Jan 2018
EPIPHANY
By Alan Stallsmith
My bedroom. The sight of half empty glass and appetite of full sorrow stomach. I touch nothing and am crushed by everything. The rain. The wind. The silence. I wonder onto the balcony of memories, close my eyes, and jump headfirst.
Your statue towers over my house and casts shadows upon the walls I've built. I reach out for your hand and touch the sharp end of things you've said. The lies. The placebos. The promises. I wonder down the staircase into the basement of my heart.
Your eyes haunt the four chambers and tear me into two. I cling to the mirage with red hands and white knuckles. The euphoria. The safety. The inferno. I wonder up the staircase of my mind.
Your statue's fragments are shattered upon my front lawn. Bitter pill. Agonizing loneliness. Nostalgia. I wonder to the burn pile of my soul, strike a match, and set ablaze your madness.
I will not allow you to **** me anymore!
I will not allow you to transform my life into an airless, strangulating deja vu!
I will not allow your existance to be my woe!
I bid thee farewell!
Epiphany as burden melts like butter. The smell of rain! The sound of wind! Silence isn't a bad thing when your mind's been so loud for so long! I always hated the walls that I built around me anyways!
The sight of half full glass and appetite of an empty stomach. I reach out my hands and touch the freedom on the greener side. The truth. The hopefulness. The joy. I wonder up the staircase of my mind and open the window.
By Alan Stallsmith
My bedroom. The sight of half empty glass and appetite of full sorrow stomach. I touch nothing and am crushed by everything. The rain. The wind. The silence. I wonder onto the balcony of memories, close my eyes, and jump headfirst.
Your statue towers over my house and casts shadows upon the walls I've built. I reach out for your hand and touch the sharp end of things you've said. The lies. The placebos. The promises. I wonder down the staircase into the basement of my heart.
Your eyes haunt the four chambers and tear me into two. I cling to the mirage with red hands and white knuckles. The euphoria. The safety. The inferno. I wonder up the staircase of my mind.
Your statue's fragments are shattered upon my front lawn. Bitter pill. Agonizing loneliness. Nostalgia. I wonder to the burn pile of my soul, strike a match, and set ablaze your madness.
I will not allow you to **** me anymore!
I will not allow you to transform my life into an airless, strangulating deja vu!
I will not allow your existance to be my woe!
I bid thee farewell!
Epiphany as burden melts like butter. The smell of rain! The sound of wind! Silence isn't a bad thing when your mind's been so loud for so long! I always hated the walls that I built around me anyways!
The sight of half full glass and appetite of an empty stomach. I reach out my hands and touch the freedom on the greener side. The truth. The hopefulness. The joy. I wonder up the staircase of my mind and open the window.
