ouch

coughing and sneezing
and occasional wheezing
achy and whiny
it hurts on my hiney
blogging while sick
and deprived of my nap
i want me some sleeps
cause i feel like crap


my thoughts, so profound

Technorati

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The inspiring words above are a quote from our L-RD and Savior, Technorati.

Anika - Prologue (Art/Character by Mary Kerr)

Index:

• Prologue
• Chapter One
• Chapter Two
• Chapter Three
• Chapter Four
• Chapter Five
• Chapter Six
• Chapter Seven
• Chapter Eight
• Chapter Nine

   Anika

  

Prologue

Of Devils Borne

and Angels Torn

 Am I just living refuse,

Or am I a refugee?

Should I mask my flesh,

Conceal my face,

Or can I simply be?

There’s little use in fighting,

To win trust from those who flee

But my heart of hearts,

It aches to see,

A smile aimed at me

I miss you, Mother.

1672 A.D.

Northeast of Moscow

          THE FRIGID AIR clawed at the little girl’s bright green eyes. Loose strands of hair fluttered behind her, long and red, the rest tucked into the oversized knit jacket she’d stolen from the town prior. Her teeth clattered violently behind her black scarf as legs she could no longer feel fought through snow just past her knees. The snow had soaked through the last of her three pairs of leggings and four pairs of socks. Traversing an empty street would have been difficult; by now, she doubted she could make it past this field.

Nondescript descriptions describing contradictions. The anatomy of the anomaly is most assuredly asynchronous.

This is a test in phone blogging.

Reconstruction

Love has taken my unyielding strive for perfection, the insufferable beast within, and domesticated it. Love has defeated my stubborn, unyielding independence and culled my merciless creativity. Love has broken down the walls I worked so hard to build. It has shattered my defenses and left me vulnerable. Love has stripped me of my conceptions of self, of what it once meant to be me. And the strangest part? I welcome every bit of it.

Brainpuu

I am but a series of reflections. Shine unto me your best, your brightest, and bathe in the warmth I share. But cast your scorn, your vitriole, your selfish admonitions, and expect little more than to swim in an amalgamation of your very own waste.

panic.

My head feels akin to a cacophony of sound, a concert in a construction site, a million little nagging sensations out of sync. I feel as though I could shred to bits, splinter into uncountable fragments of my former self, pieces to a puzzle with no definitive solution.

Am I falling apart, or is the world around me falling together? The answer could prove to be my salvation, my destruction, or the purgatory of my very soul.