PremonitionsBehold as the skyCries its tears,Whilst raindropsShatter like glassAgainst cold &Forgotten concrete.As every spiteOf thunder sounds,Blinding with theShocks of lightning.Behold the scene,For tonight's skyIs our future.
Drowned In Time For eternity, there was light. It was beloved in my heart, as is with any being who lives. There was no desire for death but simply the want for a fun time. But even on the hottest and brightest days, frozen tendrils of darkness can always threaten to put us back into our place. For me, one of those moments was when those thoughts meant nothing to me. When most ideas were to abstract for my young, concrete brain. It was the day I drowned. The last thing I saw was the glare of sun as I felt a smile on my face. Suddenly, seconds were gone. I opened my eyes and felt my body rising, knowing there was a short time missing. I watched blue ribbons float horizontally as I rose towards the sky. I felt shrouded in peace, and I accepted that may have been dead. Nothing mattered to me. There wasn't even a want for air. It was the most calming sensation until I broke water. Suddenly my lungs gasped for air. Disorientation led me into a fit of anxiety as I realized how far my friends we
The World Is A Trigger: Childhood Games Her sister once taught her this game where you could only walk above ground. If not, the consequences would be burning - you'd drown in lava. But after she left her, there were two years of sulking. This little girl couldn't sleep in an empty room, an empty bunk bed. Now once was there room is a lightless playground with the rules of the lava game. If she tripped and fell as she scurried across like a monkey, that would be a longer time waiting for the bathroom. If she fell on a pot, it would be about three minutes for the pain to subside. If she touched the bare floor, that would be two to five minutes to scrub the unknown substances from her feet. Although after the trek, she would reach her father's closet. This was where the Bogeyman lived (or so Daddy said to scare her from walking this way). She would carefully hold the tip of the shirt at the opposite end of the closet and pull herself through as fast as she could. Finally, the first part of her game is over for he
We Should Be Happy...Living in griefIs pointless,When the pointOf grievingIs to heal -Open your eyesAnd live true -You're finally healed,But you've neverLived anythingBut grief ~
Breakdown~It's like an injectionCoursing through your veins,With every trembleThe anticipation thrives on.
Deacceleration.My heart has thrivedOn the constant speedOf its own beating,Pumping by thePositive direction.But as it fell for you,It passed you, dear originAnd realized the zeroYou have always been.And now it residesCurving upon graphsIn negative directions,Constant deacceleration.
Hypothesized LoveIf light were emotive love,Then I'm blindedBecause of your energy.If your body were a path,Then I'm lostBecause of twists & crevices.If we are experimentation,Then this our theoryBecause hypotheses proved true.
UnsympatheticAm I psychoticFor laughing awayAt the pain I see?Because your needFor my asisstanceIs able to wait?Is this all my faultSince I don't meanAny "sorry" I say?What am I to youAs I don't seemTo care 'anymore'?I've always caredAnd loved,I work for it everyday -Because the feelings areAnd simply never willBe existent.
The World Is A Trigger: Sandwich Slices Upon her skin, almost edging the inside of her left am, shortly behind the wrist, lies two scars of three marks. It took the cumulative 12-16 years of in-home slavery to cause it. All it was, was a simple instruction - heard for the hundredth+ time - of how to make her sandwich. Freshly from the knife block, silver flashed and found the girl's arm rather than sandwich. A purposeful swing & slide, unconsciously done, but almost made things better. The second was strategically placed, beginning light before a red droplet soon broke free. Her thoughts on the third one consisted of the determination to bleed years of pin over the food. But as blood shed onto a kitchen knife, it was the memory that returned normal senses. The reflection...