I used to have a drumroll everytime I finished.
I don't see why I shouldn't have it anymore.
Because, I've got whinier, you say?

But whine is good no?
Made of grape, i am told.

*drumroll*

yay : )

How is it that people are able to use another's thoughts and things against the very person they take it from, and act like its a perfectly rational thing to do?
Doesn't it strike as unethical, or at the very least base and toilet paper like?

There's someone who must be told a truth. But, if I do, it would be wholly venomous.

Sometime I'm alive. Sometimes I'm not.
Right now, I'm not.

There may have been trouble in the city.
I don't know if there was. I can only tell you what I was told.

I want to be able to write of pain, torture and scars again.
But, all I have is anger and mild amounts of curiosity and hope.
Pandora's box?

Uff. I'm such a thief.

Someone I know got engaged. I attributed all that I wanted to say to another, and told the story in various versions.
I don't believe its political anymore. I'm afraid its personal.
But personal is political, no?

Live and let live.
Now, I'm just being a mouthpiece for a variety of annoying songs long forgotten.

You can cage the singer, but not the song. Really?

He's surrounded by water.
He eats curd to stop his stomach from growling.
He sleeps in a corridor with 20 other people.
There's no space to walk. Only water.
He's stuck in a police tent camp after being caught in a flood.

Water is a terrible thing.
Sea and rain.
Hurt and pain.
Stuck in strain.

All's fair. In love and war. And flood and rain.

"Their lips are bruised with new and old bruises.
There is only one moment of pain or doubt
as they wonder how many multitudes are lying beside their body,
but a mouth kisses and a hand soothes the moment away."