I tread in two cities; one is an ode to the glory days of the Greeks and Romans with the marble bones of halls that echo promises of change, while the other is strewn with the rattling voices burning in a South that grips to the sweat of heat and blood as it slowly tries to bury a bittersweet past. I have a black cat who behaves more like man's best friend than the creature that chooses to walk alone, I love him regardless of his species confusion. An older brother and younger sister means I will forever be stuck in the middle, and most likely need therapy, however it's the stuff in the middle, between the bread, that makes the sandwhich worth eating. I long for the stage. That often-tread wood that belongs nowhere and in no frame of time is the lost place I wander to even when I try to walk away. My bookmark is a scrap of paper with the name,"Ms. Kappy," written in ungainly purple letters. It reminds to smile for I am missed but not forgotten. I am sensitive. I cry. I sing out of tune but often enjoy it too much to stop. I am afraid of forgetting my life, of struggling with the names of friends in faded photographs. I like the smell of old books. I climb up Cathedrals for I feel light up there closer to where secrets go when they are whispered, and because the height makes me giddy. Some how I keep saying the wrong thing to the one person I want to say the right thing to. I forgive too easily but can not help it. I fall often without rhyme or reason (figuratively and literately). Wine. Enough said.
Your Vampire Name Is...
High Priestess of the Devil's Spawn
What's Your Vampire Name?
