One way or another,
It will flow either way.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC
Blood stained his white sheets
Our work incomplete
Best efforts to be discrete
"Did I hurt you?"
Views me as ingénue
Hands holding crimson tissues
This wasn't our first
Not near our worst
But our movements were not rehearsed
Yet I expected to bleed
Before his ever-present need
His hunger now mine to feed
It was my confession -
My exhaled expression
That left reasoning unquestioned
My linguistic fragility
Combined with pure sensibility
Caused a loss of my true virginity
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 12:48 AM UTC
The love of a mother for her child
is not the same as the child's love for his mother.
The love of a man for a woman changes
after they are married
from what it was before,
and her love does not correspond in all points with his.
Love between man and woman
is different from the love of boy and girl.
Love can be permanent as the tides, regular, unquestioned,
with no end and no recognisable beginning.
It can come suddenly,
violently,
as a thunderstorm in summer breaks
upon the thirsty earth,
short-lived
except in the memory.
But under any one of these emotions
what is there for us to say?
Only, I love you.
Thoughts can be subdivided, classified, clothed with words.
Words fit feelings only approximately,
and our deepest feelings must often go unclothed.
So when I say I love you
I cannot analyse what I mean.
I only know that I do love you
and hope you understand.
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 11:38 AM UTC
Immortal Review
I stand before this marble stone statue once you were just a block your potential passion held the key
The form the lines were followed by truth even in unyielding matter you find the way that is hidden
Touch with fingers as the blind you will see in this way and no other, uncompromising this the passkey
Details don’t lay within easy reach a masterpiece that endures through the ages birthed in blazing fire
Pathos captured given limitation then allowed to accelerate in lofty expression softest shadow finds
Recesses define the inlayed motion livens this that lies in perfect stillness from this art in stone speaks
The unquestioned ideal the essence of romance this indefinable mood his quest he strikes he defines
By measured degree he sets them free to pose to make all those that see recognize and believe
Immortal stirring grasped held fast souls without tangible existence now will tenderly embrace
Space will be their crowning achievement in this dimension they convince by intense scrutiny
Each visitor will by their living movement point by point each portion then as a whole will make the case
Moved by ancient distillation carried through time its power only increases it never diminishes great art
Bathed in beauty indefinable treasure holding its own court all else it removes to distant bounds
It lives a rarefied life in light and shadow the heights are visited it s very presence proclaims dignity
Human standards ebb and flow in classical taste the bridge is crossed the divine is at last found
Your blood line does not read or speak any more a common language in these achievements discovery
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 11:49 PM UTC
Any day now, I'm either gonna **** somebody, or end up dead myself.
Dramatic, I know.
And hey, maybe nobody will take me seriously when I say that.
Figures.
So far, the only people who give a **** are the people who believe I'm still a good person. And I'm not saying they're wrong, I'm just saying it doesn't matter to me if they're right.
Because I don't feel I deserve anything.
I can never focus on anything. I'm writing this because I should be doing other work right now. But when I'm not thinking about this, I'm overworking, or sleeping, or crying again, or shouting again.
I feel physically sick just being in this much pain. It's never gonna be driven out of my body until I get a **** miracle.
But those aren't really coming my way.
If karma is responsible for all of this than haven't I endured enough? Something needs to break the cycle. Or I just have to break. Act out, get expelled or suspended, consider the empty possibility of my thanatophobia finally leaving me.
I stopped caring about myself when an old enemy decided to step in and come after me. But the remarkable thing is that I handled it without attracting more trouble. That doesn't mean it didn't pain me to set myself aside to do so.
I'm not a complete pacifist. And my dangerous nature only gets stronger when left unquestioned by all. So yeah, I'm scared as hell of myself. But then again, so are other people.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 2:18 AM UTC