Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Kara Jean Jun 2016
I sit in the steaming hot water naked and vulnerable, both mentally and physically  to blemishes accumulated on me.
The mental thoughts race back and forth between  my eyes playing and rewinding  back through mistakes I have made.
Remembering the wrong paths that dramatically  changed my history.
As the water rises I feel the anxiety inside my chest making me hyperventilate profusely.
I close my eyes plunging my face into the water, feeling my hair floating over me.
Staying under as I feel the anguish of the misconceptions of my life fall off of me.
coming up as if awakening from the dead, while ceaselessly  stepping out of the ***** water leaving it behind.
I peer into the mirror inhaling the air surrounding.
Slowly wrapping my arms tightly around my body, letting the women in the mirror know I except her.
Telling her I will always love and fight for her.
Autumn Feb 2018
We were unknowingly stuck at a broken stoplight as I was watching you dramatically mouth the words to Use Somebody by Kings of Leon. I was cracking up in the passenger seat but all of a sudden the song changes and I'm wondering why the light is still red.

We brush it aside and listen to the next song while paying close attention to the stoplight cycles.

The third song comes on and at this point everyone is aware something is up. We look around for that line up of cars and sure enough.
Cars from behind are turning around and cars in the front of us take the safe right turn instead.

It was funny.

The way all the cars reacted at the same time. As if a plane with a banner was in the sky saying: THIS LIGHT IS NOT FUNCTIONING.

All this to say that sometimes, if not always, humans are secretly on the same wavelength.
I'm on a train.

One of those red ones with black trimmed windows you can imagine rolling through the suburbs on the way to NYC. Not a subway car but a classier vintage with proper rows of cushioned seats and a lever to pull if there is an emergency. There are sparse shrubberies on one side of the tracks and the ocean on the other. Young trees and bushes stroll by.  A little wind is pushing off the ocean, massaging the car ever so gently back and forth as we move along. A gentle click-clack is on the tips of our ears.

We got on together. I hadn't known you for very long but the connection was stronger than anything I had ever felt or have since. You practically sat on top of me for the first few miles. Couldn't keep your hands off me,  staring in my eyes like you were searching for something lost but you couldn't remember what. The edges of your lips turned upwards permanently as if you were always at the verge of a laugh. You interlaced my fingers with yours and held on like you would be ripped away if your grip loosened for even a second. Slender fingers holding so tightly that they were becoming red.

You were excited to to be riding with me, about where we were going and all the things we would do when we got there. I would see you peer out of the corner of your eye, then lean over to brush your soft cheek against my budding stubble. Kissing and gently biting my lips insatiably. The suns rays coming in at an angle and lighting up your perfect smile and dimple.

I had to remind you we were in public.

I was lost in your blonde curls and the incense of your neck. I had fallen incredibly hard and so fast that my face hurt from smiling and my heart beat with vibrations I had never known. Not even a whiff of anxiety or neurosis. Some of the best memories of my life, as fleeting as they turned out to be.

I yawned and you put your finger in my mouth. I bent over to tie my shoe and you would poke my **** and laugh with your own reflection in the window, like this was the first and best joke of all time. Maybe it was and maybe it is.

The waiter came and informed us that a thing called "the bar car" existed. We both jumped at the idea. I didn't exactly notice at the time, during our excitement, but that's when the train started going faster and everything out the windows began to blur.

The bar car was a wild ride and we took advantage of our lo'cal. All kinds of fine wine, liquors and illicit substances were available. We tried them all. You were beautiful, your laugh infecting everyone around you, I was charming and held a captive audience.   It was a dark, loud and glorious blur. We were the life of the party and it chugged on till dawn.

We woke up in our seats, disheveled and discombobulated. It was dark out already. Did we sleep through the entire day? The train was slowing down, maybe approaching a station. The party was amazing but we were certainly paying the price for the black out. You moved over to the seat across from me to have some more space and lay down. I saw myself in the reflection. My hat, charm and smile from the night before had vanished. I must have left them in the bar car the night before.
      You had changed, beauty uninterrupted but different somehow. I couldn't put my finger on it. Irritated maybe? I invited you to cuddle and battle the hangover together but you ignored me. Like you couldn't hear me or didn't want to. I decided to let you be.

I got up to use the bathroom and thought I would go look for my scattered belongings. Maybe I could find a scrap of leftover dignity while you rested. I inquired to the conductor who directed me to the bartender in the bar car. He hadn't changed a bit, somehow untouched and unaffected by last nights antics that had effected me so dramatically.  Same black suspenders and white pressed shirt with impeccably slicked hair. I asked him what happened and if I had an open tab. While slowly polishing a rocks glass he looked up and made eye contact for a split second before looking away.
He said:  "Oh the bar car takes its toll. In the end we all end up paying one way or another". I still don't know what he meant by that or if he knew.
      I asked him if he found my hat and he said he would check the camera. We walked in to a small back room, while he was reviewing the tape, over his shoulder I noticed a tragedy.

