Everywhere there is a fear of humiliation. Deep-seated, overt, covert, some form. It's pretension if there isn't any.
I don't need to bet on this.

Fact

Everybody needs somebody.

S        p      a    c  e.

Why. There has to be magic woven and spells broken.

I want the summer school back. I was slack when I shouldn't have. Mistake.

Yes. There is time. Time for all. Time for revision.

Mirth on the shore,
snow on sand,
songs of yore,
somewhere on land,
hair run through
by another hand.


 

M I T.

There's madness around,
and you run from pillar to post
to save yourself.
Only to find each of them
have been standing
still in madness
since however long
for however long.

Don't chop your other hand,
the only one you can hold on to.

Wicked writers,
I want to be in an asylum
that does not require one of its own.

Each year, there has to be you, who will either not be in a good state of mind or depressed or irritated, on this day. No denials, it has been so, and with valid reasons.

Is it predesigned? Will it continue to be so, each year, moon?

I don't want anything fancy, you know. Some peace and warmth is all I ever want, with this day that splits the year into half as an excuse, each time.