I could choose to take
everything you say
with bags of salt
the sum of all your words
to be less than their parts,
the letters not written
the cheap ink
the art
without proper full stops
a lie; a part
or I could fool myself
hoping that you
actually care
noticing that I had
lost some weight
cracking up at my jokes
wanting to share
your time and my
thoughts
What would you answer
if you had read this far
am I dillusional or is
this summer at
last
Hi, to my horror I realised that my queue is now empty. All that was written is out there, and to avoid just recycling old stuff I need some inspiration. I have taken a liking to write to prompts so I would appreciate pointers to prompt blogs and also if you have your own ideas of prompts please reply to this post.
Do you have that special prompt?
I didn’t see the cracks in
the floor, widening as the
weeks went by. Candles
not burning as bright as
they had through the
years gone before.
The rocky road, the
tumble and the
falling. Fear an
absentee with the
safety net approaching.
Deeper and deeper
in the well of life,
through the endless
lies, no net in
sight.
I do confess I sometimes wonder
Of pigs and sheep of new beginnings
I am but one, a sole survivor, at least I hope my path is longer
Getting stronger as days get longer a lighter mind a subtle change
Nothing seen but less of sorrow fills my days until the morrow
If you asked I wouldn’t know limited my skills are few
No coming back no going forward the nights are cold the mornings hollow
The doors are closed the windows open
Cold chills down my back my head is hurting
The knees are aching from all the praying
Who prays these days
Expecting answers
Fools – wanting new beginnings
Am I wrong, or seeing mirrors?
Are you wide awake or running on autopilot?
Do you enjoy them? Those in line, me among them, in a queue so long.
No end in sight, all ages and all colours.
From niece to nanny, screaming children and moaning mothers.
They’re all the same, grieved and sorrow, all so troubled like no tomorrow.
Awaits your blessing and awaiting their salvation.
Hope you carry, hope is the message of today.
I do my hardest to make you laugh.
My mind is clear you deserve it all.
Day in day out, stuck inside your tiny room.
Window sill the size of a book.
You laugh with me, or at me, you decide.
Do you have a rock? Someone to lean on, brick on brick.
Out of the darkness, would you enjoy me? Would you laugh with me? Could I take your worries away? Can you give me hope, or shatter my illusions? Like all the others.
Slippery hands on oily ropes
Shackles undone, not by choice
With no grip
No safety net
I am falling
Free falling
Spiralling upwards
Gravity no longer affecting me
Falling
Not jumping off
Holding on
Perhaps too long
I am falling
Where is your hand
I am falling
And no safety net
I sent you a picture today
It was recently taken
and fairly sane – I think
Accurately depicting
Who I was on that day
It is for you too keep
Use it, to remember me
It is the last one
You will ever see
I don’t know you
But I fear you
Fear your thoughts
Fear your words, harsh words most likely
Fear your dislike and discontent
A battering ram upon me
Torture.
You kill me – slowly
Kill me without words
Kill me without thoughts – most likely
Kill me without even knowing me – for sure
I am sorry.
Please forgive me.
I put no blame upon you, because WTFRU?
“Will it hurt, much?”, he asked the nurse as she was preparing the equipment.
The equipment in question was two feet long tube of reddish-black colour with significant signs of wear. Along its side was a grove, a silver line which seemed rather out of place. It looked more like something out of a 1950s science-fiction movie than a tool fit for the 21st century he though but said nothing.
“It depends”, she coughed, “It depends on how much a fight they put up. The first time is always the worst.”
“How come?”, there was a slight tremble in his voice this time.
“Did you read the small-print before signing up for this?” she continued while putting of the latex gloves.
He didn’t answer.
“Every procedure removes some of their will to live, the next round should go smoother”
The thought made him sick, he felt like throwing up then and there. There had been nothing in the brochure about this being part of the experience.
He could only vaguely recall the events leading up to him signing up for the program. He had been on his way home from a night out when he was approached by a couple. They had invited him into their stall and offered him something to drink. From then on his memories were blur. The next morning he had woken up with the usual hang-over, and found the poorly folded brochure and a receipt for £120 in his trouser pocket.
“You will help improve the future of humanity”. The statement had stuck with him ever since and he had at the time been fully convinced that he would be “doing good”.
“Doing good…” he repeated the thought out loud.
“Sorry, is there a problem?”
“Yes Dear, but no need for you to know. Not yet anyway.”, he thought to himself. “Nothing, I am just feeling a bit weary” he replied.
“That is expected, it is kicking in.”
“What is kicking in? What have you done??”
“I will be right back”, the nurse put down the equipment and left the room. The door locked automatically behind her.
Left to his own devices, he tried to gather his thoughts.
Did they drug me? They must have drugged me. They laced the drink I got earlier. Laced it with what? And why? Shouldn’t I have a say in the mat…
By the time the nurse returned he was deep asleep.
In an ideal world
Call it Nirvana
Our merry dance
Would be more refined
The toes on your feet
Less trodden by me
Our revolution aligned
To match that of
Our minds
Prompted by a @poetryriot prompt