We were drunk. I was going on to a group of new friends on one side of the bar, they were hanging on my words and I was eagerly explaining whatever nonsense they were drooling over. You were in the corner wearing that red dress I love, with your hair up in a tight bun. A few curls had escaped and brushed your high cheekbones, a thin line of pearls dancing delicately across your perfectly symmetrical collar. You were stunning and inebriated, swaying with each bump and motion of the train. A man wearing my hat put his hand on your side to keep you from swaying over and then he left it there.
I took a sharp breath.

It looked like you put your hand on his hand to move it but then it stayed and you both swayed together. As the air left my lungs and the blood drained out of my face I watched your lips touch the strangers. A small piece of my soul slipped away forever. I couldn't watch any further. When I asked the bartender how long it went on he fidgeted for a moment and uncomfortably muttered "quite some time". I never found my hat or the other part of me that left that day.  

The train slowed. I walked to the back, as far away from you as I could get, in utter disbelief. How could you? I thought to myself.
I mourned the loss of the you as I knew you yesterday, quietly and to myself. A tear  escaped my eye and rolled down my now fully formed stubble as I fell in to a random seat in mild shock. There were a few passengers back there so I had to pull together relatively quickly. After gaining some composure I knew it was time to get off. I knew we could never get back to yesterday morning though I would have said or done anything to do so.

The train had stopped. I went back to my seat and you were sleeping. I took my coat and gathered my things. The conductor looked at me confused as to why I would leave something so magnificent, I assume he had no idea what had transpired.   

I walked to the rear of the car and slid the door open slower than required. I stepped to the stairs and put one foot down on the step and the other on the ground. I stopped, rooted with my hand on the railing, lingering between two very different paths.
     I knew that it was time to get off, I knew this was the sensible thing to do, that I couldn't get past this offense regardless of how I had felt earlier the day before. The whistle screamed from the locomotive. The conductor looked at me and shook his head, I'm not sure if he was trying to tell me to stay or go but a decision had to be made.

The train lurched forward and I watched as the station slip away slowly. I sat in between the cars for a while and watched the ocean and birds. With a heavy heart and shoes I walked back to my seat. You were waiting. Crying. You knew. The bartender had told you. You didn't mean do do it, didn't realize what you were doing and thought it was me. He was wearing my hat and the whole world was blurry and dark.

I believed you. Self anguish mixed with alcohol was dripping from your pores. I knew you didn't mean it and were drunk, but could I ever forgive you or trust you again?

I loved you still.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection, a weaker version of myself looked back. As if an invisible chip in my teeth had developed and my shoulders lowered. The charming, confident man from the bar car the day before had been replaced. Something was off but not enough for anyone else to notice, just enough to know a change has happened.
       The train started to pick up speed again as we distanced ourselves from the station.  I second guessed my decision to stay but I didn't look back.

I found the man with my hat and punished him with a few blows in the dark. He knew he ****** up, apologized and took the beating like a man. I never got the hat back.

The engineer announced that we would be going through a tunnel soon and to turn on our lights and keep our hands in the windows.

It would be dark.  

We stayed away from the bar car for a while but the draw was irresistible. After a few hours we were there again but you never left my side.  Then you did. I was looking for you but you would disappear and not answer me when I called you name. The tunnel went deeper and darker and I didn't know where you were and I suspected you liked it that way. The train began to slow down again as we exited the tunnel.

I finally found you back at our seat, you had moved one row away from me. I asked you to come back, tried to hold your hands but you pulled away with vehemence. When I came back from the bathroom you had moved another row farther.
I knew I was losing you.
I begged you to return but you told me calmly that it was time for you to get off. At some point in the tunnel you had decided that you didn't want to go anymore . Your mind was made. You were going to catch another train at the next station.

When the train stopped I thought for sure you would reconsider but you didn't. Didn't even give it a thought. You just grabbed your coat and hat with one big bag under your arm. You kissed me on the cheek like a french stranger and were off. Going somewhere else on a different train. Just like that.

I rode the rails for quite some time by myself , many people getting on and getting off, passing me by. Every once in a while I would think I saw you at a station or in a **** though the window of another train. I often thought I could smell you but when I breathed deeper it was always gone. A ghost dancing on the edge of my senses.

