The angst builds a large concrete wall blocking out any light or warmth from the arising sun within; and there is only pain and anger left to torment and rip apart the soul.
That which has been broken may never repair, that which has been stolen may never be found, that which has been lost may never turn up again.
Beginning at the start of the downfall with the vision of pink frilly clouds and its gang of lightning bolts surround me and does its glory dance.
The dark beauty emerged in a cloud of confusion to bring forth some sweet poison as if it were a catalyst in coming to the dismal party.
Then it fails to speak; a dispersal of rage and hate builds the resentment and flushes away the trust in an almost instant reaction with each other.
It still fails to speak and I am stuck winding around the choices if to go on or to continue or to dispose of it all.
The once sweet kisses and touches have now gone bitter and the once felt twinge of desire is not despair.
The implicit and begign feeling of repetition and revolution impedes all else.
It fails to speak
And so begins the long climb up the jagged terrain of life
Cutting fingers along the rock
I try staying; no hope.
I try to keep going
And it still fails to speak.
All writings contained within these pages are the
work and property of Kristen A. Rae. These writings are not to be distributed,
repurposed, edited or otherwise used without express permission.