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K Balachandran Jul 2014
There is a forbidden pleasure in the poet's art
it's like having an illicit ****** liaison, is it not?
now it can be told, that's the way one felt
enticing while evasive, was her two way dance.

In the secret society meeting last full moon night
for the first time I came face to face
with the enigmatic girl, rumored to be  the mistress
of the poet I admire, for his skills of allusion and  veiled speech
she was so young and somnambulistic in appearance
her lips were so thin, the only remarkable thing
still in memory those pale lips remain,
how helpless we are in a world, curtained off
to keep our secrets in rooms of green darkness!

The poet was absent, but he was very much present by that,
as her shame intrudes when she starts conversations.I found him there.
The words whispered from her lips were not heard, however one tried
none listened to it, I bet, a poet's mistress is as curious
as an  object of art, stolen from its rightful place, I suppose

When the boat returned to the island to take us back
we were the only passengers left, at last, how strange!
In turgid waters a fallen full  moon like a snake swam
I was looking at its wriggle, creating a tragic geometry
that reminded me her thin lips, she sat next to me, motionless
her soft breathing, was rhythmic poetry I kept imagining,
till we parted exchanging a faint smile. her's was florescent.
So much is hidden about the art of creativity and from where it springs
K Balachandran Sep 2018
Squirms of red earthworms,
Wriggle out of hot mud, die;
Flood’s queer side effect !
sara May 2014
it's cold and dark and calm outside
so you make sure that i'm tucked up tight
but i need fresh air so the window is open ajar
whilst there in the corner lays a battered guitar

i'm high as hell so you carried me home
and wrapped me up into a bed of your own
you throw a lumpy mattress by the guitar on your floor
and apologise in advance for the fact that you snore

because i can't even remember my name
may give the green light to most, to see me as 'fair game'
my hair is a mess and my clothes are askew
but that doesn't seem to matter to you

i'm taken aback as you toss me a shirt
you try to stifle your laugh but i catch you smirk
as i try to escape from the clutch of my dress
i hear a laugh which you fail to suppress

i wrestle your shirt with my limbs in a tangle
you yank it over my head, for which i am thankful
i wriggle free from the blanket and sit up cross legged
as you fling yourself down at the foot of your bed

you tell me you've just got a text from my mother
who says she trusts me with you and no other
and that you are under very strict instructions
to keep me away from all teenage destruction

it's 1.30am and my thoughts are cotton wool
but our bottle of ***** is still three quarters full
my eyes spy the battered guitar in the room
and i beg you to play me my favourite tune

an undeniably slow start as you mess up the chords
and ramble on about how i'm probably bored
but my eyes fix on yours with an encouraging grin
and as you continue to play, goosebumps rise on my skin

and as you place the battered guitar back down
you sarcastically ask whether i'm happy now
the buzz of my body and the smile on my face
shows that here, happiness is truly the case
2018 edit and I’m still finding guitarists cute um
Eléa Jan 2019
can' - but help it,
have to
words string from fingerprints

did you die when you got the gist, i tried
not to, tied my chin to the world
spinning synonyms beside me

shadowed its corners, filled the
of its borders

making a story that
someone would find me,
unearth me

and not to not to ;  
each one of you
to disorder, to fragment me

so sleep softly, if it's only that, child,
if that's all it is, my darling,

the earth sliding gently underneath,
it's forward age
it's backward commotion,

forget the eternal movement that
could wriggle under fingertips

and - Take, no questioning,
this coke, this coke,
this bra, this ring,

take everything
sembling some
form of desire

just not to know,
it's me you really want;

that i really do exist
everly May 2019
the heavens looking down see
black ominous umbrellas
scurrying about- the animals we are
seeking refuge beneath bodega quality umbrellas
flimsy like the faith i had in you
but may you prove me wrong, loved one
in this cluttered concrete jungle

unoriginal-ality but in reality we
all have places to be and why stand out in the rain?

uninvited water droplets from sky
penetrate pantyhose and
the window plants of overpriced brownstones
the allure of rain by all natural individuals
see nourishment soon to unfold
beauty in baby’s toes stomping in mud
fishing for worms that wriggle with discomfort
gardener of words
rain or shine
she knew how to put a feeling into
gentle yet tasteful prose.
My bed is a place of heaven.
I dream my inner most thoughts
I spend half my life there.
I pull the duvet over my head.
I  hug  the pillows  tight.
My bed knows me.
As I wriggle about.
Stuggle with fearless thoughts.
Bed is a place of  peace.
If I can settle to sleep.

