IfI wereto writeevery dayfor onehundred days,would my soulbe purged ofthis malaise;is it a thingto be dredged,dragged up –twistedand tiedlike tatteredbed sheetsknottedtogether;is therea remedyfor thisscourge;or is thisan inherentrestlessness,a fiery bluespark of eternalangst ignitingpassion – a callto write? (Originally posted February, 2017. Image my own)
Expectations artificialliving in an urban junglelonging for nature’s calm – time moves too swiftlybarely registerlet alone participate We are guests in our ownexpectation’s dysfunctionlicensed for depression a smorgasbord for abuseintentions mislaid,disappointment unavoidable The ego pretends to be openbut she’s an actress off cueplaying out a sentence – condemned to basicspraying to escapethis dystopian malfunction. (Image […]
Doesn’t everybody do that? It’s nice not to have to scream to the upstairs!
LikeLike
Funny!
LikeLiked by 1 person
It happens with me and my kids.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Lol.
LikeLike
Yes, my husband and I text when I’m upstairs and he’s downstairs.
LikeLiked by 1 person
We do both, depending on the length of the conversation, lol
LikeLiked by 1 person
🙂
LikeLike
Haha! Getting arrested on making too many calls- then I guess many people will be behind bars. 🤣
LikeLiked by 1 person
I would think so. Lol
LikeLiked by 1 person
😜😜😜
LikeLike