Tropical Storm Maybewe

They are still there…

Archived messages creating a thrilling script with plot twist and a surprise ending. A role I was awarded but never read for.

Curiosly I gaze at them with a slight distaste. 

Should I keep the part, despite the studios theiving hands.

I’ll have a drink while taking inventory of every misleading syllable.

Perfumed tales, gifted to me like a deep rooted weed in a beautiful brown clay pot.

An ambivalent wild witching laid on my Cafe Bustello eyes.

We should dedicate a shrine to the truths we lost. A place were months of honesty can be comeserated for its sacrifice. The political prisoner in a Trujio run city.

As I keep reading, I notice that ambivalence owned this road. A path filled with faulty concrete and cheap rebar. A pretty wall painted to seem compliant.

…Should I be avenged?

Teach a lesson from an old syllabus. The experience would promote growth like chopping rotted branches off a black cherry tree.

Your ears have averted this lecture before but with some preteaching you might understand my hypothesis.

Sigh, I have definitely spoken too much again.

All the bitter days I’ve shed have dried the air leaving me with lingering winds and faded pressure. Fed a mango seed of rippening tropical rains.

Avenged we still may be— 

Each sleepless night redeemed by a few well placed lighting strikes. Evenings when even medicated relief dripped through​ my pores spiral inside looking to hit land. 

Those endless woes helped a cold calm grow especially after I withstood a blizzard of counterfeit smiles.

Perhaps you are curious to see if they could be volleyed. As favor of sorts.

I did not wish to see you shaken and shattered but maybe during the reassembly some updates could be implemented.

A season of lies is tough to forgive. Especially since a fitting storm was never encountered; the gesture returned with zeal. 


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