My dreams have stolen. my thoughts.
Mixed them with,, fever,, and doubt
Sorry tale of teardrops
Sodden my pillow with sloppy snort.
Gassy egg farts.
Travelling ninety on the bypass.
Which way should I return.
Sound of alarm bells.
No time to dread.
I  caught a *glimpse
.  of  bbc news
It's end of the world
I wake up and shiver.
Falling out of bed.
Rui Rosa Nov 2018
I lost faith, hope and sleep.
My soul has awakened my REM (RAPID EYE MOVEMENT),
Where everything becomes a lucid dream
This is where the terror begins.
Inhuman visions begin,
The shadows come close to me
Whispering my name,
I see a figure,
He tries to steal my soul,
My body unable to move,
Panic begins to set in,
Unable to breathe,
I try focusing in my getaway.
"Wake up"
I try to wriggle my toes.
In last despair,
I try to use the trump to my only salvation.
The phrase that kills all evil presences.
"Jesus blood has power"
That's when he screamed like there was no tomorrow,
A scary loud shout,
I've never heard anything like it.
It seemed like it was falling apart.
I just woke up.
Since that day I began to believe in Jesus and his power.
One of many episodes of sleep paralysis
It begins with a soft bite
That quickly forms into a leech
Beseeching my thoughts...
Controlling my speech..
Preaching important matters
Carrying potential to teach
All their essential condescending
Never-endings out of reach

Yet the pitfall arrives
When I choose to listen
With sighs and ghosted thoughts
The result of some or other condition
Bolstering a vision with apt precision
When every remission indicates
The necessary revision

Envy stifles a stern conviction
Jealousy trifles within final prediction
Anger endangers calm
Making strangers within this perdition
Bring it all in as I wriggle and writhe
Because I am to blame
For all of my pride

...It stays inside

As soon as my cards were shown I decided to fold. I can't keep this under control while I'm so vulnerable. Yet another rapport thrown in the fire and tossed out the door... And I'm so **** gullible. I watch this bridge burn from a distance before it will mend. Yet again the result of desiring you-
More than a friend
May 22, 2016

Toes warming up
You are waking up to
The fact that your house
Is on fire

No escape
Your eyes awake to
See flames covering the door
The only way out of the
Master bedroom

Skip Scene

You open your eyes
Jesus Christ!

Is before you a Man
Like no other!!

Glowing White

White robes
White skin
White teeth

He smiles
Like he
Has been

Just For You

You think you must be in shock

But if you were in shock...
Why am I moving?
Is this a

I pinch

But he's still
There smiling at me
Ouch I think

I notice that I am swaying
Back and forth
And then it
Changes into a four step 1,2,3,4


Am I cha-cha-ing
Right now?
Jesus Christ!!

Is watching me!
So I make sure to put on
A good show

Fortnite dances
Come to mind
I floss

Floss like no one is watching
Jesus is watching
But I dance like there is no one

Breaking down now
I get on my knees

My stomach
I lay
On the
Ground now

I wriggle
Like a worm
A worm like no other


I don't remember
Like this before

I was alive...

I must


Only an angel could
Dance the way
I twerked
A bit
For Jesus
Not too much
We don't want him to

Get any wrong impressions
About who we are
Or who we were
We don't give

Not for free
No free
Or free dances

The only thing
Free is salvation
I guess cause I thought
I was going to Hell

I start to shimmy now
Shaking our money
Like an
Anaconda we got
Back and we know it

We give Him

All That We Have


We turn away...

Facing the stairway downwards
We take two steps down
Towards Hell

We don't want to worry Jesus
But we do really
Like to make men sweat

A little bit

And then we bend like
We dropped a
That up I'm
Wearing a robe too now!