A young girl in a headband got on the train. She was listening to headphones and dancing to herself as she bobbed along. She sat down in the seat next to me flashing a smile. She had a wedding ring on and I dismissed her immediately.  She didn't move from the seat or stop glancing my way. Eventually she confessed that she wanted to talk. I told her I wasn't interested but she persisted.  I hadn't talked to anyone on the train for quite some time and after some more mild persistence, I gave in.

We had a lot in common. We were both riding alone, desperately wanted attention and were thrilled to receive some.  After a few laughs she slid her hand in to mine and interlaced her fingers. I left it there. It was warm, comforting and wrong. She was married but I had been riding alone so long it felt good to have some company. She stayed and we talked. She was broken and I had a knack for fixing things. After a few hours of dramatic conversation I fell asleep with her head on my shoulder.

When I woke up  the train was flying up the track on the side of a mountain. Trees and rocks were a blur of green and grey. The engineer must be trying to make up for lost time I thought to myself.

The girl was asleep with her head on my lap. I looked down at her hand and the rings were gone. I woke her briefly to ask where they went. She said she didn't need them anymore and had thrown  them out the window.  She could of sold them, I said, but she said she just wanted them gone so she could be mine and fell back to sleep.  All of a sudden I couldn't breath. This train was roaring down the tracks, the once gentle click clack had become a loud hum. Suddenly too loud. This girl in my lap who had just gotten on the train wanted to stay. I considered her for a while as she looked up at me with big blue eyes, shining and wet, like a puppy in the shelter, terrified of rejection and desperate to be adopted.

At the peak of the mountain, just when the train began to even out, you waltzed back in to the car with a champagne flute in one hand and your bag in the other.

I don't know when or where you got back on, must have been a few stations ago when I stopped looking for you. Maybe you were wearing a disguise, who knows what you had been up to while you were gone. I'm not sure how long you were away but it was quite some time. That you had been through something was obvious, a new wrinkle had formed on your brow and you're once confident stride had changed to a cautious stroll. What actually happened out there I don't know.  I never asked and I don't want answers.

You looked at me and smiled. It was good to see that smile, like sun on my face on a brisk day.  You took a step toward me and then I looked down in my lap at the girl at the same time you did. I looked up. You and your smile were gone.

Everything I had begun to feel for this broken, head banded girl in my lap dried up like a puddle in  the dessert.  I quietly and gently nudged her awake and told her I had to use the bathroom. She put her head down on my coat and fell back into what ever trance she had been in, eyelids gently fluttering, eyes searching beneath them for what I would never give her.

I dashed up the isle and threw open the door, almost shattering the glass. The conductor glared at me and rolled his eyes as I barged past to the space between the cars.

There you were. Standing on the stairs with your head out the opening. The wind was blowing your perfectly formed curls around your head like a blonde explosion of familiarity. I yelled your name and you dove in to me. My senses erupted, my mind went numb as the train was nearing another station and I inhaled your essence greedily.

We moved to another car. I abandoned my coat with the married girl and never looked back. I hope she found what she was looking for. I  never could have been the answer she was so desperately seeking but I know I  helped steer her towards it.

You told me you had encountered some other people out there on the rails and they had reminded you of what we had when we first left the station. I never forgot.  

The train started to rock and get going again. We were back in the bar car and starting to brown out. We had to get off of this train right ******* now. In a desperate moment we looked at each other and put our hands, together, on the emergency brake cord. I looked in your eyes with your hand on top of mine. You kissed me while yanking down on the cord. Time slowed, the breaks squealed and everything exploded throwing luggage, people and the entire contents of the bar car in to a nondiscriminatory chaos . We got up off the ground, ran to the end of the car, dove off the side in to a soft patch of grass and rolled down a small incline. We watched as the conductor sifted through  the mess and interrogated the passengers, trying to ferret out the party responsible for pulling the brake. He spotted us off the side of the tracks and shook his fist while shouting every conceivable obscenity combination.

We laughed, held each other in the grass and kissed deeply.

We watched the train pick up speed and disappear in to the hills as relief spread over me.

You interlaced your fingers in to mine and we both looked out to where the tracks disappeared into the horizon, wondering how far of a walk it was to the next station.
Ivette Mar 21
Listen you don't need a Therapist

Sure they help you but do they really help?

They're never there when you are looking at the mirror and calling yourself disgusting, and that you're hideous.

They're never there when you are on the verge of tears when something impacts you dramatically.

They are never there when you want to cut yourself so bad.

They ask how you are doing, they ask what you want and need.

But do they really care? You just get money out of me do you want to help or do you want the money to survive.

After this you always go back to your happy home planning the next family vacation

But I always go back to the loneliness, the dark room that doesn't shut out the screaming behind the walls.

