What was that you said to me? How I’ve displayed acceptably, the writer of my poetry, the whittler of my money, my most treasured things, set on fire and slow burning, a fuse attached to everything, a gas tank that’s sputtering; What was that you threw at me? When neither of my hands was empty, […]Fallen Domain.
I know, I’m hard-headed.
I always insist on seeing for myself, doing it myself, having that first-hand knowledge that I can truly rely and count on.
I was listening to what everyone told me: the warnings and sound advice and cautious reminders.
But I have to see for myself; to prove or disprove a theory through my own trials. And my own errors.
The past 12 months were in error. But, not really. It’s all coming to an end now anyway, so the past can’t be pertinent too much longer now. I am laying in the bed I made myself through impulsive actions and too much hope and faith in happy endings.
A friend of mine says that there’s no logical reason f9r me to disregard the idea of a happy ending to my tragic, drawn out life…
I just can’t help but to inwardly respond with:
“Yeah, unless I turn out to be someone without a happy ending…”