Feels like a dress I let my
Legs show for Jesus
Ankles to the knees I show


These robes are nice
But I know my Jesus likes
My skin and bones
More than any old rags

Here it comes
I feel myself
Backing up


Oh no! This is no dream
This is a real

I back up and back
Up until I'm
On Jesus or
He's grinding on me

Facing hell I don't
Even know His reaction
Is anymore?

Wait what has His
Reaction been this whole time?
Sketcher Apr 2019
My mind goes weak at the thought of you. I’ve only known you for a couple weeks so the broader view of this situation isn’t visible yet. I’ll give all possible love to offer you. Through blood and sweat and tears, my love. Attempting to remove our fears and rise above stupid **** that will try to hold us back. I’ll admit that I’ve been mentally attacked in the past by a ***** named Heather, so my trust issues sore higher than ever. Also, my confidence levels at rock bottom, but whatever. I’ve never found a good person, but I’ve sought em’ and you seem just like the type of uncommon person that’s willing to blossom into something amazing we don’t see very often, creating an awesome relationship... something I’ve never gotten, but been wanting. I really hope that we are more than just compatible. The thought that a guy like me can make you happy is magical. Since meeting up with you, I have truly been blessed. Now I fantasize and long for your head on my chest. I’m seeing clearly. I’m happy. I’m not love blind. I know that I love you throughout my heart and mind. I want to be there to cure your loneliness. You’ve actually removed all of my strife. Please continue to wriggle your way straight into my life. You’ve removed the darkness and showed me where the sun shines. Now I ask you the question:

“Will you be my Valentine?”
Created the day before Valentine’s Day for the girl of my dreams...

She said, “yes”...

I couldn’t be any luckier of a guy...

DPM May 2019
I feel the crunch of earth beneath my feet. The air is sickeningly pungent, damp, and still. These passages are dark; echoing the slithering and hissing of the cowardly, forsaken by the light.  Whisperhisss… Deafening, I can hear the complaining be passed through the ****** moving masses. The light I bear is agitating to these "companions" of mine. Striking at my legs for just existing in this space. If I should slip and fall into this mass of debauchery, it would be most welcomed to them. Fork tongues taste the air around me. With false pride and sense of honor, they report twisted truths and lies, aspiring to be noticed by the grotesque bloated glutton within the center this ball. Using every advantage to get closer and wriggle to the center of this ****. Could this be one of the many awful abominations birthed from the original sin, or is this just our unremarkable world doing what it does best. I would say the illusive truth and justice I seek isn't worth pursuing and I should just sit down; watch, the moments that I can bear. My daughter, I love you; I will limp forward as long as I can.
Rosmarie Correa Jul 2018
She remembers, she hasn't forgotten
She has slept and never dreamed
She doesn't starve but still she's empty
She is safe in the extreme

She wants a purple apple
and a pill for every emotion.
She loves a little magic, sure,
there's no witch without a potion.

She envisions stealing the souls of people,
those too awful to be redeemed.
That way she can season her soup with it
and drink it for the evil she needs.

She cares about the greener grass
if she can bury them in the dirt.
She'll do what she possibly can
to get all her enemies hurt

As long as worms wriggle on rotten
As long as there's teardrops that stream
As long as the pythoness's years are plenty
She will poetically make them scream.
Long live the pythoness queen.
awknight Sep 2019
Your eyes, over breakfast, are where I find
my morning prayer to an unknown God. Thanking,
loving, and worshiping the divinity
reigning down on my head as small toes
wriggle  within my body.

My mind is overwhelmed with wound up
time, ticking, endlessly without ceasing
into the prism of your soft, searching soul.
Hands inside, hand outside — we find our solace
in you. A creator of the created, still both in womb.

