The Migraine Chronicles

His breath is stale with whiskey as he slurs incomprehensible words into her ear his fingers smell of 33 year old cigarettes as he brushes them through her blond tresses his body is heavy pushed ...

https://bruisedbelly.wordpress.com/2017/09/25/slur/

I miss the way it was, before the change Before long days and suffering I miss the non-sense and make-believe Sharing songs and socializing I miss, opening my heart to clear my head Fighting my d...

https://bruisedbelly.wordpress.com/2017/09/24/i-miss-you-and-i-miss-me/

Originally posted on Insecurely Confident : A Duet by bruisedbelly & nottooold2 Changes, they are a’coming Coming to our days and nights Nights will be the easy times Times of trial will be th...

https://bruisedbelly.wordpress.com/2017/06/06/change/

And I will be gone. A memory, or less. Occasionally, perhaps, a single pounding in your chest. I will be gone. Sailing a different sea, riding a different breeze. I will be gone, for I’ve turne...

https://bruisedbelly.wordpress.com/2017/03/01/i-will-be-gone/

Peculiar, and peculiar she says as she wonders if she really gives a damn Peculiar, and peculiar oh, but she is a curious thing Peculiar, and peculiar she could easily dive in Peculiar, and pecul...

https://bruisedbelly.wordpress.com/2017/01/19/peculiar/

Silence. It’s such a beautiful thing. I find all beautiful things eventually end. That’s usually when we begin again.

https://bruisedbelly.wordpress.com/2017/01/16/silence/

Originally posted on The Migraine Chronicles : baby unzip my dress let me slip into something, less won’t you open a bottle of wine light the fire baby, it’s cold outside but it’s warm in ...

https://bruisedbelly.wordpress.com/2016/12/19/its-cold-outside-2/

December has claimed yet another casualty I drop quickly to my callused knees praying for release from this cruelty I turn of course to my beloved poetry a safe comfort envelopes me Alone, yet su...

https://bruisedbelly.wordpress.com/2016/12/12/decembers-cruelty/

I give it all – But you can’t stop taking from me… (how I feel every second of every day of a Holiday week)

https://bruisedbelly.wordpress.com/2016/11/21/monday-of-a-holiday-week/

I cannot move past these thoughts of him the few and rare moments we’ve had together his eyes, his lips, his touch his voice, I love so much I cannot move on to the day at hand the routine, the...

https://bruisedbelly.wordpress.com/2016/11/10/thoughts-of-him/