It's been a difficult few days.
Firstly Mr Home Office keeps sendimg messages. I am not interested in the fervour of his attentions. We met. We fucked. We parted and all is done. Yet he still persists.
Secondly, I am au-pairless until at least Friday...this volcano in Iceland is becoming a pain. No flights and she has a ticket for Thursday, but I am not holding my breath! I am supposed to be seeing Peter Kay on Friday too at Liverpool!!!!Need the childcare...
My thoughts have been a little diverted to Mr First Love...currently in the UK...due to aforementioned volcano eruption, his flight to 'M' not available until at least Friday with BA...and his life is utterly bizarre, it will need a new post.
We have talked and chatted but not met and will not meet. That is not the way of things...
Jones is still here...still in my phone, my head, my thoughts. His company has now been acquired by '1984' and Orwellian practices are prevalent. Therefore we cannot send texts about bananas, sandwiches, thighs or orgasms. We cannot verbalise our sexy lust. Big Brother will freeze his Blackberry I think!
Yet I love to receive his words...they are feathers around my head.
And back to the Building tomorrow...and 'The Bitch' has only 14 more weeks...I feel silently delirious, yet pity those who will be under her charge from September.
About Me
- prettyintelligentprincess
- Turrets and Spires, Near the sea., United Kingdom
- An imperfect mother. An unfaithful wife. A career professional. Waiting to feel the stone thrown at her by the one without sin.
Showing posts with label the building. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the building. Show all posts
Monday, 19 April 2010
Monday, 15 February 2010
Too Much
I feel too much.
Deep breaths and stillness walking in.
Empty and yet filled with abrasion and political silence.
She lies.
Lies.
Lies some more.
Sitting within my shell I dignify my quietness.
Quietness against the barrage.
I feel inadequate.
I feel weak.
I feel I've let the side down.
I feel.
I feel too much.
Brittling composure and fabricated ruin.
Fabricated failure.
Threatening.Threatening.
No waterproofing today.
Leaving a dark, black mascara trail.
The hands are clasped.
The heart absorbs another jolt of hurt.
When will it end.
Glimmering, lightning flash of self harm, self death.
Images of the knife that won't cut through.
Mind standing up for the raised blue vein.
Hauntings are back.
©Prettyintelligentprincess
Deep breaths and stillness walking in.
Empty and yet filled with abrasion and political silence.
She lies.
Lies.
Lies some more.
Sitting within my shell I dignify my quietness.
Quietness against the barrage.
I feel inadequate.
I feel weak.
I feel I've let the side down.
I feel.
I feel too much.
Brittling composure and fabricated ruin.
Fabricated failure.
Threatening.Threatening.
No waterproofing today.
Leaving a dark, black mascara trail.
The hands are clasped.
The heart absorbs another jolt of hurt.
When will it end.
Glimmering, lightning flash of self harm, self death.
Images of the knife that won't cut through.
Mind standing up for the raised blue vein.
Hauntings are back.
©Prettyintelligentprincess
Crucible Melting
I wince.
Her words pierce
my mind.
Strained smile, fleeting distance as
the cool and distant response
I give
lands -
on an empty moment.
Empty she is
...a bitchy shell
of brittle threat and stinking yolk.
And more -
and more -
- and more -
...as I walk away,
She tips the tipping point
Flooding the blood
Pushing down the lid
over my words.
My voice.
Me.
(c)prettyintelligentprincess
Her words pierce
my mind.
Strained smile, fleeting distance as
the cool and distant response
I give
lands -
on an empty moment.
Empty she is
...a bitchy shell
of brittle threat and stinking yolk.
And more -
and more -
- and more -
...as I walk away,
She tips the tipping point
Flooding the blood
Pushing down the lid
over my words.
My voice.
Me.
(c)prettyintelligentprincess
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