Stopping time is your specialty
over breakfast, I see you — seeing me.
answering my prayer.
Amanda Feb 2019
All this feels unfair
Watch my life spiral down
Truth is you keep unhappiness
Hidden somewhere buried underground

The day chains you wrapped around
Reality wriggle from your grasp
The day I escape for good
Your clutches I will unclasp

Able to make own mistakes
Is power in free will?
That is taken away therefore
Cruel prophecy I must fufill

There is not a solution to be had
Not any compromise to be found
Guard the door to maturity
Stubborn minds not able to reach common ground

Get bent out of shape
Each time go a tiny bit wild
Try to talk to you like an adult
Audacity makes me behave as a child

Trapped greif you need to cause
Gave me no other way out
A moment of panic I flee
Taking worst possible route

Won't come to your senses
Strip naked all you do fear
Nothing left to lose
What the **** will you gain by keeping me here?
This is about my mom
Glus Sep 2018
Every night and every morn I struggle to make this life bright
only to realize, even with unclosed eyes I could never see the light
I turn my head to catch the whisper I thought I could hear
only to realize, its been quite some time since I've lost my ears
I strained my neck to try and find my way with the help of smell
only to realize, the horrid stench of hell
panicking, I open my mouth to try and let out a shout
only to realize, that my voice has remained forever shut
truly scared of being alone
I could feel the chill running through my bones
insanity and dread take the wheel
fear has found my Achilles' heel
I struggle and roll and wriggle around
desperately trying to find my ground
flailing my arms around to find any comfort
                  this is the end, but where are my friends                               
  my brain gets flooded from the images of the things I'm going to miss
I have finally realized that I'm far behind
all alone in this godforsaken abyss
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
a month's worth of a hiatus
no luck...
   i try to remember whatever
presence in the comment
  there was never any...
                how to stage a:
     dialectical experiment...
    none to my liking...
   will the fringe reading
the Dada movement
    of scraps of works of
arthur cravan, jacques rigaut,
julien torma or jacques vache
         to be honest...
listening to the fringe band
like percival schuttenbach
will not help either...
  how the **** did i find
wooden shjips' album V
in the Romford HMV
on vinyl: i will never know...
last time i heard:
there were only 3 HMV shops
left in London - metropolitan
& outer...
       Doug Putman:
you're on mate...
     a music store used to be:
a culture of...
  well... talk to someone
in a shop that only sells
  mobile phones, or trainers?
back in the day:
you'd be hoping for
a coffee: and all that culture
of the busy bodies...
             can i get the counter:
that buying vinyl looks
less sad, "out-of-tune"
  than buying CD?
i had to ******* move into
the realm of the vinyl:
to kick myself out of the house...
i don't like this prison,
of everything being:
delivered to my front-door...
well: i will always look less
like a loser or a sad bore...
if i buy for a medium
without head-phones...
   that i take care of:
no the gramaphone is not
a car...
   but, ooh, a crisp vinyl
for the 20th century of
the late 70s...
something else...
big news throughout the week
what news?
i'm trying to figure what
the news was...
i haven't heard the world
  it cried something
for about two weeks,
   and i was like:
   and if that sort of propensity
is to ever make me
outside the internet village?
it's a ******* village:
get over it...
people are congregating
in village-esque
whatever the numbers,
     but for people who've
never lived for a month
in a city no bigger than 60K
(60K is exaggeration
regarding the city i was born)...
the internet is no longer
a "world"...
  i.e. there's no da-sein worth
to it...
   there's only a da-...
imagine my glee when Heidegger
was cited in the 2017
film call me by your name...
i was like:
       the sort of nonsense
i understand! and when people
would rather:
or rather would rather not...
spend 2 years of their lives
reading sein und zeit...
    or as i like to call it: sein und "da"
      und nicht
niemand, aber ein leib,
                         heulend:     ja!
it was either that, or:
listening to people exhaust the video...
one eventuality was
coming, one eventuality
disguised as an: inevitability...
because what is writing
as a compensation:
oh not the number of any sort
to count according to:
ego, prospect,
                  conundrum, eject...
sure, it's stale...
but serious literature would
never even dare to appreciate
these intricacies...
just today i picked up
the Sunday print...
yes... a physical copy
of the newspaper...
notable articles?