I go back to feeling like I'm nothing and that I'm unwanted
Sure maybe some of us have a therapist that actually helps us and makes us feel better and secure.
But there is this part of us that always goes back to feeling this nothingness
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
✿⊰✲⊱✿
"No, My Lady," Ainhana chuckles.
Esshi flushes at Paul's smile.
"Okay, you need to stay away from my
handmaids from now on!" I point at Paul
who looks at me innocently.
"Why? I've done nothing wrong!" He says
dramatically. "You are just jealous."
My eye twitches slightly. "I'll let you keep that
delusion."

✿⊰✲⊱✿
I stick my tongue out at him and huff,
much to their amusement.
Paul chuckles. "Love you too!"
He walks up some of the steps, turns
and claps, gaining everyone's attention.
"Come everyone! Before the feast, we must
make our wishes before the Angel's Fountain."
He says as he leads the way to the inner
courtyard.

✿⊰✲⊱✿
"Keeping us company, Brandon?"
"Of course," he chuckles. "After all,
we need to shield Esshi from Paul's
flirtations before she literally dies
of embarassment."
"M-my Lord!" Esshi exclaims as
me and Ainhana giggle.
'Time for Donna's great and
final surprise!'
I beam!
And this marks the end of Part 9!
One more final chapter and this series is over! ^-^
I hope you're all enjoying it so far!
Part 10 will be out tomorrow!
Thanks so much everyone,
much love
Lyn ***
Aleph Mar 23
Sun rays touch my soul

reflecting the warm glow

Time stretches on the cliff edge

Reality dramatically expands

Hovering indefinitely

to the abyss draw inevitably


I want to repair the smile

To feel the euphoria again

It has been a while

From this I shouldn’t refrain

no action left in the brain


Completely in free fall

Not frighten to do it all

The wind going over me

Recharging my energy

Finally feeling the glee

Freed from the lethargy


I feel freedom roar

I hear myself scream

Nothing will stay as before

Levitating like in a dream


Abruptly everything stops

I feel peace and tranquillity

I can sense the silence of the clocks

listen to the trumpets of liberty


I can see myself

broken laying in the ground

like a book cast from the shelf

to this body no more bound


all this ink pouring from my veins

forever free from my chains

no more pages to fill

finally, my heart stood still
anthony Brady May 31
I was alarmed as nobody
paid attention to me:
if there was a Plan B -
it was to die - dramatically.

A hangman’s halter I took to  swing
snapped and failed my neck to wring.
Then I drank of hemlock deep:
all it did was make me sleep.

Wide awake I’d somehow made it back
I laid me down  on a railway  track
Alas! never once was I alerted
that all trains had been diverted.

It seemed a good idea to me
to drown myself in the Dead Sea
in such drink , I failed to think
no swimmer  there is known to sink

From a high rise parapet I dropped over
and landed in a cushioned bed of clover.
I tried to cut my jugulars  but By Heck!
the blade was blunt and just grazed my neck.

A contract killer - hired off the shelf -
took the money then shot himself
after stating though he’s willing
I was not worth the killing.

By now getting frantic
on the internet I met a tantric
guru whose advised me tarry
“All I needed was to marry…

…It is a kind of death, all  near
and dear pity you - but it’s clear
you get everybody’s attention
and in obituaries never a mention”.
.
Tobias
Lyrical Dream Dec 2018
Drowning is often described  as a
Loud event
-
-Someone screams for help,
Rapidly flailing their arms above the waves

  -They dramatically break the surface
Before submerging under again

-People rush from the shore to their rescue

-Someone jumps into the sea heroically and saves the day as a crowd of hands erupt into a booming applause.
-

However,
Drowning is silent,

Every movement
subtle,

And every scream muffled,

A sinking soul
Falling into darkness,

knowing that in moments they will be nothing more than flesh and bones prepared to decay in the rushing currents

Or,
perhaps,
There are no visible waves at all

Only the ones crashing against your skull

And raging within you chest
-
Almost like a knife
Held to your throat,
Threatening your heart to beat

Your heart will,
Of course,
beat

And your blood will pour
-
Your lungs know they will flood,
But they still gasp for air beneath the waves

And,

Though the sea swallows your every breath




You still manage to survive
What4221 Sep 2018
Wear my heart on my sleeve
But nobody bothers to look
You say you wish you could
Read me like a book

I'm sorry
But I can't really apologize properly
All of my thoughts and words spill out
Dramatically
Ink splotches across my body

Handwriting ain't the best
And my drawing's for ****
But if you're looking for something meaningful
I can guarantee this ain't it

