Is For Life: Chapter Fifteen: It's Over.
Chapter Fifteen
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The Elephant Salesman (Part XI)
“Hortense?” said Charles O’Day. “Did she just call you Hortense?” “You know darn well she did,” said Mr. Pickles.
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Who am I?
Beautiful sometimes as the light scrapes round dusting away the shadows of what I can't tell you
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He Loves Me. Me.
His eyes striking the exterior of my worldliness, His love penetrating my soul, the inner me salved by His concern
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blue gunpowder starring
there is slow dynamite watch the blue gunpowder starring flashes and bursts beyond the road we drive along in separate cars it is a shared moment a controlled
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That early morning cup of tea
Sip the nectar, savour, drain; feel it seeping through the brain – mist dispersing, movement oiling, focussing for fun and toiling. Diffusing through to every part,
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Loneliness
It’s not just a state of being It becomes a lifestyle More like a reality You live in it You sulk in it You fight to stay away from it But it always gets to you
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No More Apologies
I could say I’m sorry till I’m blue in the face Sorry begins to lose its meaning Sorry is a just a word It’s a not an accurate depiction of my feelings My feelings towards those I hurt
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The Prophet Of Loss
Written in Barcelona, this is a story about a man. a hotel room, a shaving mirror and the way we often see ourselves.
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- 654 reads


