Burst.

I am a bottle that has been shaken and kicked, ready to explode, but the lid is sealed shut. No escape for this broken past, for it would ruin what we have. I have no place to go, no place to vent. I need answers presented in a box, sealed with a ribbon that clearly explain the reason for this tumultuous time. Frustrations cut deep at every attempt to crawl out, leaving me sinking deeper into this dreadful mire. Possibly, maybe I am accepting the idea that these wounds will never heal, peace will have to be what I make it, and that satisfaction is relevant.

Writing is my vent, but this entire subject is nearly impossible to put into words, considering every day and every moment arrives a new twist or aspect as to why I am hurting here with not a foothold to call my security, no safe house. And this lack of definable state is all the more wearing at my flesh.

This blog seems dull and repetitive of my inner longings for restitution, so I apologize for all three of you that read this, but there seems to be a bit of healing here on this page.

SIMPLICITY, RUN don't WALK. here