Because God's pen ran out of ink
And he stabbed a hole in the page
Where he was drawing me
I'm just villager 5, wondering on and off stage

Flows breaking up
I could never be a singer
All I can do is write these words
And hope that somewhere
Somebody takes the time to read them like a book
See the heart on my sleeve
And bother to take a look.
After all these years
I thought you were the strongest one
Everything that we’ve gone through
The laughter, anger, and the sadness
I was so blessed having you with me
We’ve had our rough patch and I get it
Anyone would have done the same and left
I couldn’t believe, you out of everything would actually leave me
I guess you started to drift off
Something that I would do with most
I hated that feeling of emptiness
Despised the way I would act out all the time
Push others away when they were the first to even care
To even love me the way I always hoped one day someone would
I felt so guilty and so bad that I’d hurt them
After all these years
I thought you were the strongest
Little did I know you were always there to comfort me, to heal me
I never doubted you but I always made it tough on you
I guess I dragged you away finally
I will never forget you for everything you’ve done
I’m not the same without you to be honest
I’d beg and plead for you to come back
However you never listen no more,
you don’t know how to react either
Not even my tears catch your attention
My stuffy nose and the pink shadow on my eyelids are just for you, but you never understand anymore, it’s frustrating
I miss you like no other
Nowadays I don’t even bother
I’m exhausted from trying to bring you back
I fake it most times and I’m pretty successful because no one notices
But you in my mind just don’t connect like you used to...
I wish I wasn’t so numb
I would be so much happier with you
You’ve affected my life dramatically,
now I’m unsteady all the time
Please beat for me once again
You are my heart and I need you to respond
This is about my heart not feeling what I want it to feel
Shivani Lalan Apr 14
hi, it's me -
you probably don't know
that I live in the lanes that you'll never cross -
in life, or in your mind.

i make my homes
in all the corners that you couldn't bear
to care about,
except for appearances.

you don't have to apologize,
not that you ever will,
for forgetting that i breathe in and out
counting the seconds and minutes
since you thought of me -
and so my breathing would seem relaxed,
because i'm in no hurry,
and clearly,
neither are you.

hi, it's me -
i don't expect you to dramatically turn around
one fine day
and realize that i was always right here,
a part of me just hopes
that you'd realize
if i was ever missing
(but i know that's asking too much)

hi it's me -
you hurt me,
but that's okay -
i don't expect you to realize it,
because i've made that mistake
for far too long -
the one where i hope you'll come around.
(never works)

hi it's me -
and i know you won't answer,
but i'll say hi anyway,
and i'll hope anyway.
Matt Shaw Mar 19
I watched the craggy old man at the far end of the bar besiege his liver with absurd amounts of *** and Coke. It was entirely classless, like he was drinking his obsequies in plain sight of everyone. Not that ‘everyone’ amounted to much– it was a Tuesday, and there were seven lost souls scattered around Nightingale’s. Four of them were shooting pool. Big arms, tattoos, Harleys out front. Another two were puffing cigarettes through their fifties, probably talking about this ****** generation of kids and doing lines of 80’s nostalgia. A few seats from them was a loner (sporting a white braided ponytail and a rawhide vest, you know the type) sitting by himself, looking very divorced. He was engaged in conversation with the bartender, a black-haired ***** with enough experience. Occasionally he’d throw some whisky down his throat. Keeps the fire going.

But it was the sorry ******* in the corner who interested me more than anyone else, mostly because he had such blatant disregard for his own life. I watched him guzzle his eighth *** and Coke since my arrival. He was moving around so much, it was a wonder he stayed in his seat.

The light caught his addled face. You could see that maybe once he was handsome, but time had forced him to wear bad habits out. It made me wonder how. How and why.

“You know, all that Coke can’t be good for your bones,”

Awkward as hell, but it was the best I could muster. The words hung in the air, dry as scotch.

“You realla think I give a ****, dude?” he slurred. He sorta twitched when he spoke… I got the feeling he’d been at this for a while.

He belched loudly.

I let the stench of alcohol, depression, and **** excuse my hesitation.

“Well, why don’t you at least change it up a bit?”

I ordered him an old-fashioned. It really didn’t make a difference. The man was going to drink himself to death anyway. You could see it in his eyes.

He held up the drink loftily, considering it. He smiled wryly and looked at me.

“Thanks,” he said, and gulped the whisky down.

I began to grow unsure of the whole thing. Coming to this ****** pub, talking to this reeking old man… Hell, moving to Denver at all. I’d come here to forget things, but had yet to find anything of real substance to push old memories out…

He slammed his glass down heavily on the bar.

“You smoke grass?” He lobbed.

Interesting.

