Short Vent

Sometimes I feel like Jekyl and Hyde. Or however you spell their names.

So many icky, sticky, fickle pickles of animosity lie beneath this lovely exterior, I surprise myself. Kind of.

So why rage? Why growl? Why wail at the moon when you know your real identity is hidden in lovely Love?

Oh, to tear off this dead carcass and be free of the struggle forevermore!! Let it come...