Welcome to the Pain Circus

I crashed into the Pain Circus when a rock cracked my skin and flashed a shinbone the color of blood-shrouded teeth in a ragged mouth crimsoned by rouge pumped out of my heart. I screamed for the audience, believing my pain to be unique in its wrath.

Innocence and ignorance are kissing cousins. Reality’s an unwanted child that shits all over your best suit while giggling at you. But you accept the little bastard because you (and the rest of us) can’t thrive without its crap.

I live in my Pain Circus, collecting screams, ripping art out of agony’s gut, spelling hurts, using rage and will to feed the fire fueling my ink.

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the wee notes…
– inspired by my first memory of excruciating physical pain. Before that, I had suffered a burn or 3, and had lived with a skin disease that could’ve probably won me a shambling role in The Walking Dead, but… the shock of seeing my tibia exposed has made this incident one of my most vivid memories of physical pain. I’ve suffered more serious injuries since, but for some reason this one always bleeds brighter than the rest. No idea why…
– for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

these deliciously creepy postcards, by Mizna Wada,
are a gift from my sweetest and dearest, Mistress Emma,
of Groovy Gothic. Thanks a bunch, Emma love.

Over Naked Limbs and Snow

There I was, sipping a hot cup of star anise tea, when 3 haiku showed up demanding to start my 2018 blog year. I was outraged! But I don’t argue with tiny things that can pack a punch. So… say hello to my little haiku.

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sunlight paints gold strokes
over naked limbs and snow,
while I sip summer

summer is a star
brewing in a pot that warms
bones chilled by winter

winter can’t kill blooms
fed by memories of fall
dreaming wild spring dreams

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• for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.