Ambitious men and women are doomed, because Mother Earth has nothing left to give.
You can call me Milo, a childhood nickname, full-blooded Lakota. This site is dead but I still come here to read. RIP Tranquil Musings. You don't have to pm me. I do not write for the pleasure of others. I'm just someone passing by and I'm cool with that. I'm 29 and no closer to my degree than a year ago haha.
I lost another dearest friend to drugs last month. More sad poems about loss and death are sure to come. I have a pocketful of trinkets of good memories to help me along the way. But like I told the priest, I am tired. I am splintered and broken a dozen times over and I hide it so well that people don't see this pool of sadness I carry. They say, "she can now rest in peace."
What I don't tell them, is that since she died, and when I go out of body when I sleep, she's banging on the front door and I can't get her to stop. Ghosts, they scream and cajole, they convince themselves that they are not dead. I float back to my sleeping body cover my ears when I wake up, because I can still hear the banging of the door inside my head.