bookworm100
His mind was a mess, cluttered with lonely thoughts and anxious eyes. It was full of old skeletons and forgotten ghouls, like Bluebeard's basement in cerebral form.
My head is spinning. My head is full, crammed full, bursting like a rocket into outer space. Bursting into color among the emotionless stars.
I stand alone. Alone with my thoughts, with the endless ocean of my thoughts, blue as the Atlantic in high summer. Blue, like the sky at dusk. Blue, like the fading forget-me-not. Alone, endless, and blue.
ink blotches
ink splotches
drip
drip
drip
nothing to write
just blank
with only a blotch
to show that I was here
Her fingernails were always ragged. She bit them when she was excited and she broke them when she typed. You could tell if she had a good idea by the state of her fingernails.
Success. It's a sugar spun dream. A castle in the winter air. A golden ring at the carousel. A reason to work even harder than before.
Is there another way to measure success? A way besides the college degree, boring job, or surburban mansion?
You are dead wrong when you say no one cares about you. I notice. I care. I am there for you.
But for God's sake, stop whining.