I followed him outside and tried hard not to be obvious as I inspected the joint he passed me. Not wet. I guess it’s fine.

“Do you live around here?” I asked, passing back the joint. The quality of **** surprised me. Strong sativa.

“If you can call this living…” answered the most depressing man in Denver.

I couldn’t take it anymore, so I just asked him.

“What’s wrong, guy? Why are you so **** sad?” I said.

“It’s really ******* stupid,” he said, turning. “It’s actually ******* insane.”

I pulled on the joint and waited for him to spill his guts.

“A long time ago,” he went on, “I was a lot different. I used to kiss all the pretty girls and make 'em cry.”

He sobered up a bit.

“But then one came along who I won’t forget. Too wild to be tamed,”

He looked down at the sidewalk and tossed the roach at it.

“Lost my ****. I rammed my car into that *****’s house and tried to take off. 'Course the five-o caught up with me and I ended up in jail with two felony counts.”

“**** dude,” I offered, “That’s crazy.”

“Yeah, I was a ******’ lunatic. Stopped caring after that. Been bouncing around ever since. Can’t get comfortable. Can’t get a good job.”

“I’m sorry,” I offered.

Nothing interesting happened after that. Bruce went on about his ex for a while, speaking highly of her. He told stories about days they shared in Pennsylvania. He told me all about her art and writing, and how he had obsessed over her for years, making her into a metaphor for death and loss. I listened to him ramble for quite some time, but after about half an hour I stopped caring and had to take my leave.

I lied to Bruce and told him I had work early in the morning.

When I got back to my apartment, I collapsed onto the futon and looked dramatically up at the ceiling. I got up and went to my desk. I opened the little drawer on the left.

I pulled out Nora’s picture from underneath my paystubs and saved bills. I thought about Bruce’s story and the smell of **** and alcohol. I felt pity for him– pity I didn’t want anyone to feel for me. Still, there was a clog in my throat and my eyes stung with emotion.

I sincerely hoped that Nora was having a great time in New Zealand.

I opened my window and let Nora’s picture fly into the unfamiliar city. I collapsed back on the futon.

It wasn’t comfortable
Draft 1
Skyla Dec 2018
Call me a *******, because I enjoy the punishment and pain of starving.
Call me a sadist, because I love enforcing the pain and punishment of starving.

When I look in the mirror, I see a demon.  A hideous monster.  Sometimes I see me, sometimes I see nobody.

I see a weeping girl with salty tears dripping from her cheeks to her lips.  Her bruised bones sticking out in places where they shouldn’t.

I see a dead girl with decaying flesh and eyes sewn shut, the rotten, suffocating smell penetrating the air.

I see an evil girl, black, gaping holes for eyes, and a smile that spreads to her ears, sharp, pointy teeth sticking out, and blood seeping from her mouth.  She puts a hushed finger to her lips.

I see a fat girl.  Her stomach spilling over her gut, irritated, chafing thighs, wobbly blankets of arm fat, like oozing tubs of cookie dough. She frowns, showing her double chin.

Then I see me.  Purple bags under my eyes, sore and swollen lips, *****, brittle hair, hanging limp in my face.  Bones dramatically sticking out, but not quite enough.

I grab my neck in a chokehold to stop what I’m seeing.  I can’t see me.  Not now, not ever. I can’t just yet.   I don’t even know if I see me, or if I don’t, because i don’t know how to look, or what to look like. ~

What if the monster in the mirror is actually me, trapped in the mirror, and the demon is possessing me now?

Better start acting like it, then.  I can do whatever the hell I want, and no one can do a ******* thing about it.

I’m not going to stop until I get to 0.
0 fat
0 pounds
0 more goals
0 girl
0 life.
~

The question isn’t who is going to let me, it’s who is going to stop me?

Why whisper, when you could just scream? ~
SelinaSharday Oct 2018
"Da Dramatics"

when I hear I don't do drama..
It makes me..
Pull back my hands..
Cover my face again..
Look away.. shy away..
Because..
No miracles can be performed here today.

If You don't do drama..
See drama may be rolled up in my sleeves.
As I act out my creativities..
Share my masterpieces,, drama may be what bleeds.

Drama in the sense that.. How I color my days..
How I blur out the craziest of ways.
How I finger paint with audio lyrics..
How I try to make sense of dimensional physics.
Confessions and testimonies,
bleeds from my knees.
And if I have to hide so much inside.
Zip my lips...Be ashamed of my slips.
Hide shades of identity.. Blur what bothers me.
Only offer out the candy..
The weather hasn't always been kind to me.
Your telling me there's no place for me.
because there are days times I need to be
as naked as can be.
And I need you to be naked around me.
To Dance naked with me.
Well I'ma need you to be able to take it.
As I can't fake it.
Drama is musically.. parts of my harmony.
Tamed/drama .. You have to be strong enuff cinematically
With ears of christianity
  Embrace me theologically  and love me.
Don't fear the pets I have chained. On leases beside me.
I'm a soldier dramatically.
Drama does not define me.
But It can be calmed made to behave spiritually.

