Soaked To The Bone (Repost)

Repost from Sept 2017 (closer to a year ago than I thought!)

For the word of the day challenge yesterday, cacophony

It starts with a low buzzing
A light humming,
Echoing, bouncing, off the bricked walls of my mind.
Quickly it grows, a wildfire
Clanging and banging along the barred windows of my soul.
It can not be freed.
It will not be unleashed.
But the steady clash grows, a cacophonous symphony of chainsaws
Hacking away at the binding to the cement of my heart.
Reaching a crescendo,
There’s only one way to stop it now.
Ripping away at the flesh that holds us,
Stabbing forth the hearts that blind us,
The deeds are done, the buzz has gone,
Soaked to the bone,
In the blood of a crescendo.

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Friday Fictioneers – Counting Lighters

This here’s a true story.

The moment I realized what rock bottom looked like as I barreled from above.

And tried to hit the brakes but just wasn’t strong enough.

I wasted drunken moments counting lighters scattered around, at least ten collected in my dead flower jar.

Then the music stopped and that moment of eerie silence …

Right before girls screaming and wild stampeding.

“There’s a boy on the bedroom floor. There’s a boy dying through that door.”

In my apartment.

High on my drugs.

Drunk on my liquor.

I wasted moments counting lighters … I spent seconds wishing on stars.

coffee-table-prior
PHOTO PROMPT © Yvette Prior

Word Count: 100

Many thanks as always to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

I honestly do not know if this will work in 100 words, I like it but I also know it seems kind of abstract. 

Love Song – What Pegman Saw

“Greetings from Montevideo!”

I write as neatly as I can across the postcard. I even think about slipping it into an envelope with a few pictures of my own.

A landscape shot here. Maybe the view from my office. It’s just the road but I find myself hoping you’re as curious about my life as I am about yours.

Maybe I’ll even slip in a photo of the twins. They’re six now but you never knew they were born.

I’ve never made it a habit to memorize the faces I make but I know I’m cringing.

Desperation, that’s what this smells like.

I turn the postcard over in my hands, even if I sent it completely anonymous … you’d know my writing from a mile away.

I’m sure it’d reek of wrinkled love poems and tear stained confessions.

It’d just become another love song you sing to another silly girl.

Screen Shot 2018-08-13 at 6.50.34 PM

Word count: 149

Joining back in with What Pegman Saw this week. I haven’t participated in a couple of months I think. Rules are here and this weeks location is Montevideo, Uruguay

 

Like A Barbie – Friday Fictioneers

“Do you think it’s fake?” Shanna focused on the neon green moving in the breeze.

Dena’s eyes focused beyond the grass on one Ms. Leroy. She was tall, blonde and, as their mom said, “100% plastic”.

“Like a barbie.” Dena whispered.

Shanna tilted her head while staring at the stiff blades. No matter how she turned, tilted or squinted the grass looked nothing like a barbie.

“I don’t see it.”

Dena grabbed at her non-existent chest.

“But don’t you see? One day I’ll have some just like that.”

“Are you sure?” Shanna never thought her sister liked plants all that much.

ronda-del-boccioPHOTO PROMPT © Ronda Del Boccio

Friday Fictioneers courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Word Count: 100

Ink Me Down (Repost)

Repost from Feb of this year (Feb 2018).

I haven’t been writing/interacting as much as usual lately because I’m extremely drained from stress, illness … just life in general.

Ink Me Down

Sink me into paper
Until ink bleeds
Over your cold fingers.
Go ahead,
Ink me down;
Down into the ground.
Grind memories into nothing
With razor blade stones.
Release me with every breath.
Let every sound have a bite.
Scream the words
Over glazed eyes and tear stained faces.
Go ahead,
Ink me down.
Your best tragedy,
Your personal comedy.