Sass, pizzazz, and all that jazz. And oh, a slice or two of pizza too. ^___^V
"We don't need words, Love."
When they are apart
they talk about
the birds and the bees
and everything under the sun
til dawn
but when they're together
all they share
is silence
Silence
broken onlyby his
occasional sing-song laughter,
her child-like giggles,
and the look of love in their eyes
With their hands entwined
with their lips joined in a passionate kiss
they don't need words
their eloquent hearts,
now wisened in time,
speak for themselves
With you there's freedom
The kind of freedom
that makes me sway
with the wind
in a sheer white gown
The kind of freedom
that makes me
dance with sheer bliss
with my hair cascading in the breeze
The kind of freedom
that sings my
little echoes of laughter
The kind of freedom
that takes me high, so high
til I'm as one with the air
til I become the air
The kind of freedom
that makes me
lose myself in you
With her wounded heart numbing with pain, she asked...
Why sweetheart, what do we have?
"LOVE", he answered.
...and together they shared
the sweetest pain in the world...
Intoxicating.
Like wine...
and tears.
This is what WRITER's BLOCK looks like, garbed in pink.
MURPHY'S LAW at yah! --- Just when you needed to engorge gallons of creative juice the most, there the bar has decided to close shop, and the hot hot hot *yes, triple hot* bartenders raised up in arms to join the rally at Welcome Rotonda *whaaaaaaat?!. Haha, what a picture. That's what whack-en-wall does to me, baby..., yeah wakenwol! 
Toni, behave!
Whew!, I can only squeeze out so much words lately, so much and I had to slice them up yet...*yeah, like sushi, dipped in wasabi*. o Tabemashoo. And now that I need tons of it (words, yo...not sushi!), it's eluding me...and St. Mary's College' corners are such serene places to hide that I gave up on the foolish notion that the School Paper adviser cannot hear my midnight-blue skirt squish as I pass by, on tiptoes...Hehe.
And I know I can only weave so much excuses to my Debate professor...Now I'm giving up - I've used up the last excuse on the list i.e., it happens sir, you know, have you ever felt that it just happens?
Prof: What happens?
Me: *sheepishly* Shit.
Shit happens... and it's haunting me now, bigtime. I have to summon up the energy to be, well, WELL. To be well. I have to face writer's block in the face and come up with sensible articles (yes, in plural form) for the school paper. This semester is starting to pack its bags and not an issue is out yet. Ugh! Pressure.
I'm going to HAVE TO battle with it tomorrow. I used up my share of procrastination already.
Good luck to me.
P.S. I didn't know I missed prose this much, I laid down a heap of crap *wicked grin* .
Back bent down
heavy heart wallowing in pain
brow pulsating, sweating tears
eyes swollen, crying blood
she's picking up shattered pieces
of what was once her
Half of her says
"give up, you are beyond repair..."
But the stubborn half insists,
"keep going on, heal yourself up...
for when the time comes when you're whole again,
Go and make him whole".
With an intricate beadwork
of vehemence on her train
and delicate appliques of
indignation on her headdress,
bodice (is) embroidered with
the finest thread of wrath
and yards of fabric of fury
for her petticoat,
she marches down the aisle
scattered with droplets of blood
on her way to the altar.
Wearing that acrimony gown
complemented with the
bouquet of thorns on her hand
the femme fatale
has never looked so ethereal.
