Edward Ibeh / This or That Volume 37
My life's been a 'he's become a broken, bumpy ride.' I am not sure how many trips I can abide. While he comes, goes, leaves and slips from my side, I daydream about a smooth, gentle tide. It is from our depths we did always confide. Now his ways seem as secrets the night hides. I truly need for him to give me clues about his friends, Moony Trends and Mangled Blues. Both characters only recently showed and both seem volatile enough to explode. He reinforced the cellar door with sandbags on the outside where yard air is so sour, I gag. Now he wants to cement the cellar ceiling and place a bed down there in case a malady renders him contagious and in need of healing. I never know what is happening or how the words 'trust me' are but sad and maddening. Why does he look to me for assurance when he self-sources every disturbance? He has developed such a worrisome act with reasons that loom vague and inexact. Seems his sanity is disappearing and something catastrophic is nearing.
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