This is a rant, a free write of what is simmering.
I’ve lost my edge because it seems I got me some happy.
My bark is a limp sulking toot and even though I am not afraid to turn the light off at night now it has weakened me.
I need to get me some howl again.
Kick the bones of content a little and pamper less to the clever clogs goody girl Goldilocks.
I need Rasputin’s razor to shave my skin to the bone to bleed the bastard of normal from my hide.
Aspiring to live in the clouds is porridge and corn kernel living.
My living is the belly slither of dirt and blood.
Fool for me to want to pour some vinegar in the gaping chasm of wounds.
Hey….it is my bread and butter.
I apologize not.
© K S Hardy 2011
I feel I am losing my edge and it bothers me….
I believe I write at times with my gut instinct and I have been feeling like the edge is not as sharp as I would like it to be.
Or perhaps it is just time to be the bitch….