rankin: selfie harm -
does anyone really want to see
my face in how i countered
      i just figured:
catch a fly on your face...
and say: Belzeebub took
a **** on your face,
embedded your skin:
and every time
you pinch an acne pore
from your face?
  maggots wriggle out...
you don't a ******* h. p. lovecraft
to make a cthulthu counter:
i just did!
i'd have to be...
really ******* good at
photoshopping a ******* fly
on my forehead...
should have asked me
how much patience it took...
to "ask" the fly
to sit on me, while i moved
from my bedroom,
into the box room,
turned on my computer...
sat there,
   and took the photograph...
the metaphor for Belzeebub
sending one of his minions
i.e.: ******* onto my face
so that i'd pinch maggots from
it was already there...

yet a physical newspaper
it was...
headline news:
   the suicide generation...
in under 15s: 17 in 2013...
                              31 in 2017 (an 81% increase)...
15 -19: 170 in 2013...
                       207 in 2017...
       my age category?
i.e.: 30 - 63:
                            4,322 in 2013...
                   3,842 in 2017!
well: aren't i so, lucky lucky?

am i still drinking?
and when r. d. laing was not,
i was feigning to sleep
in my reading schedule...
any interesting news from
the newspaper on
a Sunday?

            just a week or so prior,
in the sunday times style magazine...
a dolly alderton
citing being an app-Onan...
    while for the past 10 years...
i don't really know what
a mobile phone looks like...
i hardly call it: hunched in a chair
over a keyboard,
with a whiskey handy
on the windowsill:
   screen time...
   you mean the erotica of
the 1st 5 minutes of a horror movie
when i lie in bed,
in pajamas (sleeping naked,
not good, not good...
pajamas are the way to go)
     having just turned off the lights,
and the opening-crescendo-choir
lullabies me to sleep?

- to be honest i'm ******* surprised
i've written this much,
given the sour news...
but this sort of news is...
hardly even accurate in my world...
i am tired of having
to invest in having opinions
that... i probably do not even have...
that's the beauty of
not caring for a "freedom of speech"...
i wouldn't like to have to prop
   i might have them:
but as the fleeting of the day...
    i find it: actually hard to have
"freedom of speech":
   i already have that -
   when buying a pint of milk...
           i just find "freedom of speech"
to be a playground for
pseudo-dialectics these days...
           because: this is just pseudo-dialectics,
by the time a dialectical
moment happens,
the retort is prescripted, heavily edited,
and... there is absolutely nothing
of a friction, of coercion of
   the opinion, in argument,
toward a consolidation...
   what was a no-man's land to begin
with: is a no-man's land to the end...
     and if i fall prey to the lexicon of
the "culture war":
   i will simply have to re-state
my position...
    i am "manufacturing being:
and i do not have to even
     make a worthwhile concession
           whatever opinion there is...

within the existence of the internet,
i've had one, yes, one
dialectical experience in my life...
on "foreign" soil:
yes, not with my dementia-ridden
   who's always prone to opinions...
on a bench,
with also an elder gentleman...
    the delayed speech of his grandson...
and... about
rayleigh bicycles
and their cost...
     he supposed that his grandson
might be autistic...
    and might have to be medicated...
maybe: non verbatim...
i might have said:
   and no crushed pulp of
the vine is wine in the first
week of the fermentation process
having began...

            an old man might say this...
i have, no, contemporaries...
i don't have any...
primarily because:
i don't have a ******* video
camera and a mic.,
   just... itchy fingers and...
     of a comfort to not have
to hear myself speak...
                 which: god forbid i will
ever do...
                  only blind-men
would bellow for
            a freedom of speech...
                    perhaps then i am
inclined to appeal to deaf
          yes... all these conversational
   borrowed, or rather expanding
from what was conversational
overtones in poetics
as instigated by frank o'hara...
        but hardly a real conversation
in what has become:
   a connected world
but also a congested
                replica of: the village life.

here's to my face,
becoming the new horror...
of the Instagram photoshopped
   like the Cthulhu...
                i invite upon my face:
Belzeebub's ***!

p.s. oh... and there's only
something akin to
   da pacem domine (ensemble organum),
a templar chant
  in the background...

