BryeW1885

I do remember those days before.  When everything hurt and all I could do was write "everything is feeling pain every inch of it" over and over again and sometimes you reach out and sometimes, or most times, nothing reaches back.  You try and you fail.  It's a day to day thing.  You try and you fail and you wind up hurt again.  I do remember those days and then today is one of those days.  You branch out and you fail to connect on any human level.  You have no one to blame but yourself.  You have no one to blame but yourself.  It's your mind, and your heart.  Those two things are yours, the wo

We used to depend on the portents.  I remember when a river was a river, and the water sustained the life surrounding and we accumulated not based on its abundance but on the unity in entailed.  A sparrow dived and grew immobile; a snake danced on its tip before a bruised horizon from which the dusk gave precedence; our songs became our heart and the blood of our memories seeped into our dreams and showed us paths we never fathomed but came to pass anyway.  Our hearts grew elder but our bones were young.  Our hearts were fire.  Our blood was obsidian like night. I like to believe I'm a remnant of that age; that I would not only live as the o

I don't title things.  I let them be, right.  Then I call them what they are.  It appears that I've moved from random areas.  I was going to stop arriving, I made that promise a long time ago.  I promised to be in the midst of things; in media res, looking back, taking into consideration all the faults and apply the proper terminologies.  Things in things, prior to their application, are based on what has been mentioned.  When I press it down I hold it into account that I created it only to render it about my actions and my perceptions of that moment.  I imagine it being literal and to the point so when I'm asked why (see a face saying "why?"