Except the dramatics as you accept my harmony.
SelinaSharday S.A.M 2018
Drip Drip.. shall I hide my slips.
Shall I only show my dainty perfections..Pretend my roses don't have thorns.
Don't be blown away by my storms.
Don't be afraid when drama performs. Allow me to sound my alarms. I need you to Drip da drama for such is life and life is not without strife.
Max didn't even want to be there.  His coworkers had invited him, and he hadn't had an excuse handy.  

In truth, Max's coworkers didn't want him to be there, either.  They had secretly hoped that he wouldn't come.  Everyone else was going, though, so they felt bad not asking.  Now they wished they hadn't

Here he was, though, sitting around a table in a seedy local pub, waiting for "The great Garbo: Magician and Hypnotist".  Probably just another hack who was filling time between kiddy birthday parties.  The show was supposed to have started ten minutes ago, but hadn't, and now Max was being forced to socialize with people who he spent a great deal of effort trying to avoid most of the time.  It was crap, and he wasn't happy about it.

In truth, Max was very unhappy in general, but in a way that his brain was unable to put into concrete words.  He'd been unhappy for so long, in fact, that he didn't even recognize that he was unhappy.  He had just long ago come to the conclusion that the world was unpleasant, and he was the only person who understood that.  Everyone else was a foolish prat who could barely keep from being distracted long enough by the next shiny toy to notice.

He regarded his mostly empty beer that he had been nursing.  He heard his co-workers talking about some new superhero movie when the lights finally dimmed and a man walked onto the beer-stained stage and threw his cape (the **** had a cape!) dramatically over his shoulder.  "Good evening, my fine ladies and gentlemen!  I, the Great Garbo, welcome you.  You may have seen so called 'magic' before, but I promise you that when you leave here tonight, you will be filled with awe and wonder!"

Max yawned, rather loudly, to glares from his co-workers, as Garbo continued his spiel.  He looked lazily around the room, hoping to catch the eye of the waiter for another drink.  If he was going to be forced to watch this swill, he was going to at least be liquored up.

By the time Max looked back towards the stage, Garbo had wrapped up, and was starting.  He began with a number of standard tricks with rings and never-ending handkerchiefs.  Each time, Max would mumble something under his breath.

"...Obviously had it up his sleeve"
"Trick ring, there's clearly some sort of mechanism there"
"...had that deck set up before"

Meanwhile, his co-workers shushed him as they attempted, in vain, to enjoy the show.

Soon, though, the magician got more creative, juggling a set of ***** that turned into doves, which then flew back into his hands as ***** again.  Then he turned his entire coat from dingy black to a brilliant  red with a wave of his hand.  Max remained steadfast in his desire to remain unimpressed.  Surely this was some sort of electronic trickery.  He stifled another yawn, then decided to go to the restroom.

He got up, and tapped one of his co-workers on the shoulder.  Was it Reed?  Or James.  His co-worker looked at him warily.  "Hey James, I need to take a ****.  Need to get through".  He looked annoyed.  Must've been Reed.  "Can't you wait until the act is over?".  Max rolled his eyes, and then mustered up as much sarcasm as he could (which was quite a lot). "I'm sure the 'Great Garbo' won't miss me.  I'll just be a minute".  Reed (yes, definitely Reed) sighed and got up to pull his chair back so Max could get out.  Max picked his way through the surprisingly large crowd towards the bathrooms, not apologizing on the way, when he heard a voice.  "You sir, you would like to volunteer, would you  not?"

Max turned, and Garbo was looking at him expectantly.  He hadn't heard what Garbo had been talking about. He recovered his wits and responded "Nah, I'm sure one of these simpletons would love to, though".  From the crowd where he had left he heard someone yell "Oh come on, Max, maybe he can hypnotize you into having a sense of ******* humor".  Max gave the finger in the general direction of the voice, earning him a few boos from the crowd.  Garbo put his hand up to calm the crowd.  "Come now...Max, is it?  Surely you've been impressed with some of the show tonight?".  Max scoffed.  "I'm impressed that you're able to make a living off of parlor tricks", he said, before turning back towards the bathroom.

