4/24/16 *********PLEASE DO NOT POST REPLIES IN THIS THREAD.********
Where does one begin when nothing is as it seems? Perhaps there is a spiral twist made up of dreams, the waking variety, and dreams made up of night terrors; an eternal screw job so to speak. I'll have to further explore the significance of being in limbo later along in this journal.
The diamond, golden child at some point becomes the tarnished, silver child who so enjoys the water that she truly doesn't mind rusting out as some cathedral of iron and steel . Mind rusting. It's okay with her now that she is grown outwardly. Rust can be lovely. Bloodless reds and burnt oranges swirled together and rippling apart. Many intertwined colors held in a reflective gaze across her facade in the sun's face and the moon's backside grace.
Decades back in her wee-dom, everyday was an adventure for her taking. Everything felt real. Tasted real, often poorly. And smelled mostly like urine. Tots are supposed to be ultra sensitive and boy was she.
Early on she had to be sneaky in her defiance to authority. Not that she didn't outright voice her objections when it came to naptimes, but alas always nasty threats were made when she was put down so as not to impede on the adults and their escape times. She was no dummy. She knew that they wanted to be rid of her for hours. Angry at the abandonment, after the ritualized tantrum, she would do a bouncy walk across her crib to reach the vinyl shade across the room's only window where she would peer out into the sunlight, into a world she wanted to run in wildly. She wanted to be free to play and never stop. No down times. No sleeping. What she got was no release. So with nothing left to do in her crib cage, she would gather her bedding underneath her virginity and rock herself sweetly to sleep.
I AM OFFICIALLY IN HELL!
Cutting folks for sport is a reality for the poor in spirit. I myself only cut the poor in spirit on Tues., Thurs., and every other Sat.