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    Atticus Abbey wrote a new post

    Silent Melodies

    𝘚𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘰𝘯  𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭   𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦.𝘈 𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘴𝘺𝘮𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘺   𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘯𝘪𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵   𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦.

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    Behind A Grin

    Cutting against the grain is tough Battle tested dressed in scars It’s never easy when it gets rough Unable to reach the falling stars   Opportunity often left to chance I’m so done with second guessing  Forbidden love is a cosmic dance With issues that need addressing   Is...

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    • hello dearest Damian I love the flow here and the content is so true I feel you on this ❤️

    • Well said my friend. A powerful message I can relate to.

    • i love this…the rhyming scheme…your words, impressively expresses the
      compelling validity that stares us in our faces. an amazing write!
      ~ c

    • Dear D,

      For me this was on fire. I kept thinking of close calls trying to stay in my lane at the same time of feeling lured into another. With just enough sliver of light to keep the full on pitch black from engulfing my soul. Intense write. Great piece. H🌷

      • Thanks so much for reading and your kind words, H. So glad you connected with the write my friend. Too many close calls, I know the feeling as well. Appreciate you.

        Damian

    • I like how this moves through doubt and self-interrogation without rushing to answers. The questions feel earned, not rhetorical.

      • Thanks so much for reading and your kind words, Thomas. So glad you connected with the write my friend. Thanks for your amazing commentary and continued support. Appreciate you.

        Damian

    • There’s a simultaneous sense of strength and uncertainty in this that drag at me. Like you know you made the right choice, but how close was it to the edge? That feeling I know all too well. If we’re not reviewing actions, we’re probably doomed to repeat them. Goes for individually as well as globally. Another layered one. Keep chasing thought, my friend. You always bring gold when you do

      • Thanks so much for reading and your kind words, Willow. So glad you connected with the write my friend. I think your commentary is a pretty spot on analysis, and it definitely applies to both. I’m too old to learn a different trick when it comes to chasing the truth my friend. lol. Appreciate you.

        Damian

    • Love this! Skepticism is not paranoia, though gaslighters may disagree. Experience provides a roladex of patterned behaviors, and when there’s multiple red flags its no longer paranoia but an obvious truth.

      • Thanks so much for reading and your kind words, Anna. So glad you connected with the write my friend. I concur with your powerful and precise commentary. Appreciate you.

        Damian

  • pax et amor

    Will we, the damaged, find respiteoutside the shards of sleep at night?Can we, the damaged, dribbling there,old and withered in our chair,find that peace that can’t be bought,for which we battled, which we fought? Or does the struggle never end,no...

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    • I’m not sure, but those who make it to old age tend to come to a calm acceptance. It is the end of the journey, and perhaps for some the battle. Yet, those who do make it that far should see it as a blessing. So many do not get that far.
      Life is half attitude, really. Find the good, even if small. It’s there.

    • Powerfully penned, Peter. Excellent write my friend. I concur with Mark, getting older there is a calm acceptance that takes place. For me it was recognizing my mortality, and realizing if I didn’t change my perspective I was going to die miserable or suddenly. Or worse yet, both. I can relate my friend but there is a blessing in figuring out that changing the lens helps a lot. We all go through this you’re definitely not alone. Appreciate you.

      Damian

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    Atticus Abbey
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  • Profile picture of Atticus Abbey

    Atticus Abbey wrote a new post

    Where Shadows Pool

    We keep them in bone-light jars, these grins of silt and vanished teeth— each curve a fossil of forgotten laughter, amber-stung with time’s slow syrup.Some are whispers etched in clay, crack-lipped and crow’s-footed, in the hollows of unmarked graves,...

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