what, you expect a title here?

I was really hyped, ready to do some blogging, but it took me so long to figure out how to sign in that now I've lost the will. Totally lost it. And yet, I type on.

little boy blue's done bled my bone
red dog's at the gallows
won't never come home

where's gone all the blood?
my electric own kind
he fed me he bled me
it's a laugh who went blind

My turn to love him.
Bone-bleed him.
Let him be.
When I’ve gone far enough
he’ll be after me.

*

I used to be really into showtunes. Out of the blue today, I started singing "I Don't Know How to Love Him." I love the lines "yet if he said he loved me / I'd be lost, I'd be frightened."

I used to be really into stairs, when I was little. I used to love visiting my "rich" grandparents so that I could climb up, climb down, climb up their carpeted stairs. My step-grandmother had potpourri in little jars all around her Blue Ridge mountain home. I loved the fragrance so, but didn't want to ask her what it was (she intimidated me) so I collected a little bit from each jar, until I had enough to bring home and put in my own jar.

I used to be really into imagining myself in romantic situations. I lived in a dreamworld almost all the time. I was a lost princess; a somebody who was just lost. I used to feel that someone was actively searching for me, for this lost person who had something powerful, some amulet of goodness, hidden inside of me, and many people could see bits of it shining through, but they didn't care enough, or didn't know what to do with me.

Now I don't know what to do with myself. I've stopped imagining. I never daydream. I can't put myself any longer into romantic situations. I can't play romantic games. I want reality now, something real. I am lost, lost as can be. I'm in some deep forest and all these vultures are pecking at my arms. I'm trying to get out, I can see the road, but there is a mirage there that attracts me and makes me forget my plan to flee.

There's someone I knew once. I acted dishonorably towards him. I was cruel. I thought he was a mirage because he insisted that he was not.
I can't keep hating myself for things I've done in the past. I think that leads me to keep self-destructing, to keep feeling totally unworthy.

The soul selects her own society, then shuts sthe door.