An existence
Attached to pinprick perforations;
Blunted imprints and scabbed divots
Sealing off memories –
Dark figures roaming stone-walled chambers
Shrouded in the forgotten colors
Of adolescence
Masking itself
In nonchalant shades of grey
Because it’s better this way…
Distanced from the blemishes
Hid beneath long sleeves
And pretty fabrics
Without being fettered
To the ‘why’ they’re there
To touch them
With aloof interest
Without scratching beneath the skin
Of buried trauma
In unintended discovery
Unleashing agonies that bleed
Uglier
Than every macabre hue
It’s better to remember nothing
Except these moments
As cherry blossoms
softly carpet the sunbaked asphalt…
Tag Archives: life
One Night Stand
As love escapes
The twilit tangles
Sweet dreams unfurl
To shatter on dawn’s
Gilded edge
He turns to find himself
Alone—
Tangled sheets
Sillage of liquor
And sated lust
Stirring hazed recollections
Again
With only stale tastes
Of passion
Stuck to the roof of his mouth
And a distant ebb and flow
Of heated promises
That never breached the shore
Of a fleeting infatuation
When Words aren’t Enough
Sometimes, words aren’t enough. She realizes this in his wan smile before he drains his glass to give her a perfunctory nod, grunting at the bitterness burning down his throat. He says nothing as idle conversations stray by their table and that’s when her words echo back to her. Like soulless drips collecting, rippling out into a void. And there’s nothing else to say because he’s heard it all before. So what do you do when words are all you have to give, even in their superfluity? She calls his name softly and reaches across the table, squeezing his hand.
***
A Midnight Wish
Mystery murmurs
Low and resonant –
Its strange cadence
Plucks into the stillness
Like a poltergeist;
Presence betrayed
By shuddering walls
And their heaving sighs
As though burdened
By tales they’d eagerly share
If only they could talk
But those stories remain
Teasing whispers
Behind wooden beams
Where she wishes
She could stuff her doubts
For only a moment
Of unbruised peace and quiet
A Quiet Comfort
Like watching breath in motion
The calligrapher inks the beginnings
of a quiet soul
Upon fine parchment;
A soft inhale suspends itself
Following his careful pause
Then pools out – measured and slow
As each brushstroke
contours and connects
to a heart of emotions
that become tangible
Real
A lifeline immortalized
For all the things
Left unsaid;
For the anxious thoughts
Pressed between quivering lips
Offering comfort
To the ones
Trapped within the tangles
of their own mind
Saunter – Weekend Writing Prompt #246
Her seduction of him was never intentional. She hadn’t caught his attention with flirtatious quips or a provocative gait. It was in the breathy notes of her laughter. The citrus of her perfume that sauntered – unbidden – over his senses. In all her natural reactions that drew him to ask her name.
SammiCox Weekend Writing Prompt
Happy Sunday everyone! So many weekend writing prompts passed me by, but I tried my best to make it for another one again. I hope you’re all doing well and as I settle back into a writing schedule, I hope to talk with you all once again.
Until then!
A Lucid Yearning
Voices often ebb and flow, like quietly lapping waves at the shore, in and out of consciousness. They drift on the edge of silence; cosmic undertones strange to an ear that only knows rhythms of the wind. Of things much closer to home – the cadence and sighs of simpler routines. But imagine the world that would ripple into view, eclipsing established borders of thought and self, spreading colors hid within an angel’s mirror, if those voices could be understood?
Yet they remain – untouched – within the elusive realm of dreams, not so easily coaxed beyond the feathered light where wakefulness awaits.
Without End
Calendar pages flutter through the wind
Another year twists its limbs
In a dance that is quickly forgotten
As it grows more distant
A glimmering speck
Unseen
At the threshold of time
That continues in its unbroken way—
Solemn and impartial—
While some will its hands
To reset to their desires;
Resolutions gathered
In an abundance of wishes and prayers
Between hands, lips and hearts
Eager to carve boundless paths
Where the life-giving pulse of fate
Flows
Without end.
——
Happy New Year everyone ❤
The Curious You
You seemed a creation
of waves and sand;
The way your skin glittered
in opalescent winks
Under the aureate sun
You spoke the language
of the sea’s deep groanings
That only seagulls could pacify
Seashells hugged your neck
Like the finest pearls
And your moss-green eyes
held a mysterious depth
that rivalled the ocean’s;
Pools I could drown in
without fear of an unknown Leviathan
crushing my body in its descent.
We could not understand each other—
Perhaps you were only a figment
of my sun-soaked imagination
But all I felt
Breathing your salted fragrance
Was peace;
Quiet and free.
I want to give a shoutout to Happy Panda. I think this piece was inspired by your comment on my last post, which was so encouraging. It made me realize even if my writing doesn’t sound “perfect”, as long as I still enjoy doing it, that’s all that matters. Thank you for being awesome and I wish you all the happiness ❤
An Ugly Truth
Here is something I’ve realized. I am my own worst enemy. I do not give myself credit for the small things I’ve achieved. Too focused on the bigger picture and greater ideals of what I want my writing to be, I lost all sense of appreciating what it was. I hated every single piece; I believed there was an area of lack though I couldn’t pinpoint what that was. I kept comparing the things I wrote to other past pieces and thought my sense of expression was crooked. It wasn’t the same. Wasn’t deep enough. Wasn’t moving enough. I was desperate for approval from myself, yet I couldn’t accept my writing. Even though I still shared it here, even though I believed it to be acceptable – each piece seemed mediocre in some way. And now I can see I got in the way of my own growth. I criticized myself to the point I no longer thought I had what it took to write anything of worth. So, I just left it alone. This is the reason I stopped writing altogether. I’d given in to the voices; sunken far beyond the surface of pity and self-loathing. This is the ugly side of me. The part I am still trying to overcome. No pretty words this time. No creative layers to hide behind. I just wanted to tell the truth.
Nomad Writer 