at the top of my lungs,
but in my head,
no one heard.
I bled in a glass jar
and she threw it against the bridge
just for the sake
of watching the sky
go up in smoke.
I had to move on for the sake of me
despite the aching blow.
Rip apart this identity to flee,
outcast for needing to go.
You jumped over my heart to get to the moon,
during this leap you slipped.
I asked, how long?
you answered, soon,
to my heart so bruised and flipped.
I wanted to leave, but my body wouldn’t let me.
The strength to stand wasn’t there, and I feared to die in this house of hallways.
It finally happened; the girl’s gone mad.
It took one moment, took all that she had,
and amid the sunken stars that fell from the sky,
you can sift through them, find reasons to cry.
She was meant to bloom,
to plant her feet in the dirt and grow.
She can’t get comfortable,
but wants to throw out
a sober retelling of emotions.
My sanity is no longer with me. Fatigue masks my emotions, leading me into a gentle and numb state as I leave my apartment.
It’s a chilly morning, somewhere between autumn and winter. The gray sky seems to glow brightly against the silhouettes of the trees. As I walk along the railroad tracks I kick stray leaves out of my way. My legs stop and I inhale deeply. I exhale, watching my warm breath mingle with the cold air and flow upwards into the sky. I’ve thought about this before of course.
Recently I've decided to follow my greatest passion when to comes to my career, working with animals. I'm also going full steam ahead with attempting to self-publish my short story/poetry book, because nothing quite says poverty like following your dreams.
That's right, it's me, your friendly neighborhood writer dog walker.
It was a tragic incident. Losing a loved one always is. But this tragedy struck the small town of Twin Peak Valley like a lightning bolt, and disappeared just the same. Even the parents of the missing girl passed by her empty coffin, without so much as a glance. It was as if the whole thing never happened.