Posted in Word Prompt

Marionettes

It’s as if my entire life has been an experiment, a study in indiscriminate chaos theory; Russian roulette served up with a rusty knife. It seemed the world shook out of tune. Or maybe it was me. It was just a matter of time. It’s a scientific fact that great amounts of pressure will make things crack. Some of us can taste the air and others only hear static when we speak. It’s simply theory that we’re connected like marionettes on string.

Where you pull, my heart jerks; subtle palpitations against the grain. I gathered the words to tell you but you scooped them from my tongue. I dangle above our cardboard stage.

RDP Prompt Reflection

Posted in stream of consciousness

Less

The human memory is notoriously faulty.

Janine no longer remembered if she saw the light or if it was just the surgeons blinding head lamp as he crawled into her mother’s cavernous heart in attempt to save her.

Janine no longer remembered if she merely thought the words or if they actually slipped between her gritted teeth.

“Don’t bother, there’s nothing there to save.”

With all his gracious intent, the doctor took her hands.

“I did all I could but it just couldn’t be done.”

Janine couldn’t slam the gate fast enough, “You could’ve done less.”

No prompt to speak of.
Music: Moon Duo

Posted in stream of consciousness

Subscription

I signed up for more but it seems they lost the paperwork.
I can reason it away.
What’s life but missed words?
I’d cancel early but the fee is too high.

Sorry for my lack of anything lately. I’ve been busy, stressed … insanely tired, etc.

Posted in stream of consciousness

Space For Rent

I am a study in the degradation of the human soul. Precisely measured and trapped by each small piece of past gathering dust on my clutter laden shelves.

Spaces of consequence are eternally lumbered from deceit to deceit as I pretend in a mirror and proclaim myself a minimalist.

Ounces of effort leak from joints and jowls too slow to understand and too burdened to disagree.

I struggle to settle, fight against the outlines of a person bearing my name. I grasp for dreams while never believing they belong to me.

This canvas, blank and forever in states of disaster, is a space defiled until I learn.

These walls are mine, mine alone, and there is no blaring sign declaring “space for rent” across my skin.

Posted in stream of consciousness

iPhone Prefers Ducks

I don’t mean to say it so much
But sometimes this world *d*ucking sucks.
And when I’m frustrated
I don’t really want my phone to trade my violent words
For small feathery creatures,
Perhaps in hopes it will quell raging digits.
Somehow it works and I laugh at the absurdity
Of our materialism
And our in love yet in loathe relationships
With AI and short fuses.
Then I think of you
And my words come to a jumbling, clotting stop
Because I’ve long preferred making myself small
In hopes that avoidance of everything big
Will render me no more than the innocent bystander to a life
I’ve never felt in control of.
Maybe I’ve always believed I didn’t deserve the beauty you gave me.
It doesn’t erase the emptiness,
Or the memories of the last time I truly felt home etched in my soul.
But I can’t type “fuck” because iPhone prefers ducks.

Posted in stream of consciousness, Word Prompt

Broken Bottle of Whine (Repost)

By some twist in irony this is exactly a year old and somehow it’s relevant again. Cycles, full circle, something. Thanks for partaking in my whine.

Sometimes I wish I could be the mom
That my father claims I am.
Shitty and repulsive
With no other care.
I couldn’t be the person
In the narrative he keeps,
The story he likes to tell about me.
The daughter that left her child.
The daughter that only comes around for money.
The daughter that only cares about the next party.
Tonight I’ll try to convince myself
All these things I do aren’t just for show.
I’ll wish I were beautiful.
I’ll wish I were smart.
I’ll wish I hadn’t broken your heart.
I’ll tell myself everyone’s proud of me.
Tonight I’ll sit on my bathroom floor
With my broken bottle of whine
And cry myself to sleep.
So when I wake tomorrow
It will all just be a bad dream
And my bottle of my whine
Will be poised on the counter neatly,
Waiting to be filled with
Broken expectations and unfulfilled dreams,
Bad words and ugly names,
Until it overflows and needs to be broken again.
Then I’ll sit on my bathroom floor
With the weight of this world,
Frothing and rushing,
Threatening to drown me
But never winning out.

Posted in stream of consciousness

Where Have You Gone

I comb my drafts for moments when I was real.
A crumb trail back to seconds I couldn’t feel.
I throwback sour liquors and sweet wines, one small glass at a time.
I tell myself the rest can flood the drain if these will just numb the brain.
I wish my life away, churning day dreams.
I wait for the moment when my soul detangles from yours
When I can no longer feel your heart ache in my bones.
I’m afraid
If I can’t feel, you’ll cease to be real.