Falling

Sometimes when I drift off to sleep I feel as though I am falling. Falling between space and time, falling in and out of life. Alcohol runs through my veins making me burn hot. My lover in the other room still awake and alert unaware that I am slowly giving into what I can only consider my destiny.

My voice is hoarse and low, my movements shaky at best. Is this really what my life is going to be? Just one giant blurry memory passing by me? What a disappointment. I can’t help but feel bad for myself in the morning. Telling myself never again. But there is always an again. Strength does not run through me. Courage to face life left long ago. When it changed from good fun to everything I am, I will never know.

But for now I will continue to fall endlessly into the darkness. Waiting to finally hit the ground. I wonder what is down there.

Listen

I feel as though it is like some days you realize that no one is listening, let alone anyone caring. This isn’t me trying to sound morbid or anything like that. This is me dealing with the fact that I will always be slightly alone.

I’ve never been particularly good at communicating my needs, let alone holding onto friends that I hold close. I wish that I could be closer. I reach out to to them and try to grasp on but I can’t. The words form on my lips but my lungs don’t seem capable of life to them. Instead I smile and nod, keep moving. See you next week! Or actually a few months.

Being an adult, working, paying the bills, trying to hold onto all the little relationships that I do have. There is nothing more that I can seem to handle.

Both wanting to fade away but also want desperately for someone to grasp onto me.

Coming to Terms

This isn’t so much a story, I promise there is one on the way, as it is my thoughts, my therapy. Stay with me.

It is almost as though there it is one of those points in my life where everything is coming to an end. High school, slowly coming to a stop. Maybe I am not that sad to see it go but the things that come along with it, that security that there are always teachers there walking you through everything, helping you clean up your slip ups along the way. Parents, now it isn’t that you lose them persay but there is that growing up thing, you become responsable for you.

Friendships are ending as old friends move on to bigger and better things. Sometimes it feels like your stuck, no where to go yet all of the possibilities. These people that we have come to love and hate over the years are going and you realise that you will probably won’t ever see them again.

Maybe it is for the best. As more and more things end you have to remember that there will be beginnings, new experiences. It’s just a matter of time; 22 days to go.

Update

It has been a while since I have last posted, I assure you it is because I am working on a longer short story proud of what I have so far!

Writers Block

 For those days where writers block never ceases, allowing ever unimportant, uninteresting idea float into your mind. It suffocates ever crevice of creative space that it can get its tiny little hands on leading you into an abyss of boredom and irritation. Only way to fight it seems to be with time but with time comes forgetfulness allowing the slide of fingers against a keyboard to feel foreign once again. But with foreignness comes a fresh feeling, outlook on what you are typing.

 So is writers block truly a friend or a foe? That feeling when you finally break it, an idea surfacing to your mind floating around, dragging as many ideas up with it as it can. It feels like a fountain and you rush to your nearest pad of paper or computer so that you can capture them all fearful that they might escape your brain, leaving its captivity; forever gone.

 I can’t wait for that moment of freedom, letting all of my creative energy go, share it with the world. Doesn’t matter if anyone is listening as long as it is out there, all of your work shouts, “This is me, I am here, I exist and these are my thoughts!”

 This is me.

The Shooting

So this is possibly the only poetry you will ever recieve from me because I can’t write poetry for shit, anyways this was a class project and the topic I got was a shooting that had happened in a university, the target was females because the male was unable to get into the university and he blamed it on the women because they shouldn’t be there… anyways here it is:

The peace

Normal class

No fear, no anger

The sadness of his decision

The confusion, anger and hurt

As the decision came into effect.

The loudness

Class disrupted

His anger, our fear

The need to find cover

We are his targets, as women

His decision to hurt us; shoot us.

The silence

Class quiet

I pray in fear

Anger gone, fear stilled

Breath stolen from the lungs of others

The eyes of my classmates dulled

He didn’t understand, so he hurt us.

