The Daft, Demented, and Delirious

Goodnight Mister Moon. Please let the darkness come tonight. We need rest Mister Moon. Our heart's will dance forever. Please let our minds run wild and free. Love and be loved Mister Moon. My soul and yours too. Goodnight Mister Moon.

And she clung to her vintage jar of sugar crystals; as she stood on the porch to watch the thunderstorm. There's pleasure in the grayness of heavy rain clouds.

I'm on the cusp of 36. Born a cusp:  Libra nearly Scorpio. Born late nearly late for everything; deadlines, work, appointments. Forever on the cusp of something or another. Born chasing my tail. Runner of circles, wizard of procrastination. Typical Libra tipping the scales back and forth, back and forth until I'm crazy, sick or both. I'm not where or whom I thought I'd be. I'm not truly sure I ever knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. I'm still growing up. 36 yet juvenile in many ways, childlike in other aspects, with a good portion of old woman knit into one big, colorful, afghan. Stubborn. Accepting. Smart. Stupid. Happy. Sad. Proud. Ashamed. Humanitarian. Hate-atarian. Well rounded like a spinning top. Just like we have no idea we are being born I too live life with no real idea of what's going on. A mental drifter, a flighty piece of fabric who rides the ever-changing breeze, though other times a heavy bolder not easily moved. I hate ch...

When you want to go home but you don't know where that is. You haven't been there in far too long. Homeless soul. Your mind is wildfire, lighting up the night, burning too hot to ever let you rest. Tired heart. Everything inside you aches, bone deep. Tossing and turning inside and out. Restless vessel.

Fried egg sandwiches with cheese and brown mustard. Squash blossoms in summer. The smell of candles freshly blown out. Hand picked lilacs, black eyed Susans, and wild daisies. Sandy toes, salty air, a swim in the ocean, the smell after the rain. Green olives, hot peppers, pickles, and green eyes. Old books, libraries, vintage, and vinyl. A little bit dark and stormy spiked with a smile. She is.

What's on my mind? Am I okay? "Everything!" Is all I can say. My thoughts are a flood that never stop, Seeds of doubt planted, yeild a rotten,  fruitless crop. The mistakes, the loss, the life I've lived. I'm so deeply sorry but it's myself I can't forgive. I think and wonder sadly if you miss me too? Was I ever worth it? All the pain I put you through...... What punishment is fitting? What sentence shall I face? Fifty to life in a solitary space..... In the corner of a dark room, head to my knees, In an empty, haunted, house I burn until I freeze.