dacerie

Gods! Why must you torture me? Your cruelty knows no bounds. I’m pained enough, let mercy be! Release me from your hounds! It wasn’t so long ago That I was content in life To roam here, there, to and fro. I gave you sacrifice! But now your eye is blind. And your loyal subject lost. The Gods who once were kind, Take their pleasures at all costs. Again, oh Muse, I plead, Take back your vengeful wrath. Allow me to be freed From writers block at last.

He's smoking again. I am forced to remind myself that I shouldn't give a damn. I resolutely pretend I don't notice, even as his cigarette expels long silvery-grey strands into the frigid January air. He hasn't seen me yet. The distance between us yawns forward, a wordless expanse. It could be a heartbeat away or an entire ocean, but it is neither, just a slushy street corner in a quiet town. It's the place I grew up, a little community where the only thing to do is drugs and nobody has ambition beyond tonight's rest. I used to think it was beautiful. The gratified park benches told me stories; the Sharpie on the bridges let me know of ever