Question Marks

Commas, question marks, periods, letters of all shapes and sizes all seemed to swirl and crash into each other colliding into what was supposed to make perfect sense. But on the page before her they all formed sentences to which she had no answer, making her stare blankly at the sheet before her unsure how to answer , sheet blankly staring back at her, mocking her with all of the hidden answers it holds. Panic sweeps across her body, over taking her, everyone else is beginning to stand up to hand in their finished work. Once the bell rings it is over, the clock is ticking.

Going Again

I stand in the middle of an empty field; no trees, bushes, flowers, animals or people. Completely alone in the boring unmoving world with the exception of black shapes floating around the earth like ashes caught in the wind, dancing its slow dance around me, caressing my body yet not touching it. I follow specific pieces with my eyes, mesmerized by its movements, caught in the ebb and flow as it falls near me and gets pulled away with a sudden quickness. My arms reach up making small movements over my head; a relaxed feeling comes over me as I feel the black dust run over me.

The edges of everything here are blurred, as if everything is uncertain of its own existence like it is up for interpretation. It haunts me as I sink to the ground, feeling the plush like grass around my knees while I move to lay on my back. It feels like an eternity that I have been laying here, watching the ashes fall slowly unto the earth completely entranced, my clothing speckled with the black marks of my new found interest. I contemplate my own existence much like my surroundings it is almost as though I am blurred too, a sudden panic falls upon me. Where am I? It almost feels like I have been in this place forever, like I belonged, like ending up here was inevitable yet as though my being here was not planned. There is uneasiness about this thought though because I know I haven’t been here forever. A pulsing pain comes over me, a tightening around my neck, I can’t breath, panic and realization strike me. At that moment of realization all stops and my body relaxes again.

I remember pulling that rope around my neck, pushing the chair to the floor so that my heavy body would drop taking my life from me. I lay back down, so this is what it is like…

I feel her presence before I actually realize that she is there, I let out a small smile as I watch the moon start to take over the sky quickly, the sun scurrying away like a shooting star, the black soot turning into stars crashing into the earth. “Hi,” my voice is barely there, I don’t turn my head to watch her, I know she is there in all of her beauty, she always knew where to find me.

“What are you doing here?” her voice is sad, but it still brightens everything around me hearing the musical sound of her voice once again. It has been two years since I last saw or heard her; I had longed and ached just to hear her again.

I reached down to hold her soft hand in my own but she pulls away from me, “I had to see you, Iris.”

She sits up so that I can see the back of her blonde hair reaching all the way down her back contrasting my own long brunette curls. Her shoulders are shaking and I can tell that I have saddened her. “Come with me,” her hand was reaching out in front of her to pull me up.
I try to look into her eyes but I cannot see, her hair creating a curtain around it, covering up whatever hides there. Grabbing onto her hands she pulls me up swiftly, my face inches from hers, I can hear her breath light against mine which has grown heavy.

“I’m so happy to see you again,” I start to feel more at ease having her hands in my own, I reach up to brush the hair out of her face so that I could gaze upon her once again but she moves promptly out of my reach dropping my hand. Moving forward towards the edges of the field she calls after me to follow, so I do.

We walk in silence, all I want to do is open my mouth, let the words flow between us like they used to but I can feel her disappointment in me radiating off of her. She turns slightly like she senses my sadness, reaching my hand out

towards hers, pulling my warm hand into her long since cold one, a small voice rising from beneath her covered face, “Kelly, you are here to early.”

I frown, “You should be happy to see me.” We walk into the woods, trees seemingly glowing from the moons light, a small pond ahead of us. Iris drops my hand, walking ahead of me she shakes her head slightly as she reaches the edge of the pond looking over it, “Not like this.”

I come to move next to her standing over the pond, I intertwine my fingers with hers. She lifts my hand to her lips kissing it, her lips were not as I remembered, warm and soft they had now gone dry and cold.

