The Light of Day

We bury ourselves in the light of day

Slowly shifting deeper than six feet under

When the falling night comes our way

The only sound of encroaching thunder

We bury ourselves nice and neat

And wait for the rain to render our defeat

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Tourist

Sometimes I feel like a tourist in my own mind. I don’t always like what I’m seeing or hearing but I have to remind myself that I volunteered to come here.

Sometimes I feel like a tourist in my own body. It feels familiar yet unf61166-short-quotes-about-lifeamiliar at the same time. Like the people on the streets or the lights overhead.

I don’t want to feel like a tourist in my own life. I came here for a reason and there’s no going back. I’ve gotten where I am because I worked for it. Because I wanted it. I’m not just spending a few days or a week or a fortnight in this life. I’m here for the long haul. For every challenge and every experience. This life is mine and mine alone.

And what I take from this life won’t just be souvenirs left to gather dust on a shelf.

If I Had a Heart…

If I had a heart I could love you

If I had a soul I could tame you

If I had a tongue I could speak of you

If I had a pulse, it would beat for you

If I had a mind I would think of you

If I had eyes I could see you

If I had a heart I could love you

 

Inspired by History’s VikingsTheme song by Fever Ray.

A Hungry Heart & A Ravenous Soul

My heart is hungry

The lining stripped raw

It’s running on empty

Like all the old flaws

My soul is now ravenous

A malicious red demon

In a life that’s hap-hazardous

It screams out like a beacon

My heart is on fire

Smoke filled and bleeding

I stoke each burning ember

In search of some meaning

My soul is imploding

A slow, violent collapse

The inner lining eroding

The remains become scraps

I watch and wonder

The world spinning on time

As we all fall asunder

Is this just my design?

This Shattered World

Another response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Weaving the Threads.”

I can feel myself losing sight of a long forgotten dream. The child in minds eye is no longer one of grace and innocent being. The world has fallen into chaos, spinning off of its axis; tossing our lives every which way. We’ve lost control. Our fingers grasping at nothing but straws and thinner than thin air. We’ve come undone. We can no longer describe ourselves as irrevocably unbroken. Our hearts are falling to our feet;  in fleeting after fleeting piece. We are slipping between the earth torn cracks; fissuring on the glass of this already shattered world.

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I am splintering into myself. Out of myself. Away from myself.

“Show me your soul,” the darkness begs. The shadows loom up behind me, threatening, promising to fully and completely consume me. At the very last second, it ebbs away like the moon possessed ocean, receding towards the edge of this world.

Wading through the broken hearts and war-torn souls, through the tear stained eyes and pitfall stomachs, we find ourselves, not in a ocean of despair, but on an island of vengeful hope.

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The dreams come to me not behind closes eyelids but through pupils exposed to effervescent light and pitch worthy, violent white noise. I find myself exposed to the thoughts but not feelings of others and wonder just what lies beneath the surface. Despair, diligence and disgrace.

I imagine that this place in time is in an ever spinning standstill. The surrounding world one of colorful black and white. I wish for things my heart cannot see. The feeling is there but never fully formed.

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-You can find my first response to this writing prompt here

Today is All There Is

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Worldly Encounters.”

To the friendly, English-speaking extraterrestrial outside my house,

I recommend to you the novel that speaks to me inside and out. And that is The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky.

This story is human nature at its finest. At its most vulnerable. At its great achieve-ability. It not only shows what the world has the ability to be, but it shows us the world as it truly is. It’s dirtperkscollagey and hurtful and cruel and unfair. It’s fearful and explosive and continuously demeaning. But the world is also beautiful and kind and can help heal your soul. It’s accepting and meaningful and unbelievably strong willed.

Between the traumas and hardships and all the self-hating, there’s a hand at the end of the tunnel willing to show you your worth, your importance, your purpose and strength. Its friendship and family and self love and acceptance.

It speaks to everything a person may go through–heartbreak, loss, abuse, mental illness & pain. Love, encouragement, acceptance, understanding & learning–and still find the ability to continue on. To not let life pass you by, but to move along side it. To find strength in your tears and empowerment from the mistakes you’ve made.

To let the past be your past and let the future be that of myths. To remember that today is all there is.

The Body With Only One Heart

Once upon a different life, I held your heart in my hand. Blood dripped between my outstretched fingertips, marking a crimson trail towards the crook of my elbow. I watched your valves beating, the blood vessels breathing, in slow motion. You fell to your knees in front of me. Chest heaving and eyes blinking. Your voice nothing but a vaporized whisper spilling into my ears. You told me this is what you wanted. That you only ever asked one thing of me.

Have mercy on the body with only one heart

I tried to give it back. Tried to place it back inside your excavated, eviscerated chest. But you wouldn’t let me. You said you cannot take back what has already been given. I tried, desperately, to protest. Tried to prove that you were no longer whole. You had been torn in two and I had done the shredding. My blood stained hands, the ever present culprit. And yet, you smiled at me. Bared your teeth like you bared your soul. The same soul you said that was wrapped up in me. Inside my body, inside every inch of me. Through the pours in my skin, from the lids of my eyes, to grooves between my ribs.

I close my eyes now and feel the rhythm of your heart in my hand and the heart that is no longer mine. I feel you move towards me. The motion increasing my breathing. I feel your hand on my chest, your fingers brushing my clavicle. In a swift motion, your hand tenses. Clenches as your fingers dig in. The flesh tears, the blood bursts and your hand reaches inside. You whisper, open your eyes. When I do, your whole body pulls back. Ripping organs and muscles and pushing aside bone. I look down and see our matching blood soaked fissures, in your hand the still beating organ.

I feel myself fading. The blood loss too great. The expulsion too taxing. I fall towards the floor, my free hand breaking my fall. The hollow inside my chest deepens. I feel the bones grind against each other, the muscles straining, begging for restoration. Before the darkness envelops me completely, I place the heart in my hand inside the ever growing chasm.

Just before my eyes shut, I feel my flesh stitching itself back together.