Enough said

Yesterday I felt like I was going into a  back street abortion clinic to get my "problem" fixed. The result is relief.

On ink

I can't really believe I am doing this. This means it is actually over. I feel sick. I am terified. I am sitting in a public library  (the need to write or blog without the internet at home is making me feel desperate) and I am struggling to breath. It is this bit of ink in my skin that means everything. It made you a part
of me. I am ignoring the blood. That isn't quite so visible but now it is going to be all over. I felt like I had to keep trying because of this bit of ink. A birth mark connecting me to you. I hope this is enough. I hope this is right. I have no choice but to destroy this bit of ink and be born again. A constant reminder. A reminder of all the memories but moist of all the curse that it wouldn;t work. That you that me would never change. We didn't for each other. We got killed my ink. The memories before. the memories after. The happiness. The anger. The loathing. The pain. The jelousy. The fear. The lack of trust. The escapism. The joy. The ecstasy. Everything in ink wiped clean.
Without ink I am free?
The panic I am feeling right now is suffocating. My eyes hurt. My head aches.
This is withdrawel. Cold turkey. The ink has to be the light.

Swan song II

When I was younger we used to go on trips to the park every evening to see the swans. It was beautiful and summer was good. We would wait for the cygnets to pop put from their eggs and then we would watch them grow. Moor hens would paddle about in the sultry water and the night sky would ring songs. The white majesty built her fortress on the lake, making a palace out of nature. I learned to love the sky for its feeling. Watched the bats swoop and dive. I don't know when this stopped but the swans are in my heart. Fierce, wild, beautiful creatures. They love for life and bond the soul of the currents. The young quickly fly away and escape on adventure living in pure whiteness. Swan song plays in my limbs. The remembrance of a child and heart of humanity. To be.

Ice Cream in the rain

Eating ice cream in the rain again. Small pleasure trying to prove that the actual isn't happening. Sunlight streams in and warmth radiates. Melting in my mouth the temperature outside is not pleasant but at least I can pretend. It just looks to good to ignore. Ice cream has to be cold. The melted stuff just is not as good. So maybe the rain helps? Just hard when you have to huddle. I would rather be bathing in brilliance. Tired of greyness. The red strawberry and rich chocolate add colour at least. It is something about the tub, the spoon, the holiday feel. Is it possible that ice cream makes my life better? Or is this just another failed attempt at happiness?

Heroes

Drunken memories mean alot in my mind. I can't help getting annoyed. Happiness is infectious.

Looking forward

She searches for something too small to
                                                  hold.
Timeless tension.
If only to know
   To see
        To hold.
A whispering echo of memories
or moments in rain.
Dancing dreams

Rhythm
     runs in remnants of smiles.
Smiles or tears. Who  knows?
Lost far away down a small stream
Shrouded street?
Still
She
Searches. Searches for souls?

Or something?
Precious pearl!
Shimmering sound of the sun.
Tears fall in silent surrender

Not that the hope has gone.
                                 Or the belief?
                                 Just the time.
The tiny imprint of precious space that joined the stars...