circle of fire

I am a daughter of the blues, I said so at the beginning of my writings here. So it shouldn't surprise anyone that I have it. I have the blues.
I do.

Why shouldn't I?

I have it cause I can't feel anymore and to me it's all about the intensity.
There's a place inside of me, a place I used to fear and nurture, and now it's gone numb.
And so I mourn it.

Everything happens to (Monk and) me writes Brenda Marie Osbey, poet laureate of Louisiana, the best combination of verse and red nails I have ever seen.

And me, me, ME.

If you are reading these pages, you are STUPID and you didn't get the first thing about me. He wasn't half as important as you are. But I guess you missed me and I missed you.
And all systems are gone now.
And it would take more than the best line on death and life from the poet of the Faubourg Treme' to bring me back.
To you.

I hate it that you killed even the slightest chance we had to save something for us. I hate it that you should make that decision - to kill us in any shape of form - for me too.
And I hate it that despite all that I still worry about you.
I hope you're ok.
I hope you know who you are, who it is I'm writing this one to.

A hint.



It will take more than the best line on death and life from the poet of the Faubourg Treme' to bring me back.
To you.