At some point, even the greatest misery begins to fade. Life, or what passes for life, plods on in it's own unending weary footsteps, and somehow we plod along with it, if we stay lucky.
What should I feel after carving my bones? peeling off my skin? after sculpted my soul and damaging my fervour, just as the way you desire your appetite must be.Abandoned, forsaken, empty, perhaps..
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What should I feel after carving my bones? peeling off my skin? after sculpted my soul and damaging my fervour, just as the way you desire your appetite must be.Abandoned, forsaken, empty, perhaps..
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He was angry; not as the irritable, from chafing of a trifle; nor was his anger like the fool's, pumped from the wells of nothing, to be dissipated by a reproach or a curse; it was the wrath peculiar to ardent natures rudely awakened by the sudden annihilation of a hope --dream, if you will-- in which the choicest happinesses were thought to be certainly in reach. In such case nothing intermediate will carry off the passion --the quarrel is with Fate.
My fate is like those envelopes _ sealed and tossed aside.