

Words to My Insanity Part 1The wolf howls to his mate who is not there. The cage holds him under the moonlight, unable to touch the source. It's inevitable, worthless, a dying dream. but the wolf does not stop, remaining determined to reach paradise. The gates have been opened and are calling to him as he calls. Echoing his howls. with an undying ache that fills his heart with an unbearable pain. He cannot reache paradise. such is life. But the end that determines the means but the means that determine the end. The cage holding him was put into place by those who could hear - no - they ignored the calls of paradise. Silly, they mocked after his capture, he fancieWords to My Insanity Part 1


Short StoryThe subway roared by, rustling Lily's hair and splitting her eardrums as it passed. People bustled about the young, brown haired girl and rushed by to fill the newly arrived subway train. She remained as the train pulled away and snuggled deeper into her jacket. A cold chill swept through the platform as people from the surface filed into her surroundings to later board another inevitable train and to be swept off into the darkness of the tunnels only lit by utility lights every few yards.Short Story
She felt a hand grasp her shoulder, large and comforting. She turned to look up at a large, wide shouldered man garbed in tan vest and pants.


Crisis Hummingbird: PrologueBBBRRRIIINNNGGG!!!Crisis Hummingbird: Prologue
The alarm rang sharply in the young Russian's ear. It had been a rough day yesterday and he knew recovering would be difficult. After a day of partying with his friends, all he wanted to do was sleep, but that wouldn't happen because today, he had to work. Gezivf didn't like his job too much. He had to get up early, drive for an hour, and then he got home at eight o'clock. On the other hand, he did like his solitude in his six by eight cubicles in which he put a small bonsai tree and Buddha, which was an unusual sight. In his knowledge he was the only Russian Buddhist in all of Russia. After


rest areamy america's a loss collection an invention a requiem in b(urned bridge) flatrest area
reborn in insect-peppered roadside sacrament leaking dust to color brush
creeping climbing
hills to frame the big empty it gets me
thinking
pain is just
something we live with it ceases only
at the end of the life
that it
begins with
and I spend every precious instant (in altered states of existence)
crossing lines avoiding eyes creating dista
xo!
--
an antique arms and armor expert
--
Member of :- #britain #DAPensioners .
In vino veritas, nunc est bibendum. - In wine is truth, now we must drink.
--
All insects sing tonight; the coldest sound.
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