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Her blue eyes were almost translucent

Certainly to her.

She saw the world differently.

 

Her frame was fragile

And her life hung by a thread

Threatened by her own destruction.

 

Her life seemed out of control.

No job, boring school,

No direction or desire.

 

She had no one

Who really understood her.

Or who heard her cries for help.

 

The shadows in her mind

Haunted her, followed her

Wherever she went.

 

The goblins and voices

Never left her alone.

She was alone most of the time.

 

* * * *

Ah, the days of leisure

To do whatever we want

Or nothing.

 

A hundred years ago

Our children would be working

In order for us all to live.

 

Every hand was necessary

For survival.  To eat every day.

The family above all else.

 

Different values, they say.

Teen suicide rates are up.

Leisure. Loneliness. No purpose.

 

What to do?

When you’re bored with

Leisure.

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I always take my cock to bed

Ready to raise its bulbous head.

Hoping you respond to my snuggle hug.

The feel of your skin in my caressing hand

Brings bawdy blood to my body love,

Bobbing against your bottom.

“I’m so tired,” you say.

 

I must roll over to slow the ballooning.

End contact with the sensual inspiration

Of your skin.  I have to withdraw.

Not rejecting just protecting.

Another day, I pray.

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When an old couple refused to sell their house to the government so that they could build a road, the Chinese government built the road around their house.  The elderly couple says the remuneration offered was insufficient to rebuild somewhere else.