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A Hand Disgraced So Baby Said...

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11/28/09 11:41 pm

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(^ ^)

11/28/09 11:40 pm

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My darling boy at the German Market

11/28/09 11:36 pm

And I am lost amidst the raging sea. Slowly composure is being lost. I tremble at the sight of him. Of anyone. Or I am vile and cruel. I break down in front of strangers most days now. But my form and tenacity protect me from sympathy. And I was never that pretty anyway.

11/28/09 11:28 pm

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11/19/09 09:25 am


And I hold my breath...

11/19/09 02:59 am

Everything is falling apart.

11/19/09 02:45 am - Precocious Child

And what would become of this precocious child? She had the money in her hand to book the flight and had the note written on pretty pink paper. A little suitcase packed by the foot of the bed. But she did not leave. Not because she owes the people around her. Because she is spineless and incapable of making a single remarkable choice. How pathetic.

11/19/09 02:36 am

My tongue twisted out his name and my bones became chalk. I spoke for hours of everything he had become. Of his bitter betrayal. It is not as though I want vengeance. I am just bitter. Bitter that I allowed myself to become this whilst he became something so spectacular. I threw it all away because I felt worthless. I hoped with all my heart that I would come across a tiny little sign. But the sign never came. I let this slip away. Deemed not quite good enough. A cheap imitation of him. He is the cheap imitation of me. Not that a single creature in the world would believe me now. He has a full collection of work. Fucking beautiful work. And I sold my soul for a little security. A home. A job I fucking despise. A job that diminishes my self worth with every time I step through it's door. I should have stayed in Ireland. I should have kept the ocean between us. I should have made something of myself.

11/6/09 07:37 pm

"Whoever battles monsters should take care not to become one too, for if you stare long enough into the abyss, the abyss stares into you."

And so, it seems, I am to blame.

11/1/09 11:17 pm

It is not as it seems. This discontent. A tiny little voice whispers
"You must make up your mind to be cured."
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