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a tree, a swing and a notebook.: October 2014
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A tree, a swing and a notebook. Sunday, 19 October 2014. Blue, black, fading. Like last week's beating. Yet a blue, black outline. Lingers on pale skin. I can feel your hands. I want it back. Some days I try, I pull. See myself tearing it away from you. Other days, it stays. Locked in your grasp. And I watch it beating there. Content to have you hold it. For such a long time. You're going to throw it back at me. You'll disgust yourself with the thought. That you ever touched it. Just a mark on pale skin.
treeswingnotebook.blogspot.com
a tree, a swing and a notebook.: July 2014
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A tree, a swing and a notebook. Friday, 25 July 2014. The trust we had. Turned to p ieces of shattered glass. That now shred our attempts. To fit ourselves back together. Maybe, those pieces. Can be smoothed, no longer sharp,. By perseverance, effort, love. Or sharpened by my failings,. My mistakes, my thoughtless actions. That I can't seem to stop. And we'll never be whole again. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). This Is Me . While i'm here, i might as well share my thoughts. View my complete profile. Pat Rob...
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a tree, a swing and a notebook.: April 2015
http://treeswingnotebook.blogspot.com/2015_04_01_archive.html
A tree, a swing and a notebook. Thursday, 9 April 2015. My blood is boiling. I'm dragging nails against. Dry, broken skin just to avoid. Screaming and screaming and. Wishing I could somehow just. But that would be too easy. Push it down, down. Find my voice again. I don't know where it is. What it sounds like. All I hear is. You're a disgrace,. They all know it. They all see it. Smile, for fucks sake. Air out, emotions in. Where I can't see them. Can no longer hear them. Just for a bit. This Is Me .
treeswingnotebook.blogspot.com
a tree, a swing and a notebook.: September 2014
http://treeswingnotebook.blogspot.com/2014_09_01_archive.html
A tree, a swing and a notebook. Thursday, 18 September 2014. Green light, green light. And it occurs to me. A flick of my wrist, and-. I can see it, in my head. A lurch forwards and then. I came so close. Closer than I thought I would. Sunday, 14 September 2014. What do i do when the world is empty. Wednesday, 10 September 2014. The bruised skin on my neck. Clouding around my face. Trapped, inside this. Dusty, sweaty sack. Blood roaring in my ears. A force slams into my back. The rope cuts, and closes.
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a tree, a swing and a notebook.: November 2014
http://treeswingnotebook.blogspot.com/2014_11_01_archive.html
A tree, a swing and a notebook. Sunday, 23 November 2014. I'm just being nice. I'm being a decent human being. Giving you a compliment or two. I always see the best in you. But no, it's too far. What the fuck do you want. Make your mind up. Sort your life out. Don't lead her astray. To places she'll regret. You're dragging her in. Why do we live. In such a shattered. On the judgments of others. Something that, somehow. Suddenly that's too much. It means such a lot. Until it expands with pressure. If you ...
treeswingnotebook.blogspot.com
a tree, a swing and a notebook.: rage.
http://treeswingnotebook.blogspot.com/2015/04/rage.html
A tree, a swing and a notebook. Thursday, 9 April 2015. My blood is boiling. I'm dragging nails against. Dry, broken skin just to avoid. Screaming and screaming and. Wishing I could somehow just. But that would be too easy. Push it down, down. Find my voice again. I don't know where it is. What it sounds like. All I hear is. You're a disgrace,. They all know it. They all see it. Smile, for fucks sake. Air out, emotions in. Where I can't see them. Can no longer hear them. Just for a bit. This Is Me .
treeswingnotebook.blogspot.com
a tree, a swing and a notebook.: June 2014
http://treeswingnotebook.blogspot.com/2014_06_01_archive.html
A tree, a swing and a notebook. Friday, 27 June 2014. I keep my thoughts in boxes. On the back shelf, tucked away. Where I can’t see them. Can’t hear them shuffling. Waiting to spring free. I refuse to open them. Touch them, even think about them. Because then they exist. Then they have to be dealt with. I can’t do that. I’m not strong enough. Not as strong as my aunt. Who lies in a hospital bed, miles away. Pins in her back,. Cancer cells intertwined with her spine. Infused in her bones. And she knows it.
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a tree, a swing and a notebook.: November 2015
http://treeswingnotebook.blogspot.com/2015_11_01_archive.html
A tree, a swing and a notebook. Thursday, 26 November 2015. From the inside, out. I 'm not sure I know how to do this anymore. I think, I've pushed it down far enough. That now, even when I lie still. Blank space before me. I snatch at words, but I can't grasp them. I lose sight of meaning. Realising, maybe, that it was never there. A leper; parts of me thrown aside. I don't know what's left. Too scared to look down. Fleeting moments of bright light. And piercing clarity, and then -. I am lost again.
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a tree, a swing and a notebook.: dislocation.
http://treeswingnotebook.blogspot.com/2015/08/dislocation.html
A tree, a swing and a notebook. Thursday, 20 August 2015. I used to feel them both moving,. Creaking, caps of bone. Pain, blinding pain. One slip, a fatal twist and -. It's surprising how much agony. A dislocated piece of you. Can cause, that scream-inducing. Roaring flash of red. Followed swiftly by tidal wave. Of sickly nausea, as you sense. Not quite in th. A ticking clock, but the hands. Are bent inwards, scratching. As they travel round. Slowed, and time shifts. Out of sync with the world. Books are...
