Where were you
When I couldn’t stand
With your impetuous knocking
On the windows of my mind
In the shadows
It was an impetuous knock on the old wooden door.
It was Margot’s corked shoes tapping.
Tap. Tap. Tap-tap-tap.
It was the shrill cries of children that weren’t mine.
It was the old tile with its yellow triangles inside blue circles
And the slow boiling blood stripping it clean.
Two quick stream of consciousness type things for the RDP prompt of the day.
Also, check out Pint Sized Lit
There’s a man hoarding his words
Cherishing each breath
Snatching it from the air
Dirty fingers shoving between thin lips
As he swallows without tasting
The sour avarice of words unsaid
Check out Pint Sized Lit!
We all want somebody to save.
She awoke one fine cupcake morning,
Blue skies and nary a cloud in sight.
Village windows remained shuttered,
Terrific beasts tethered to the night.
It was a fine day indeed.
She had the invitations,
Colloquial and drawn in invisible ink.
Balloons of her favorite shades,
Faded blues and washed out grays,
Floated about the room;
Specters all their own.
Nine thirty and a quarter past second five.
She clasped her hands,
When only a strangers shadow
Fell upon the door.
“Am I late?”
An echo from empty marble halls.
“I do love parties after all.”
She tugged at cotton candy curls
And a dress of a more bland sort.
“Of course, of course.
Just lay your grievances down here.
After all, isn’t that what pity parties are for?”
Between how overwhelmed I’ve been pretty much all year at this point and a looming sense of becoming stuck in the status quo I’ve honestly felt like shit lately. I feel stuck, unimportant, unmotivated, uninspired and so very much like a total failure. I get to points where I wonder if every decision I’ve ever made has been the wrong one. Since I found myself having a pity party … Here we are
The most interesting thing
About this tale,
Other than every breath
Passed from your lips to mine,
Remains the fading away.
That’s really only the beginning.
RDP Prompt: Homecoming
I write my replies
Preemptive social suicide
Before I speak
My mind wanders
There must be a million
Rolled onto that wall
If I could
Disperse into them all
They weren’t halcyon days but they
Keeps the doctor away.
This guy is, contrary to what it appears in this picture, rather rotund.
Free flow Saturday – With schoolwork and my vacation I’ve gotten out of the habit of writing over the past few weeks. I’m trying to get back into it. This seems like the best place to start.
Prompt: Hypnotize (this random word generator doesn’t always come up with good stuff but it pulled through today)
Music: Low & Dirty Three – In The Fishtank 7
I’ve never understood
People at rock shows in towering heels
But I’m mesmerized
By their sultry disregard, reckless abandon.
I think it’s odd
When families talk over dinner
Yet I’m entranced
By their shifting notes in laughter and love.
Once the idea
That I should be my own person,
Capable of a life beyond one envisioned
Of me, for me, in spite of me,
Sent chills through my skin.
Somehow here I exist,
And I wonder if this
Is what normal feels like?
In the absence of the daily prompts (moment of silence …) I just used a random word generator to come with a one word prompt to do my free write with. If you want to write on it also and leave a pingback/link feel free. If you want to generate your own word click here
Music: The Vietnam War Original Score (by Trent Reznor/Atticus Ross)
The old wood door rattles with protest as I pull it shut. My cheeks are raw from tears. My eyes are sore, if that’s even possible.
The men outside stare, various shades of ghostly pale cheeks and split lips seem to reach for words but find none.
We trek down the stairs with their peeling carpet and 70’s themed wallpaper. The air downstairs seems physically lighter, a beam of light that should pierce the top floor but can’t seem to penetrate it instead floods the entrance way.
Outside the perfect American family on their perfect Bermuda grass huddles together in tears.
The men say nothing but at least they’re breathing now. The air by the nursery was so thick, so full of that mystical otherworldly heaviness that none could settle it into their lungs.
“What do we do?” Only one man asks, the others step back, letting him take the lead.
That poor family.
I grasp the cross at my neck.
“Let them come in. Tell them to relax. Tell them we’ll be back in an hours time then lock the doors on your way out and burn it all.”