Candid Corvid Productions

There was a peace in
Living on the outskirts

I understand a bit now why
Some people stay homeless

And why they no longer seek
Connections to family or society

Although I do not think that this is
Something I needed to experience

In order to have
Compassion

Hear me – oh you innocents!
Identify the demons within!

Play out the pattern interactions
Determine on these if compatible

For if their demons will eat yours
Hard battles are foretold in future!

“What he wanted was freedom.

Any attempt to have a healthy relationship with him would get burned to the ground.”

(Title play with words)

“I shouldn’t have been trying to repare and rebridge.

The costs had broken tenability, and my body and soul kept fighting my attempts at healing with him.

But I just couldn’t accept the losses and costs, and I wanted to go back to Eden.

Yet, it was burnt to cinders – with a devil in the vissage of a man who once loved me dancing through them, playing through my mind in awoken nightmares.”

“And I had wondered why, after the fact, too much heat would come out into counseling sessions.

And these women kept siding with him, as he played the rational ‘victim.'”

“It couldn’t now just be about violation transgressions enacted before and then abandonment; thereafter, every single wrong we were subjected to due to our resultant exposed vulnerability combined and seethed in my outraged bloodstream.”

“I don’t even know how we got through the many layered gaps slipping us further and further down into hell – except to say that, sometimes, gravity has its ‘benefits.’

Set up accusations for ‘squatting;’ a contract for slumming wedged between alcoholics and drug addicts; and the illusion of grace by indenturement to a sociopathic narcicist.

These were called ‘reparations…'”

Being ripped from the
Fabric of decency and

Shoved out to the streets
Stripped of titled ranking

Was no way to thank for
Years of service devotion.

“I wonder when I will be able to focus on me.”

“Not a fan of it.”

If there’s “too much water under the bridge,”
Over time, the bridge may get swept away.

“Intangibles are now intolerable!”

And because she’d always witnessed men in love walking away, she had thought that to turn generational tides, the solution would be if she endured and stayed, no matter what.

He had to remember and wake up again, someday.

And if she left, he’d forget – and their love would forever be lost.

But you can’t change a man’s mind once it’s locked.

She should have somehow realized this, from the start.

She was pregnant with their 2nd, having lost the first way before term.

They were living in Santa Barbara briefly, in the bottom half of a large house high up on the crest edge overlooking.

One night, they even saw a rocket launching from Vandenburg, pluming its bright light into the glories of Heaven.

She listened to Sarah McLachlan’s album “Surfacing,” praying for the day that he would, holding tight to him, although he didn’t seem to want her company.

She never got the chance to have a real conversation with him, and feared his rejection and shutting down everything if she tried.

So she just sang in the kitchen opening her heart to the universe in welcoming and trying to fashion a way through, making sure that she’d have herself together by birthing time.

He wanted to take her somewhere special, but she was wound up too tight.

He wanted her to follow his lead, but he was nowhere in sight.

Asking her to believe without proof’s insight kept being occluded by past experienced blights.

And her frustration flared because she was tired of playing the fool without any tangibilities.

She wanted him, and it was driving her crazy.

“What am I doing with my life!” It had been all too hazy.

Not for lack of trying or designing – but for efforts required to just keep surviving.

Holding ground was noteworthy and necessary, but not soul fulfilling.

I respond according to
What I’m presented with