(no subject)

[pyrephox]

Well, I have another assistantship interview. This is good news, and does a little to relieve the encroaching sadness and anger I can feel poised overhead. Okay, not really poised. Last night I cried a bit. I didn't mean to, it just happened.

I'm not sure I could explain without sounding selfish, because it is selfish. And probably something that everyone wants, anyway, so why should I get all bent out of shape just because I don't have it? Very few people do. But it would be nice. I feel...empty. Frustrated, angry at people who don't deserve it, and halfway inclined to just give up trying.

Bleh. At this rate I'll be wearing too much black and trying to rhyme soul with hole in bad poetry.

Comments

[letiwolf.livejournal.com]

*hugs*

Now what I want to see is someone trying to rhyme "soul" and "vole". Or "bowl," "mole," or "roll."

Coal's out though. Too easy.

[cpip.livejournal.com]

The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Vole.

[pyrephox.livejournal.com]

It rots, my soul,
In an obsidian bowl.
The darkness crashes down,
And over me does roll.

(And this week's installment of bad poetry is brought to you by the letter 'B', the number '4', and Blackthorne's Straight Razors.)