when you find yourself fighting a losing battle, you know you're in for it. what do you do, continue fighting for what you always thought was right? or hold up that little white flag, and retreat back into your shell? either way, you lose. the stab is acute, the whiff of its pain hangs solemnly in the air. what can you do? perhaps there is more room for comfort in the pit you dug for yourself.
when you finally open up, even your innermost thoughts and well-kept secrets can turn their back on you. how do you retaliate against the unbreaking strength of verbal swords? the hit is brutally direct, driving a force straight to the heart. a punching bag, that's what you are. punched when needed, left alone to heal after the rounds.
Two weeks back, two little bundles of joy greeted me with their unmistakable baby squeaks and stumpy clumped-together feathers. what had at first seemed like a pleasant surprise turned into horror-filled amazement at the rate shit seemed to cover every inch of the balcony floor.
the growing culprits...
nestling snugly in their self-proclaimed home.
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1 comment:
hey i hope my dear liss is alright. :)
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