"Max, I think you need to come up here"

Max suddenly stopped.  He felt like he had been going somewhere else...but that couldn't be the case, he was supposed to be going onto the stage.  He turned and amiably made his way up the few stairs

"Now Max seems to be unimpressed with the show.  Shall I show him some real magic?"

The crowd clapped

Max wondered how he'd gotten on stage.  He had been going towards the bathroom....he needed to...

"Max, you seem unhappy to be here.  I think I know what'll cheer you up, though."

Garbo reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small rubber ball.  

Max suddenly came back to himself.  "I don't know what drugs you gave me to convince me to get up here, but this show is over and I'm leaving.  I'll be sure to let the police know that your show relies on your audience being high"

Garbo grinned a toothy grin as Max walked away, and then spoke right before Max got down the first step, dragging each word out carefully.

"Who's...a...good....boy"

Max stopped and considered this.  I mean...he certainly wasn't bad.  There was certainly room for improvement, for sure, but he wasn't bad, so he must be good.  He slowly turned and stared at Garbo, and was surprised as his mouth started moving.

"I am."

Wait. What?  Max's mind reeled and his eyes widened in fear, but he did not run.  His legs didn't want to move.  His eyes seemed to be locked onto the ball.  That looked like a really nice ball.  He wanted it.

Garbo took a step forward.

"Who's a good boy"

This time Max answered more confidently.  "I am.  I'm a good boy"

The crowd clapped and whistled, though they weren't sure what they were seeing.

Garbo moved the ball back and forth, and Max watched it intently.  
He wished Garbo would throw the ball.

"Who's a good boy!"

"Me! I'm a good boy!"

"Whosagoodboy!"

"I am!  I am!  I'm a good boy!"

Max had fallen down on all fours at this point, though he barely noticed.  Everything seemed to be growing in size.

"Who's a good boy!"

I am!  

"Who's a good boy!"

(I am!)
Woof!

"Do you want the ball?!"

(Yes! Yes, throw the ball!)
(Oh god, what's happening?!)
Woof! Woof!

"Do you want it?!"

(Make it stop!)
(Yes! Throw it!)

Max could smell so many things, now.  He smelled the beer, he smelled Reed's aftershave.  He smelled the strangeness that Garbo reeked of.  Garbo scared him, but Garbo also had a ball.

Garbo finally relented and threw the ball, and a yellow streak flashed by him as an excitable Golden Retriever ran to intercept it.

Max picked up the ball in his mouth and stood proudly.  There was still something scratching at his brain, though, and he couldn't figure out what it w--what had happened?  Everything was wrong.  He couldn't stand up.  Max wanted to yell for help, but to do that he would need to drop the...

...ball!  He had the ball!  The man who threw it was calling for him.  He ran back towards the man, who pointed at the ball.  The man wanted the ball, but Max didn't want to give it back.  It was his ball.  Suddenly, the man had a treat.  Max dropped the ball and took the treat.  He heard a loud sound and he turned to see...

..the crowd.  The crowd was up on their feet cheering.  His mind filled with fear again as he realized that something was terribly wrong.  He felt wrong, everything looked and sounded and smelled wrong.  He was a....

"Good boy, Max.  Good boy!"

Max received a pat on the head, and the scratching at the back of his head faded a little.  "Crate, Max", said the man, pointing to a small crate at the edge of the stage that several people in the audience could have sworn wasn't there at the start of the show.  Max ran to the crate, where he found a bone and a squeak toy, which he bit into to hear the satisfying noise that it made.  Laughter echoed from the outside of the crate as the man closed the door.

"Everyone, a round of applause for my assistant Max!"

Suddenly Max resurfaced.  He was acutely aware now that he was in a cage.  Fear gripped him.  Surely his co-workers had noticed!  He strained to look through the bars of the crate.  He spotted them, and they were applauding excitedly.  He saw, with trepidation, that his coat was no longer on the chair where he'd left it.  He had been erased from their memories.  A guttural terror crept up through his stomach which became a frightened whimper as the sound was forced through his new snout.  No one seemed to hear him.

Max lost track of time, but eventually the show ended and everyone left.  They wouldn't remember what happened, only that they were left with a feeling of awe and wonder upon leaving.  They wouldn't remember Max.  At this point, Max was curled up in the back corner of the crate, unwilling to move even as Garbo opened it, reached in, and started scratching his head.  

Suddenly, as if the final structural support of a dam had been breached, the endorphins from the scratch overwhelmed what remained of Max.  He was filled with the warmth of something he had been unable to feel his whole life.  His tongue lolled out of his mouth and he started panting excitedly.

Max was happy.
This one popped into my head a few nights ago.  I don't fashion myself a horror writer, but this one creeped me out as I was writing it, and I'm pretty happy with how it turned out.

— The End —