thebroodingnarcissist.wordpress.com

The Brooding Narcissist

All colours appear to me as one. Through motley stillicide I’ve become. A hue of white, a splash of grey. A glimpse of life within the fray. All my senses have grown cold. Though I am but a dozen-score old. I have lived centuries, but will never know. What life has really to bestow. Death appeared to me one day. After years of simmering dismay. Speaking in soft funereal tones. Do you know what you have sown? What is life we while away. When all is gone and none can stay. In ceaseless longing emptiness.

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The Brooding Narcissist | thebroodingnarcissist.wordpress.com Reviews

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All colours appear to me as one. Through motley stillicide I’ve become. A hue of white, a splash of grey. A glimpse of life within the fray. All my senses have grown cold. Though I am but a dozen-score old. I have lived centuries, but will never know. What life has really to bestow. Death appeared to me one day. After years of simmering dismay. Speaking in soft funereal tones. Do you know what you have sown? What is life we while away. When all is gone and none can stay. In ceaseless longing emptiness.

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The Brooding Narcissist | thebroodingnarcissist.wordpress.com Reviews

https://thebroodingnarcissist.wordpress.com

All colours appear to me as one. Through motley stillicide I’ve become. A hue of white, a splash of grey. A glimpse of life within the fray. All my senses have grown cold. Though I am but a dozen-score old. I have lived centuries, but will never know. What life has really to bestow. Death appeared to me one day. After years of simmering dismay. Speaking in soft funereal tones. Do you know what you have sown? What is life we while away. When all is gone and none can stay. In ceaseless longing emptiness.

INTERNAL PAGES

thebroodingnarcissist.wordpress.com

1

The Morning After Pill – The Brooding Narcissist

https://thebroodingnarcissist.wordpress.com/2015/09/11/the-morning-after-pill

The Morning After Pill. September 11, 2015. September 11, 2015. The morning after our earthquake. I examined the canyon between my legs:. Your swelling, ebbing and withdrawal. The morning after our completion. All my jigsaw pieces grew new edges. Yearning to be part of a whole that would never exist. The morning after our journey. I set sail in a paper boat folded from your letters. Watching myself drown in the ink of your fickle words. The morning after you left. I could not swallow the pill:. September...

2

Rewind – The Brooding Narcissist

https://thebroodingnarcissist.wordpress.com/2015/06/23/rewind

June 23, 2015. June 23, 2015. In my youth I had so much time. Endless celluloid, press start to play. Record the quotidian day to day. If it recorded a pain; a loss. I could simply fastforward; completely engrossed. In moving away from humdrum distress, but. I did not know VCR tapes could find. Chinks in the recesses of my mind. To play motley pains and losses on repeat:. Stuck on you, and others like you. As if you were a reliquary; a shrine. A monument to all lost loves in life. Oblivion erases my mind.

3

The Brooding Narcissist – Page 2

https://thebroodingnarcissist.wordpress.com/page/2

In my youth I had so much time. Endless celluloid, press start to play. Record the quotidian day to day. If it recorded a pain; a loss. I could simply fastforward; completely engrossed. In moving away from humdrum distress, but. I did not know VCR tapes could find. Chinks in the recesses of my mind. To play motley pains and losses on repeat:. Stuck on you, and others like you. As if you were a reliquary; a shrine. A monument to all lost loves in life. In my old age I know I will find. June 23, 2015.

4

The bourgeois life – The Brooding Narcissist

https://thebroodingnarcissist.wordpress.com/2016/06/19/the-bourgeois-life

June 19, 2016. June 19, 2016. All colours appear to me as one. Through motley stillicide I’ve become. A hue of white, a splash of grey. A glimpse of life within the fray. All my senses have grown cold. Though I am but a dozen-score old. I have lived centuries, but will never know. What life has really to bestow. Death appeared to me one day. After years of simmering dismay. Speaking in soft funereal tones. Do you know what you have sown? What is life we while away. When all is gone and none can stay.

5

Narcissist – The Brooding Narcissist

https://thebroodingnarcissist.wordpress.com/author/quitz145

A fledging poet, stuck in an airport waiting for my next connecting flight between two permanents. Join me in my transcience. All colours appear to me as one. Through motley stillicide I’ve become. A hue of white, a splash of grey. A glimpse of life within the fray. All my senses have grown cold. Though I am but a dozen-score old. I have lived centuries, but will never know. What life has really to bestow. Death appeared to me one day. After years of simmering dismay. Speaking in soft funereal tones.

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wanderersdeliberations.wordpress.com

Sans Title | A Wanderer's Deliberations

https://wanderersdeliberations.wordpress.com/2016/11/26/sans-title

A Wanderer's Deliberations. My musings, expressed through poems…. November 26, 2016. Hoping for a miracle. That Hope is delusional. This entry was posted in Hope. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public). You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out. November 26, 2016. Our inner...

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Insomnia | A Wanderer's Deliberations

https://wanderersdeliberations.wordpress.com/2016/10/14/insomnia

A Wanderer's Deliberations. My musings, expressed through poems…. October 14, 2016. When she stays up all night. Talking to no one. Happen if she takes that next step. And be completely wrong. Which may lead her to a place. Where she doesn’t belong. So there she lies still. Chained tight in her mind’s cage. Oh hang on, sleep! She has her demons to deal with. 8212;—————————. When sleep eludes me and my mind wanders…. This entry was posted in Life. 2 thoughts on “ Insomnia. October 22, 2016 at 2:39 am.

wanderersdeliberations.wordpress.com

Sadness | A Wanderer's Deliberations

https://wanderersdeliberations.wordpress.com/2016/08/30/sadness

A Wanderer's Deliberations. My musings, expressed through poems…. August 30, 2016. When you co-exist peacefully with a frown. Finding love in that dried rose. Farewell, my love, farewell…. 8212;—————-. Wrote whatever came to my mind. My midnight musings. This entry was posted in Life. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public). You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out. November 26, 2016.

wanderersdeliberations.wordpress.com

Wanderer’s Deliberations | A Wanderer's Deliberations

https://wanderersdeliberations.wordpress.com/author/wanderersdeliberations

A Wanderer's Deliberations. My musings, expressed through poems…. November 26, 2016. Hoping for a miracle. That Hope is delusional. October 14, 2016. When she stays up all night. Talking to no one. Happen if she takes that next step. And be completely wrong. Which may lead her to a place. Where she doesn’t belong. So there she lies still. Chained tight in her mind’s cage. Oh hang on, sleep! She has her demons to deal with. 8212;—————————. When sleep eludes me and my mind wanders…. August 30, 2016. Il me ...

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The Brooding Narcissist

Let us pollinate our minds tonight. Let us spread our cerebral tapestries on. My yellowed ceiling like glow in the dark stars. That hung above my dreams from two to twenty-two. We will peel each other open like old photo albums. Leaking sepia onto our fingers with each memory. And when we are done, not even the morning can sever us. For between these sheets we have created our own galaxy,. Our own gravitational forces. August 11, 2015. August 11, 2015. Carve upon my bones. The sharp edges of your tongue.

thebroodingnarcissist.wordpress.com

The Brooding Narcissist

All colours appear to me as one. Through motley stillicide I’ve become. A hue of white, a splash of grey. A glimpse of life within the fray. All my senses have grown cold. Though I am but a dozen-score old. I have lived centuries, but will never know. What life has really to bestow. Death appeared to me one day. After years of simmering dismay. Speaking in soft funereal tones. Do you know what you have sown? What is life we while away. When all is gone and none can stay. In ceaseless longing emptiness.

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