While threading the road of life, whether in the warm or cold grey light, we will pick up luggage; ballast we carry with us, that weigh us down.
As time goes on, it grows. Guilt, anxiety, and other ailments. Carried for too long, and their scent will grow rotten. But by that point we do not notice its smell, we are used to it.
It is only when we acknowledge that we carry this luggage, that we can discard it. While the scent will linger, the journey will be lighter.

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…that keeps moving one to add stanzas about it to existing songs and poems? Or is that just me?

Anyway, now that I have two of these, and am seriously doubtful that I'll ever have occasion to use either of them in any larger context, I figured I'd share them with you here. Enjoy. (The original sources are in the tags.)

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Today we ha a pony story to share, a filthy one locked away in the bathroom, but not for the usual reasons. Turns out a changeling infestation can get you rather woozy. Check it out below.

With time the weather changes. With effort opportunities are made.
With Umbrellas rain is mitigated, with money effort is paid.
With dreams comes aspirations, but hardships they bare intimidated.
What can you solve. Can you solve enough?

Happy Filthy Friday~.

We rise, we fall, a curve in every step.
We rise, once more, each fall another prep.
We fall, so often, and yet each day we move.
We fall, we rise, to persevere through doom.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

When one is bent,
to feel content,
you might resent,
to pay your rent.

"What good's it for?",
"They need no more".
Then they appear,
at your front door.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Stuck in a nutshell,
riding on a rut-o-hell,
with a wingless angel and a witless thief,
a journey to surpass the limits of belief.
For what can expect the ones lacking expectations?

Happy Clean Filthy Friday~

Golden Ice Lilly, glowing bright in the night sky
Darkened rainbows abound, hidden in the corner of our collective minds
We find a new perspective to our situations, turning around constantly
Magnesium salfate inside the empty crates , fancy are we
Tungston steel and a faceless man in the doorway inside the hallway of our minds

No more wire hangers, suspended in resistence
Bring over your next army, cause' this one is missin'

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Fine print, is a skill check. But what skill does it fall under?
Perception is possible, particularly when perusing parchment.
Knowledge is a candidate, considering ones curiosity.
Falsehood is factual, fortune favours fakers.

But in the end, it does not matter which way it is failed, only that it happens.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

(I should be much more sorry about this than I am.)

UPDATE: Song moved to the next blog posting!

It does not matter, if you do not have energy. Two separate forces dictating our reality. What is matter, what is somatic, has ties to the energy that fuels it, though they depend on one another, their visits are not more than transient. Our bodies do not make energy. We invite it. Or we dismiss it. Sometimes, there is no choice to be made.

Happy Clean Filthy Friday~.

Long nights, starry skies, finding amazement in but a minute detail of the complexity that makes up our lives. Even the most common building blocks of our worlds house great mysteries. Every grain on the highway of live has its story, a mimicry of those that thread it. Highways, towards the infinite, towards the origin of light, we realize even illumination is a mystery. Our knowledge still outside the reach of its nature, what it is, why it behaves as it does.

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I await you in the evening, I see you in when it's dark.
You know of me, master me, yet you remain my slave.
I am by your side longer than any, yet my visage remains veiled.
And in the twilight of consciousness you ponder, the brief moment I am known.
Each of those moments, I scrub from your mind.
And await you again, in the dread of night.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Separated by a thread,
over the abyss.
Latched together one more time,
every day a miss,

Tensions mounting,
All are shouting,
Silenced by a kiss.

Happy Filthy Friday, and a Happy new year~.

Today we have a new story, a follow up on a tale posted just about a year ago, the ever month late Lazy August makes their return in september. However, what is going with her lately? Has she got butterflies in her stomach for somepony?
Or somepony in her stomach for... butter, purposes.

Suppose You will have to find out~.

Once there was a bird ruminating,
they sat on an egg and just waiting,
For motion they heard,
then thought the bird,
Whoever's inside is just baiting...

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Greetings, and welcome to Filthy Friday the Thirteenth~.

This will be the last filthy Friday for neary a year's time, so of course we-...

...

Tailor thy vest to suit thine needs,
Tailor thy vest so you cannot breathe.

Take a stance to face the world,
Take cover in shadows from all it hurled.

Tread with vigour towards thine goal,
Tread in silence, so no one beholds.

Thus you ensure that you see all,
Thus you ensure no one sees your fall.

...

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Twin month 2022 starts now all months will be full of themed stories.

A new story going up today, about Ero and Essex's lewd and filthy Birthday sexcapades. There is a fair amount of explicit material, so do be warned before you venture into the depths of depravity~.

The caterpillar ate its fill,
racking up quite the meal bill,
It ate until there was no more,
when the collectors knocked on its door.
It hit away within a cocoon,
thinking, worried, raided by the goon,

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Fun little Pinkie Story to come today~.
Be on the lookout in your gardens.

When the darkest nights are coming, when the sun breathes a sigh of relief,
how the spirits are ever longing, though their visit might be brief.
Masks are brought and placed upon, ripped from many mannequin,
they take the streets to roam thereon, the mask unveiling what's therein.
all year they play a masquerade, until late in fall they're free,

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Sadly, Thorax the Red-Nosed Bughorse has not been nearly as well-received as I'd hoped. Even if it were more well-liked, there's no way it could be Feature Box material when it has to compete with gems like these:

A story about Celestia fighting a cockroach...

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I think I'm awake... I just had a weird dream that was similar to the poem I wrote. There was a blood moon, millions of stars, one brighter star that looked more like the sun and lies.... So many lies!! I was nearly hit by a car and my boyfriend was there to hold me in the mud that I jumped in. It went from day to night. From there, everything got weirder. I started speaking in other worldly tongues and had a serious breakdown on the ground. My boyfriend kept repeatedly saying he loved me and

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If the moon was a lake would the heavens be an ocean?
Yet a lake is but a drop to the vast expanse of space.
If the moon then was a lake,
I'd be content to dip in a drop,
and leave the vastness above as the sky.

Happy Filthy Friday~.