Lying Low

Beneath the alabaster stone, prisoner of decay.

Entombed lay hidden,  discarded shroud of life.

Awash in poison,  wizened caricature of death.

Perverse preservation, chrysalis shed.


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Down in my basement, lined neatly on a shelf are handwritten notebooks chronicling my life. After years of writing, the experience became more of a burden then an important part of my day so I quit writing. Five years later I took up writing again. This time it was in the form of a blog which gave me a place to hang out after I lost my job. From there my blog content morphed into writing about my general contractor experience building our house. As my life experiences grew so did my blog.

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