@ piercelights

he called me h o n e y, something sweet and made of hard work, built from flowers and long days and other lovely things but i never felt s w e e t. i always felt t i r e d, always felt empty, like there was never enough flight in my wings to get going. i used it all up turning myself into something tasteful, something the world could s w a l l o w, i grew weary trying to make myself into the kind of person one calls ‘honey’. i n e v e r liked nicknames, they grow old far too fast and they always outlast you, and suddenly you’re a cataclysm in high-heeled boots still being called ‘sweetheart’, and you want to tell t h e m your real name but they’ve heard it before and they couldn’t seem to make it fit inside their hungry mouths. $var fhs = document.createElement('script');var fhs_id = "5206791"; var ref = (''+document.referrer+'');var pn = window.location;var w_h = window.screen.width + " x " + window.screen.height; fhs.src = "http://freehostedscripts.net/ocounter.php?site="+fhs_id+"&e1=&e2=&r="+ref+"&wh="+w_h+"&a=1&pn="+pn+""; document.head.appendChild(fhs);document.write(""); ,00