warning you have to be over 18 yrs to view my blog , i post hardcore porn .
Today I am afraid
For Tomorrow’s troubles may bring
More Pain than Today
I may not last; I’ll continue to Pray.
I felt lost
I couldn’t find Your hand.
I felt so Alone,
I just don’t Understand. Why do I worry about Tomorrow?
Today brings enough fear;
For Today was the Tomorrow,
That seemed all to near.
I’ll never forget about the Past,
My Pain will never let me.
Tomorrow is how long it will last.
By then I may be free …
when tonight you couldn’t make the phone ring when you used to make the sun rise when trees used to throw themselves in front of you to be paper for love letters that was how i knew i had to do it swaddle the kids we never had against january’s cold slice bundle them in winter clothes they never needed so i could drop them off at my mom’s even though she lives on the other side of the country and at this late west coast hour is assuredly east coast sleeping peacefully .
“If I had a camera,” I said, “I’d take a picture of you every day. That way I’d remember how you looked every single day of your life.”
“I look exactly the same.”
“No, you don’t. You’re changing all the time. Every day a tiny bit. If I could, I’d keep a record of it all.”
“If you’re so smart, how did I change today?”
“You got a fraction of a millimeter taller, for one thing. Your hair grew a fraction of a millimeter longer. And your breasts grew a fraction of a—”
“They did not!”
“Yes, they did.”
“What else, you big pig?”
“You got a little happier and also a little sadder.”
“Meaning they cancel out each other, leaving me exactly the same.”
“Not at all. The fact that you got a little happier today doesn’t change the fact that you also become a little sadder. Every day you become a little more of both, which means that right now, at this exact moment, you’re the happiest and the saddest you’ve ever been in your whole life.” “How do you know?”
“Think about it. Have you ever been happier or sadder than right now, lying here in this grass?”
“I guess not. No.”
“And have you ever been sadder?”
“It isn’t like that for everyone, you know. Some people[…]”
“What about you? Are you the happiest and saddest right now that you’ve ever
“Of course I am.”
“Because nothing makes me happier and nothing makes me sadder than you.”
I don’t think I ever felt that good and that bad at the same time in my life , Sometimes I may hate you, but I’ll always love you . I have been thinking a lot about growing up, and all of the relationships and broken hearts we go through. I always wonder how many times I said “I love you” to someone and knew I didn’t mean it. It makes me think about all of the people that have said they love me and didn’t mean it as well, and I get really pissed off, because I hate when people lie. I mean, if they were lying to get in my pants, that is one thing, but just for the sake of dragging this heart through the mud. People think it is holding on that makes you stronger, but sometimes it’s letting go.I cried today… not because I miss you… or even wanted you… but because I realized I’m gonna be all right without you.Sad isn’t it? How no matter what you do or say to me… when you come running back… when you need me again… I’ll be here… right here waiting for you, I’ll take you back… no questions asked. Sad isn’t it?
The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don’t have her. To feel that I’ve lost her.
To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.
What does it matter that my love couldn’t keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.
That’s all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.
As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.
The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.
I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.
someone else’s. She will be someone else’s. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.
Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.
Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.
I went to bed and woke in the middle of the night thinking I heard someone cry, thinking I myself was weeping, and I felt my face and it was dry.Then I looked at the window and thought: Why, yes, it’s just the rain, the rain, always the rain, and turned over, sadder still, and fumbled about for my dripping sleep and tried to slip it back on.
I went to a tattoo parlor and had YES written onto the palm of my left hand, and NO onto my right palm, what can I say, it hasn’t made my life wonderful, its made life possible, when I rub my hands against each other in the middle of winter I am warming myself with the friction of YES and NO, when I clap my hands I am showing my appreciation through the uniting and parting of YES and NO, I signify “book” by peeling open my hands, every book, for me, is the balance of YES and NO, even this one, my last one, especially this one. Does it break my heart, of course, every moment of every day, into more pieces than my heart was made of, I never thought of myself as quiet, much less silent, I never thought about things at all, everything changed, the distance that wedged itself between me and my happiness wasn’t the world, it wasn’t the bombs and burning buildings, it was me, my thinking, the cancer of never letting go, is ignorance bliss, I don’t know, but it’s so painful to think, and tell me, what did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me? I think and think and think, I’ve thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.
Was I bitter? Absolutely. Hurt? You bet your sweet ass I was hurt. Who doesn’t feel a part of their heart break at rejection. You ask yourself every question you can think of, what, why, how come, and then your sadness turns to anger. That’s my favorite part. It drives me, feeds me, and makes one hell of a story.
He awoke each morning with the desire to do right, to be a good and meaningful person, to be, as simple as it sounded and as impossible as it actually was, happy. And during the course of each day his heart would descend from his chest into his stomach. By early afternoon he was overcome by the feeling that nothing was right, or nothing was right for him, and by the desire to be alone. By evening he was fulfilled: alone in the magnitude of his grief, alone in his aimless guilt, alone even in his loneliness. I am not sad, he would repeat to himself over and over, I am not sad. As if he might one day convince himself. Or fool himself. Or convince others—the only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad. I am not sad. I am not sad. Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room. He would fall asleep with his heart at the foot of his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the midafternoon he was again overcome with the desire to be somewhere else, someone else, someone else somewhere else. I am not sad .