Iris leans over the pond looking into the water and I do the same, in the reflection I can see her face. I have to hold back a grimace as I gaze upon her, cuts and scrapes digging into her face, blood shot eyes, a wound on her forehead oozing blood, Iris looks the same as she did when I went to identify her after that horrible car accident. I squeeze her hand as her eyes catch mine; reassuring her that it doesn’t bother me. But her face hadn’t returned to the way it was and my own body was as it was before I took my own life, she is stuck here and I don’t belong.

She shakes her head pulling away from me slightly, but not breaking eye contact with me through the water reflection. “You don’t understand,” she sounds tired, “you don’t belong here.” I look down into the water, feeling her cold hand against my warm back, colour still present in my skin against her grey complexion, “I know but I need to be here, with you.”

She turns away no longer to look at me, “You made a choice to come here that wasn’t yours to make,” I feel a slight pressure on my back and I lose my balance falling towards the water, I can feel my heart beat stronger and stronger as I fall more slowly than I should, “come back when it is your time. I’ll wait for you.”

Blank Life

He stood there by the window, watching the rain pour down onto the earth in an angry storm; cracks of lightening brightening up the night sky every couple of moments. His heart raced at each boom, it was all so exciting. But he stood there on the inside looking out, fingers on the glass tracing the droplets that ran down his window.

He stood there excited and completely frustrated at the same time, it was an interesting feeling. Boredom, which is what he thinks of when his life comes to mind, he looks around his room for a moment. Nothing of importance has been done, no trophies, plaques or anything to indicate he has done something special. Just a normal room with some pictures of friends spewed across the blank canvas of his wall, of his life.

“Blank,” he repeated to himself in a small whisper. It seemed to echo through his room, jarring him a little. He moved back to watch the hectic storm, “Look at the impact you’ve had on the world already.” It saddened him really and that sadness only fueled the anger beginning to bubble, he had that a need to be out in that storm. Never doing what he wanted in life, always taking that safe path.

From a baby you are coddled so that you won’t have any developmental problems in the future, eating all of the right foods, doing all of the right activities. As a toddler you start to learn creativity, learning activities being pushed your way so that your mind starts to expand properly. As a child you start learning skills of studying, communication and work habits so that you will do well in high school. In high school you spend all of your time studying so that you can get into a good university, spending all of your spare time working so that you can afford set university. At university you spend your time working hard so that you can have a good job and future. As an adult you spend all of your time paying for your education, wedding, house, children and children’s education and once you are done that you save up for retirement. As an elderly person you spend all of your time finding ways to save your money, stretching it our as far as possible, making sure you have enough for your own funeral.

All of this preparation and for what, we lose ourselves in it at some point. He had always taken the right path, heading in a direction of complete security. A path that leads to nowhere and everywhere at the same time, it isn’t a particularly bad path. Indeed it is satisfactory but is that what we want? To live a satisfactory life when there are so many things out there to enrich it, to make it meaningful so that you can leave your imprint on it, be remembered years to come.

He stared out at that storm, his jaw clenched, “when do I get to take chances in life?”

Walking down the hallway, he opened the door and stepped out into the storm.

Once Again

It had been a long time since she had felt brush against canvas, the sliding of paint making the surface slippery and smooth. It was dark were she stood, the word bright around her, day reaching its peak but it wasn’t a gloomy darkness; it was welcome. The feeling of being alone comforted her, enveloped her as she felt the music playing softly in the background pulse through her, giving her motive to keep going.

The colors collided on the canvas like waves in the ocean, bursts of orange and red running clashing, looking hectic but bringing a calmness in its harmony. She isn’t sure what made her draw her blinds and pick up her once loved brushes again but the tingle that swept over her body with each stroke made her forget why she quit at all.

By the time she was finished little dollops of paint were sprayed across her hard wood floor and she couldn’t find it in her to care for the moment, her hands, arms and face also displaying the remnants of her working on the canvas which is now turned to face the wall. It isn’t for anyone else to see, solely for her. She felt satisfied in what she had done and now that she was done she felt tired. Like her whole body had been drained of her life source, crawling into bed she turned off her lights.

Good night.