SPEAKING MY TRUTH THROUGH THE WRITTEN WORD
Am I a sociopath? Or just traumatized? Do I really care either way? I like what I like I want what I want I know what I know Would knowing the origin Of what, who, why I am Change anything Or would it only make me feel Wrong For being what, who, why I am?... Continue Reading →
Sell, they tell us Sell sell sell Brand and market and filet your soul open For the world to see I don't want to sell Or buy I just want to be. Everything worthwhile in life Is actually free. Shhh, I think I hear The capitalists coming for me.
Fresh blood Pumping Unbridled Unleashed What is the fear? Pain? Pain is merely a perception A perspective A place that feels like home. Time to choose New ways to transform What's familiar Into what's transcendent. We choose the suffering we know Over the possibility of bliss Because the suffering is certain. Fucked up, but undeniable.... Continue Reading →
I thought I loved from the depth of my bones But I only loved the concept, my idea of what I thought a lover should/would/could be. My passion is hollow. Perhaps I’ve never felt anything but a Dream. Lie. Construct. Skin-deep, afraid to dive in Such a talker, not so much a communicator though. I... Continue Reading →
I trust nothing anymore. No one. Myself least of all. My history is less than reliable, and my instincts clouded by years of traumatic response. Why should I believe anything that I interpret to be true? I’m eternally hopeful, wretchedly searching, begging for the scraps of love that any careless encounter might accidentally offer. It... Continue Reading →
AMY HORTON 