Ennui causes punctuation errors

oh it's 6 pm already but no end to boredom. I swore I would write stories, whole paragraphs, candid & common but lost my head instead.  There's a crazy sort of love inside, soaring high and beyond, but I plummet often, I beg your pardon, security can never stride over hand held out for a firm handshake. Home in three days, hardly know what to expect - a surge of warmth & nostagia or alienation disguised in revelry? Hey ho, I'll miss you, you keep me steady and in my happy place but I'm so frightened like a mistreated animal, unruly and cowering. I don't want punctuation oh no I want to run instead and lose this garlic taste in my mouth. Lovers, tie your laces tight, it's chaos out there. A new year soon, another new year soon.

wolf at the door

There's been a lot of conversations about the days when the sun leaves our skies. We settle ourselves in an imaginary womb-like state hoping that we feel good about something, anything. We don't want help, we refuse your well-pleaded, well-tried efforts. We are in a black room which grows smaller and smaller till we are the same size as it is. Yes, we fit now. A snug little bleak room. We embrace it. The light hurts our eyes. We need a hand, but we can't ask for help, because you might raise your eyebrows, pucker your lips, look at the ceiling, smile, blame us, shrug and say - oh come on, we all have problems.

We certainly don't enjoy it, and we hope you can sit with us in silence in our rooms with no sun.

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Silence of the lambs

The joy killers attacked again. In a grown-up world, they talk differently. Everything is a large slice of the perfectly-baked pie for these specific joy killers. Their gapes are silver-coated. They wave flags of hypocrisy over your head and you can do nothing about it - after all you can afford to wash your hair every morning. They are benevolent, you might say. They stand over your shoulder constantly, the usually grim mouths somehow twisted into a smile. Their claim - charity begins at home.
In other news, some of these joy killers attacked our kin. They dictated love. They pointed their fingers at you and you and you. A valiant move, we nodded. After all, what can we do. They have the power to chop off your tongue, snatch away the food from your mouth, restructure your dreams and nightmares. After all, we push the button. We are the ones who choose to make an informed decision. 

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