foxinsnow's Diaryland Diary

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in a murderous time

the loneliest sound in the world is that of crickets rubbing their legs together during the hot twilight of summertime. I wear my black heart crowned with two silver cold hands holding it on my middle finger. My daddy gave that to me. I wear my grandma's amethyst ghost in filigreed white gold on my right hand. And today I wore the moon inside a star inside a flower around my neck, just to mix things up a bit. I hate my life but I love my work: my work is my life, so that makes no sense. Maybe I just hate my emotions. God knows no one else can stand them. In a murderous time, the heart breaks and breaks and lives by breaking. A great poet said that. I often have brilliant ideas. a scantron test I took today said that (I answered false-- you know what they do to folks who often have brilliant ideas).

love,

elizabeth

8:22 a.m. - 1970-01-16

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