sigh

Fractured should have come out as below (without the asterisks). Apparently the blog disagreed with my formatting, but the form of the poem was very essential to its reading so... one more time for the money:

f***** As fissures form
*r***** and swell and rage
**a***** and new life grows
***c***** in the creases made
****t***** fertile by life passing
*****u***** by and by, I sit here
******r***** wondering all the while
*******e***** if new life created by death
********d***** is so worthy I should let it go.

If that didn't work, then I don't care anymore. Use your imaginiation.

Well today sucks

I hate mornings--I do, and not in the way people hate mornings together to forge some transient connection while they try not to hate their jobs for long enough to stay at work. I hate mornings in a solitary fashion, with purity and constancy. I hate the sound of that damn alarm blaring in the middle of my rest. I despise the outside of the covers, all cold and apart from the inclusive warmth of my bed. I really cannot tolerate cheerful people in the morning, and just God help anyone who tries to speak to me before my morning shower.

I hate mornings, and I know that before this blasted AM is over, I'll be questioning why the hell I bothered getting out of bed at least once.