Posted in stream of consciousness

Oyster

You can thank Ramin Djawadi and the Westworld Season 2 soundtrack for this (he also composes the music for Game of Thrones if you’re interested). 

I haven’t done any stream of consciousness attempts in a while …

Sometimes my tongue gets heavy before spilling over, filling my mouth with boiling sand. I try to ask you, push forth these things which have my heart bursting its seams but all I have are irritations, enveloping themselves in the bed of my skin. Though I claw and scream, leak precious blue blood over everything … Though I tear holes and try to dig away the itch there is no relief from the boiling grains buried within the thick.

Posted in Word Prompt

Drowned in the Desert

I don’t dance
I spent my childhood chained to the rail
I cry out for something more in this life of almost … is
What was it you whispered again?
Invisible words silently fed to the darkest spaces
Pulse through my veins
Choking life from all who touch me
Your memory is a ripple in sands of time
A fading oasis beyond sweltering lines
Forever sweeping away on the wind
Taut and teasing
A barrier into foreign lands
Unforgiving in the way it leads
The way it never gives
I don’t dance
But the memory beckons a sway or two
If only to say
I drowned in the desert
And absence of you

Word of the Day: Miss, word generator here

 

Posted in Word Prompt

Time

Sands churn forward,
Down,
All around.
Unaware of our weak grasp
Upon this loose concept of time.
Where does it go?
Why does it hide?
We ask ever shifting shapes in the mirror.
How long has it been?
Do you remember when?
We speak to the freshly churned dirt again.

Churn

Posted in Word Prompt

Maybe if he …

Talisman

I wish I could write about your love.
I wish I could tell the story of how we fucked it up.
I wish you believed in second chances
The way I believe fate
Believes in us.
I don’t guess you do.
I guess that’s fair.
So I scribble our story in the sand.
I watch the waves wash it away
But they never take it
Far enough to rip it from my soul.
Maybe it’s good.
Maybe it’ll make for a damn fine death
When the water finally
Rips it away
And we realize we were meant
As more than “maybe if he” and “maybe if she”.
Maybe that’s the talisman,
The good in failed meant to be.
So we carry it,
Like we carry one another,
A secret too good to be true,
Too bad to relive,
Too sad to see those two …
Always losing themselves
In each others eyes.
Maybe that’s the talisman,
The good in failed meant to be.