            a vision: less sinister,
and more... entombed
in a proud yet morose stupor.
Maryan Abdi Mar 2019
Thoughts of you keep me up at night.
We can go days without speaking.
Yet a day can’t go by without you crossing my mind.
Sometimes bad thoughts.
Sometimes good thoughts.
But you always wriggle your way back into my brain..somehow.
Especially late at night..
When my minds does nothing but wonder as to what could’ve been.
Anya Sep 2018
The little children stand squished together
in a tight enclosed space
Unable to be completely still

A solid phase

Then, they start to squirm some more
as their boredom takes over
some start coming off
the tightly knit shape
More and more
and open spaces
Until its a shapeless mass of kids
Each with ample space

Liquid phase

Then they get tired of standing around
Some start playing tag
Running about
Until finally,
The once tightly knit
is simply
a few random kids
zooming around
here and there

Gas phase
The kids were molecules going from a solid to a liquid to a gas phase as energy was being added by the way in case you didn't get it.
rhiannon Feb 2019
Heart Broken!
Holly’s Story:

Snow swirled around the misty,dark forest as i walked through carefully.Dead leaves crunched and the wind blew heavily.Trees swayed from side to side,shaking colourful leaves onto the ground.Red,orange and green.The colours of the beautiful Autumn.I was alone,listening to the birds sing their sad,melancholy tunes as they flew past.Cold air blew against my back.I shuddered.And turned to the icy footpath.I skipped along merrily,chasing the little birds as i went.The dark approached and i found it harder to see where i was but i still happily played with the squirrels and robins as i walked home.

It was now pitch black outside and i completely lost where i was.I continued nervously.My heart beating fast.As i was walking i could hear footsteps moving towards me.I stopped and listened.The footsteps seemed to be getting closer to me and approaching more quickly.I turned around but couldn’t see anything.Then i tripped.I stood back up.As i was about to run something grabbed my arm and pulled me.Who was it?Where is it taking me?I scream.

I tried to wriggle however the hands gripped more tightly and and stayed firmly against my small,cold arms.A couple of minutes later,i stopped wriggling as i started to feel extremely tired and soon i fell asleep,breathing in the cold air.

The beautiful sun awoke me and i stood up,brushing the Autumn leaves off my ripped,muddy jeans.I walked through the hanging branches and shadowed trees.Something was moving in the distance.I concentrated hard and saw a dark figure moving towards me confidently.As it approached i could make out a face.It’s eyes as blue as the ocean and features pale.It stared at me with an expression of hatred and loathing.It was wearing dark clothes and was extremely thin.

It moved from behind the shadowed trees and i started to recognize it.My ex-boyfriend.He looked sad but he glared at me with hatred.It seemed like he wanted some sort of revenge on me but it was hard to tell as he also looked sad.As if he wanted to tell me something but just couldn’t bring it into words.

It all started last summer.It was the hottest day of the year.The sun beamed its hot rays and smiled cheerfully at the playful children.I walked through the grounds of the house to the lake.There stood Alex.I placed the flowers on the fountain side and picked up the vase.”Here,i’ll help you,”Alex said as he tried to grab hold of the vase.”No,no,i can do it.”i replied.He continued to pull,insisting that he should help and…The vase smashed into tiny pieces.I cried,”Now look what you have done!”I leapt into the lake to fetch the pieces.Soaked i climbed out and walked back to the house.I turned around,he was still there and looked shocked as if he didn’t know how to react.To some people it may have seemed silly but it was a really valuable vase of my granddad's and the only thing i had to keep as memories of him.And it is now unrepairable.

It was mid-afternoon and our servant,Becky was cooking a roast dinner for my older brother,Max,who was returning
home from Cambridge University.No one was in the mood for a hot meal when it was already extremely hot.Alex sat next to me at dinner.It was awkward as no one knew what to say.I was still really upset with him.

He phoned me and messaged me after that saying that if i let him help it wouldn’t break.I started to ignore him for weeks and he said,”we can’t stay together if we are not even talking,it wouldn’t be right,i’m sorry!”

