the memory of making love and they moan and cry all loud but it comes through the window like a whistle or a whisper under the bed and little children think it's a monster i'm soaked in my own blood when i die where i'll be declared brain dead and heart dead in the vatican .
we laid in your bed and mumbled together consciously allowing ourselves to experience the absence of loneliness resigned to the knowledge that we will never be able to fully express anything in the morning your breath was sour and i felt angry at you i imagined the sound of your voice, in the future when you hate me more than you ever have then i felt the comforting abrupt movements of your hand pushing against my face i was reminded of a hospital waiting room ten years ago when i still had asthma attacks last night i had several nonspecific thoughts- mira gonzalez .
i lifted the wet silk close to my eyes, and then closer still. I had misread the blue word embroidered on the yellow silk. it was not Beloved. i had invented a word that was not there. beheaded. it was beaheaded. .
so how come after 7+ years after making my first account here, i still cannot bear to sever myself from this website? yes, it is barron now but i think it holds a part of me for good I miss the lil supportive community we had here! also i cant stop posting here now help .