lair-of-bitterness

[lair-of-bitterness]

ㅤ (14.03.2025) #MEMO: Oh, Poor Deer! The Dog Found You ILL!

Hush down to read your sprawling mien—not to be always seen. Thought he was the misplaced lunch belonged to him, what is this helpless one doing out there? All his limped feet, running off might be his another way to stumble upon death. The Dog understood something; seemingly, the Deer wanted a meal, too. Would he be the prey or the one alone to stay? Flip your coin, bewilderment never grows a lie on their filthy soil wherein both of them found each other, bleeding while dragging legs. They won! Poor Deer was chosen, raw meat from a dead bird thrown at his front, he got terrified, “Eat it, you should be feeling full for two days ahead,” but he does not know how to consume a flesh. His teeth are not strong enough to even chew on a grass so could you imagine how impossible it is for him to have them? Should he stay starving until Mother took him somewhere horrible in hell? Oh, God. The Dog munch their foods harsh at once then spit them out again for the Deer to EAT! He made it tender. So tender that it would go through your mouth and right away reaching down to your stomach. They were lost in mind, it has always been getting killed as a sinner or a pathetic useless being!

[lair-of-bitterness]

ㅤ (14.03.2025) #MEMO: Naked Dog and Trapped Lamb

They are living in a blurry breach between the wall of a neglected shelter and a crumbling house. The Dog left his last meal untouched, the Lamb walked away with nothing filled his mind. Escaped, vanished, nowhere to be found. But, what was the matter with it? A blade might slash their tongue from a plead of unwanted being which shall never demand. Aren’t they supposed to be devoted and surrender? Death was the one whom they would be faithful for, his owner will remain unchanged without mourning, longing, nor grieving and his mother will seek over the better one with thicker, whiter, softer shearling. How would they live in a shadow of hurting hands? They have never been awaken, napping inside a bleeding permanent guilt. The Dog will bite everything. Dreary fallen dream—forgotten! Dumped! Awaken in deserted East! And the Lamb would knit a blanket to make them disappear. Too many sins being roped around his marred skin, decaying through a tight clinch of God’s willing. Blood on a whitebone fur but dogs put hatred on their leash, “He is rotten!” they said, naively.

[lair-of-bitterness]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ(13.03.2025) #LETTER

The letter from past, the reminder for what I have become. RAGE! I AM THE USED-T0-BE UNTAMED DOG. BITE! OR DO NOT BITE!

[lair-of-bitterness]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ(16.02.2025) #GRIEVES

I shall be blamed for the hurting ears and blinding sights. Dilute me in your most graceless way, Oh so-called heavenly Mother, longest time I addressed torment as an Angel in coruscating white dress and it was throughout my breathing dreams. What should I bet over those bitterness your mouth had diffused on me? I could not fathom the rough cut I have always been forced to dealt with—and more moulding scars from yesteryears are terrorising me.

It seem to be the end of me, Mother. Hurry, murder me and let your grieves stained on my leash. It will be lingering forever and choking me and torturing me and forcing me to place the sacred canine teeth behind your sleep, though I told them I am no longer untamed. Tell nightmares I said BARK! I am the shadow growing under your rage. Therein from a mourning funeral and whistling cries, meet me in a graveyard, SIX FEET UNDER! You closed the curtain but I might decide to haunt our livingroom. Forget me and the day I was begging for you to stop—erase them, abominate me.

[lair-of-bitterness]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ(21.01.2020) #BURN!

I heard couple of plates breaking in the kitchen.

I hid under the couch.

I am scared... I saw blood running outside the door.

Gunshots. Blade of a knife. I cannot remember...

then all just disappeared into darkness.

I heard Mother's laughs.

A palm reached my leash and I woke up among burning house.

I closed my eyes...

[lair-of-bitterness]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ(17.11.2010) #LAST BONES

Middle of November, but was the end of Dog’s peace. Although the world around me, not once, did spare me a combed cotton walls and bring me relief. Wild Shepherd, it is all they addressed me with. “Gather them around for meal, not that you may have a dinner before them all!” yet I was starved, the void fills me. Four last bones I have ever had, some are getting thrown at a doomed prairie I shall leave behind, mainly when the dusk comes. Once over two days, later at once for three days, and they keep going. More. More. The latest the longer. And I could barely eat them, I am yet again abandoned.

[lair-of-bitterness]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ(02.03.2002) #RETRIEVED

Nowhere flanked by dullsville late afternoon, never did I find out where it was. Can’t remember which road did I take nor whose hand did I reach for—I am abandoned. Neglected, scared, terrified. I too was powerless to creep upon nearest edge. The day my hanging step happened to press lightly against a soaked box I always fell asleep in, I cried once the hunger controlled me inside, gnawing into my limbs. Yet, they heard me, lifted me up and I tiptoed, I am home. Therefore a Dog has found an owner for the first time, Father, I addressed him by Father as the savior back when I almost died afore seeing the world I have been asked. How unlucky yet too lucky am I?

[lair-of-bitterness]

THE EASTERN TAMED DOG

“Den Mairin, the lair of bitterness, neither do I understand why would they named me after something I found intolerable to taste—tongue laid down on their words my throat would never swallow.”

Yet, a Dog must be thirsting over pale bones to bite and lick so then a meat to crash and feed them for quite a slick.

All of his teeming discomfort, some questions he did not get to ask and some thoughts he did wonder if it was a statement or a threat. Why have they forsaken him? Where are they now? When would God pick him up? What are the truths veiled by innocent lies? Whose guilt did he has to take care of? From which hands did he actually... belong?

He wore the leash, trammeled in an old fence fronting a huge tree. Raining. Quivering as those legs began to loose their will. Hours, minutes, seconds. He is not fluent in barking for help. The grass where he laid down, burying him slowly. He could feel it. The storm did not believe his words. He knew it. The wind pushes his weak body onto bushes full of thorns. He gave up. WILD DOG, WILD SHEPHERD. (UN)TAMED DOG. THEY ARE TRYING TO DEPRIVE HIM FROM WHOEVER THE OWNER IS.

To grow tough, to have more than a strong teeth, appearance of canines too, to bark better than a slight pathetic whine, to chase the butterfly as obedient as little home-stayed dog, yet to be awaken; nobody has ever taught him how to walk.