I know i should just forgive him but it upsets me too much.He walked further out of the forest and stared at the sky.It feels like he might be trying to bring back the happy memories we had together before we split up.I still think about it sometimes and feel sorry for him that he is so heart-broken.I just can’t quite explain it to him.

Alex’s Story:

Watching the distance between us both when we used to be so close just breaks my heart.I think back to all the memories we had together and happy things we done and just wish it could still be like that now.If only Holly understood how much it means to me.I sit on the snowy bank and the dead Autumn leaves and write in my spotty note book.

“It’s hard to believe

That you no longer

Care about my feelings,

Knowing that we

Were once so

Close to each


Why can’t the

Bond we had

Still be there?

Sitting in the


Remembering the

Happy times we

Once shared,

I hate the

Distance that

There is

Now between


Why don’t you


Why don’t you


I then put my notebook in my pocket and alone i stay in the cold,dark forest.Maybe one day Holly will understand.

A few years later!

I still go past Holly’s house sometimes to remind myself of all the happy memories that we shared.I never see her anymore though now that i am a famous Poet and Author.We never got back together even though i really wish we did.I love visiting the area Holly lived with the beautiful flowers and colourful leaves surrounding the forest and all the cute,little animals that sing their sad songs of Autumn.It’s peaceful! But sad! The magic that Holly brought to it is no longer there and i’m always there alone now so it isn’t as special as the times i spent with Holly.The wildlife no longer moves cheerfully in the wind and the leaves don’t have their sparkle that they used to have.Even the snow doesn’t swirl around the dark sky anymore.Everything has changed.

There is only one thing that keeps me going and that keeps me going and that is my books i write.Without them i would be trapped inside my own thoughts and sad memories.
A sad heart breaking story!Bound to bring you to tears.
winter May 2019
She hasn’t left her room for three days. She hasn’t left her house in two weeks. She hasn’t gone into town in a month before that. She hadn’t been rationing her food supply on purpose but it’s what ended up happening anyway.

She’s laying on the floor, now. She’s been laying on the floor and staring at the ceiling for hours. She knows that the ceiling is a muted, toneless, comforting beige but all she can focus on is the creeping gray shadows that feel like a physical barrier between herself and the rest of the world. She knows that these shadows are only really in her head, but four nights ago the angle of the sun coming through her curtains had been just right and all she could focus on was an oppressive mass of shadow that froze her in her tracks and locked her inside her own mind as it crawled nearer and nearer.

That horrifying moment had only been that, a moment, but now that she’s locked away she doesn’t even have the energy to start looking for the key.

She’s been lying on the floor staring at her not-gray ceiling for hours. She has no idea what day it is because every time her mind starts to right itself into something resembling coherency there is another shudder of uncertainty and the physical shadows in her mind slither over her more tightly and she is left again a shell of herself, dead, glassy eyes staring, seeing nothing and the ceiling, both at once.

However, if there is one thing she can focus on longer than anything else, it is the shadows. The ones that wriggle in the corners of her periphery and make up her cage. Even if her mind can’t pull itself together enough to name the days, she can at least count how many times the shadows were at their weakest and instead of reaching towards the silhouette of her body, she can at least count the three times where she felt the light pressure of warmth on her skin. It lasted a little while, she remembers, vaguely, but it was never long before the briefest change in the shadows illuminated their own movement again. Again, if coherency was anywhere near possible she might question how her strict one-way mind can connect that this means that days have passed, but for now she just waits in numb agony for nothing and everything in her mind to make sense.

She has no idea if she is awake or asleep and really, doesn’t care.
now I know this is a place for poems and this is prose but...... this has been niggling at the back of my mind when I try to sleep. lately, I've been having that thing happen where I sleep so much but I still wake up exhausted. I hope for rest for myself and I hope that someone else can relate to this.

I've been super obsessed with superhero movies and the combination of this and seeing the trailer for Neil Gaiman's masterclass I feel like I almost have a solid idea for an actual plot of a story based off this. I'll probably think about for months before anything happens but. I guess this is a test run.

— The End —