i am an apple of sin

A hundred and thirty three times I have written and posted. Poems and rants and rambles, pictures and stories and narratives. I love this. I love this freedom. I love the power. I love the control. I love the words.

I love this picture. There are so many things.

I went back to theater recently. It is going to be just a short fling, for old times' sake; old love, mad love, a first love. Familiarity is a wonderful old shoe. I am an actress. I am a ham. I am a performer. What is the most derogatory way you can say it?
It was unnerving, how easily it all came back. How it all made sense. How it made you want to tear out your hair at the roots and run around wherever you were, screaming I want to be real! I want to be real!



carbonmonoxide


It does not bother me to say this isn't love
Because if you don't want to talk about it then it isn't love
And I guess I'm going to have to live with that
But, I'm sure there's something in a shade of gray
Or something in between
And I can always change my name if that's what you mean



This post is confusing.


I wanted a song for the day.
There were too many.
So I picked one anyway.
And it wasn't the one I thought it would be.

Almost I change my mind.
this one makes me cry every time.