• Leira Carola commented on the post, welt 6 years, 2 months ago

    Your words are welts on my skin. Every time you look at me, another welt forms. I treasure this welts for they are the only way you touch me. I crave them. I long for them.

  • Leira Carola commented on the post, plague 6 years, 7 months ago

    Your face is like a plague. It shows up in my dreams, my tv, my news feed; it’s everywhere. I have tried to get rid of it. I have unfriended you, I swtiched tv providers and I’m taking Ambien; still your face is like a plague.

  • Leira Carola commented on the post, violet 8 years, 3 months ago

    Her name was Violet. She was tall, brunette and had a tight grip on my heart. In her belly was Rose, the life we created together. We were tied forever in that little bump of joy.

  • Leira Carola commented on the post, stem 8 years, 4 months ago

    All we needed to save her were stem cells. Easy, right? Any fool can get pregnant. Except for me. The time my child needs me the most, it’s the time I can do the less.

  • “What the hell? Styrofoam? I told you to bring me CLASSY coffee cups! How in the world are styrofoam coffee cups classy?!?!”

    The vein in his neck threatened to explode; crimson and bulging.

  • Leira Carola commented on the post, foreign 8 years, 7 months ago

    Do I look foreign to you? Well, I’m not. I’m a United States Citizen. I was born in the Commonwealth (code for colony) of Puerto Rico. We are exotic and speak Spanish and dance Bomba (African dance) but we are Americans as well.

  • Leira Carola commented on the post, whiskey 8 years, 7 months ago

    My white party dress was stained with last night’s whiskey. I smell like a drunk and I was drunk. But I was drunk on happiness, not whiskey or any alcohol for that matter. I was drunk on her touch, on her feel, on her smell, on her words; I was drunk on her.

  • Time is a luxurious and expensive accomodation. Time, to the productive person, equals money. Time to the terminal kid is decisive.

  • I already wrote about thisnword but here goes nothing. Gasoline. My heart isndrenched in gasoline. Why do you keep trying to light it? It hurts enough as it is. It’s not supposed to be like this.

  • Gasoline. That’s what it smells like! Sadly, many will not know the smell of gasoline because today’s—and yesterday’s—generation have been selfish and exploited petroleum.

  • They make me hysterical. Punch-them-in-the-face hysterical. Will they ever shut the fuck up?! Why are they spending their freaking spring break here?