A pashtich poem by Debbie Frampton and Ernest Hemingway
The old grievance.
It was lousy to enjoy it, but I felt lousy.
I thought I had paid for everything,
but I had been getting something for nothing.
That only delayed the presentation of the bill.
The bill always came.
You gave something up and got something else.
A simple exchange of values. That was morality.
No, maybe that was immorality.
I didn’t care what it was;
all I wanted to know was how to live in it.
They say it’s important to discover graceful exits.
Try and take it sometime.
Awfully easy to be hardboiled in the daytime,
but at night it’s another thing.
There’s that feeling of going through something that has happened before.
Something I had been through, and that now I must go through again.
Awfully amusing, but not too pleasant.
You know it makes one feel rather good
deciding not to be a bitch.
Isn’t it pretty to think so?
About my serious side
Not to break the spell or spoil the fun, but you've probably figured out my real name isn't Dummy.
The CTD Diaries is my playground. No one tells the truth in their diaries anyway so I figured I should find another place to get real, where the head lights aren't so bright. I originally thought this would be a good place to post my creative writing, but I think this is just a good place to tell the truth.