Amnesia

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…

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.