Ribbons and Lace

There is nothing to weep for, the time has long past us by. There is nothing to stamp on, the the creatures have scampered away. There are no tassels on the edges, no ribbons lined with lace. The day is off, tomorrow is on. Cross your heart, hope not to die, no precious words, no useless cry.

Go Home

Bah humbug and malice and trolls. Muddy skies and filthy streets. Still they change nothing, make only themselves feel better, and the Ones on the top of their towers continue to do what they want. Don‘t think you are changing anything. The Ones are there to do what they want, not what you desire. Even if they do let their tossed coins fall down on your favoured side, it is never because you were there, with your tousled hair and brightened eyes, but because they wanted to change or let themselves move that way. You can never sway the vote with such petty actions, no more than it is possible to reprogram a living entity with computerised thoughts. You cause may be worthy but your time is wasted. Go home, love your family, look after yourselves and rethink what you can do to really make a mark to the better, for us all, for us all.

Pudding Pie

He shook his head, like pudding pie, a jumbled sludge of softened crust and doughy centre, clear thought at the minute a figment. ‘No time for this,’ he thought, his mind too tired for words or thought or anything of use. Use. It was useless to think of how she had done this, what ‘this’ had been. He knew it was coming but still he had sat, atop a horse made of mashed potato, the tidal wave of gravy so ready to come. She'd rolled him, kicked him, thrown him all over and out. He wouldn't do it again, he wouldn't wait, this was something that did not need to be undone, but something to be built upon.