haunting and chilling with a twist ❤️

Thank you, Crimsin. This is an old piece from my years fighting morphine addiction, given by doctors to treat my pain from an accident. It took twenty years to get free from it completely — and yet I am not free of pain killers. I’ve no choice there. I’m not sure I will keep this posted. It is not me anymore. But thank you for your words, I appreciate them.

Pain here isn’t metaphor — it’s a rabid animal chewing bone, and you let it howl.
Even in the morphine fog, your voice stays feral and human, refusing to die quiet.

The urgency in this is palpable. The way concepts almost run together in the frantic need. Intense. That’s a good word for it. It feels like PTSD and addiction ripping at the page here. Brilliant but it makes me sad for the man who survived that, and glad that it was in the past

This is excellent Fia!
Well done chica:)

Nah, I identify as a scraggly ol pine tree. LOL. But I love the sentiment expressed in this write! It is very clever with the ideas and imagery. it gives us hope!

hello lovely Fia someday we’ll be brand new again this is beautifully written ❤️

Beautifully penned, Fia. This is a lovely write my friend, always a fan of your musings. Appreciate you, cuz.

Damian

Oh damn, girl! This is a brilliant piece of writing. Not only the idea of roses, but each stage and facet of their existence…and we are indeed like them! 🌹

It’s a shame we can’t be new roses longer. We get older and look back at how we could have dome things better. But alas, we start to wilt and time goes on until we are dust once again. Good one Fia.

My grandmother (my mom’s mom) had rose bushes in her backyard and roses often found their way onto the dinning room table. I would help her sometimes with weeding and tilling the soil around the bushes. It was a fun job getting my hands dirty and listening to her tell stories of her life. Your poem reminded me of her and some pieces of my younger self came alive as I read. I think Fia, if we keep those memories in our minds we are always young for they make us who we have become.

Thanks for sharing this tender poem, Fia
-Curt

This is quite a refreshing piece.

My Grandma was called Rose and I was named after her.

I admire your connection to nature and the surroundings.

I find this exquisite and delicate in its own way.

Peaceful and pleasant read. x

Hahaha. This is clever and the rhyming is in point.
Enjoyed the read!

I’m aware of the phases of pain, Curt, and you seem to be as well, tho I do see some differences in our perceptions of it. You might like my piece, “Dark Alice Comes to Call.” Hmmm, I just checked, and it seems I never uploaded that one. Strange, I’ll have to remedy that. In the meantime, along the same lines is, “Dead Muse.” It’s here somewhere.