-Thirty-something enigma with a wide spectrum of interests.
-Heavily anchored in poetry.
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Illuminating. Blinding to those who observe. Help us to survive.
By BrettNotGreg2 years ago in Poets
Lighting up the night. It’s image fades at sunrise. Still, there it remains.
Tires squeal. Bright lights. A loud crash. Glass shatters. How many stories begin this way? Every sense, engaged. - Heavy breathing.
Dammit! I closed the window and forgot to save again… deep inhale It’s okay, I was doubting myself… long exhale No, really, it’s fine.
Isn’t it funny that a mere change in perspective is sometimes all it takes in order to achieve what seemed impossible before?
There existed a time where I actually very nearly succumbed to the madness of the world you’d intended to place me in. Yes, I recall knowing better, but somehow questioning.
I’m doing that thing again… You know the one… The thing where I’ve started 20 different drafts over the course of the past hour…
The iridescent light in my periphery is a little uncomfortable. It is reminiscent, however, of an all-too-familiar presence that inevitably exists this time of year.
“STOP” Reads the white letters inside of the red octagon. What an alarming presentation, it must be important that I abide.
Are you familiar with the point of no return? Where those around you can visibly see every fume? You know, that awful place, where any sign of cognitive reasoning seems to have exited the room?
The humming and rattling of the old ceiling fan turned up on high so perfectly compliments the medium-depth of darkness that surrounds my very presence.
A loud noise, the look on someones face, a crowded room. I can’t breathe. Walking on eggshells? No. I am the egg. Fragile, and very quickly coming unglued.
