The Golden Bear
03-14-2004, 10:50 PM
The Trophy Room.
Every stifled tear is a trophy of regret on the mantle of shame. The tears, as if the bust of decrepit stag with brittle, disintegrating antlers, rests on a blue wall painted with loss. Choking back the bile fashioned from failure, the pull to sink deeper into the room is overwhelming. The memories of un-hatched, un-spoken attractions weigh down like innumerous medals, whose alloy of bitterness and apprehension is forged in a frenzy self-loathing.
No more, shall there be prostration to self-rejection; no need to cow-tow to mistakes of the past. Shake off the yoke, cut the albatross, and tear down the cross. Find the new morning and embrace that which your own hand never allowed – to love yourself.
Hope you all had a good weekend. I know I did. Cya all later.
Every stifled tear is a trophy of regret on the mantle of shame. The tears, as if the bust of decrepit stag with brittle, disintegrating antlers, rests on a blue wall painted with loss. Choking back the bile fashioned from failure, the pull to sink deeper into the room is overwhelming. The memories of un-hatched, un-spoken attractions weigh down like innumerous medals, whose alloy of bitterness and apprehension is forged in a frenzy self-loathing.
No more, shall there be prostration to self-rejection; no need to cow-tow to mistakes of the past. Shake off the yoke, cut the albatross, and tear down the cross. Find the new morning and embrace that which your own hand never allowed – to love yourself.
Hope you all had a good weekend. I know I did. Cya all later.