I can’t pinpoint exactly

the moment it changed, when

the parties became TOO often, the

thrill of trying new things

too frequent, too repetitive

It was like I blinked and

suddenly you could not sleep nor wake without

A bottle, a pinprick… Many forms, yet

Frenzied you did things

Things you would never have done, while

Friends pleaded, families cried

Again and again

I wonder if you begged yourself near the end

While eyes yellowed, veins blew

Doctors warned you,

you knew what would become of it

Yet you could not stop

the fix was worth everything

even your life

I know some of you

tried, and the system failed you

But you’re still in the ground, and

too many days I look at the small circle of hearts

tattooed on my ankle,

naming each, in turn, memories...

I remember the sinking feeling

when I realized the irony at the last memorial -

Your awful taste in music blasting,

quoted you and took a shot, as it burned

so did the pit of my stomach, for

It was exactly what you would have wanted, and

in the same what killed you

Too many days I fear to ask myself

Who will be next?

It’s Friday! And we all know that that means we get to find out about another Proser. This week we shine a light on a younger member of the Prose community, a sixteen year old young lady from a small town of big dreams; one where she dreams to be acknowledged as a writer. We are getting to know a little more about @AMY this week. Yay!

P: What is your given name and your Proser username?

A: Aqsa is my given name while my prose name is AMY. It's a short form of my full name, Aqsa Muhammad Younus.

P: Where do you live?

A: I'm from Pakistan. (No I'm not a terrorist haha)

P: What is your occupation?

A: I'm currently in grade 11, studying O levels in a Cambridge school.

P: What is your relationship with writing and how has it evolved?

A: For me writing plays the most important role in my life, I guess? I've always found it hard to express my feelings and keeping everything bottled up inside became frustrating. So when was in grade 5, I just took a pen and my diary and began scribbling poems and quotes. They were my break from the 'dreaded' reality of life because I knew that those pages were my world and I could create anything I want.

Those monochrome sentences might look dull to some but for me they were my emotions and my fantasy. Somewhere far far away from the burdens of being the eldest one at home. Of course, in the start they were funny and childish with strange rhymes but then slowly I began learning more about how to write poems and all. Now my scribblings are comparatively way mature than before.

P: What value does reading add to both your personal and professional life?

A: I was six when my mother took me to this bookstore (I have no idea of the name) It was not that huge and had an antique tinge to it (as if it was a store from Harry Potter) but God, it was filled with so many books! There I felt a strange surge of fascination. From that store my mother bought me a fairy tale book and she or my father used to read one story to me everyday. Soon I began to read it all by myself. It was my prized possession back then (I still have it with me)

P: People have often compared me to Matilda for some reason. (I have no idea why)

A: I've always been addicted to books. Like writing, they are a break from reality for me. Most of the time at homd my nose was buried in books that my mom scolded me time and again to give my eyes a little rest. Whenever my dad asked me want I wanted for my birthday they were mostly books from Oxford publishers (I don't know but for some reason I liked the books from that particular bookstore) and now I get a feeling I have more books than I have clothes.

Now I don't buy books thanks to technology I read them on my phone online.

Maybe that bookstore was magical after all.

P: Can you describe your current literary ventures and what can we look forward to in future posts?

A: Expect the unexpected. Everything depends on my mood, from my reading to my writing. One minute you see me reading R.L Stines books like haunted and the hitchhiker, the next minute you'd see me crying over the ending of Wuthering Heights. Even my writing, one minute it's all romance, hearts and flowers the next minute, my words would be dark and enigmatic.

P: What do you love about TheProse.com?

A: Everything! This place is great. I got to meet more qualified writers and learned many things from them. Those challenges are great way to provoke poetry and prose too. I can share my thoughts and scribblings with ease. When I came across this page I was like 'Finally! My writings won't end up staying in my diary forever.'

P: Is there one book that you would recommend everybody should read before they die?

A: One? That's so hard to choose from many amazing books I've read so far. I think I'm currently a fan of Sylvain Reynard's "Gabriel's infernos." You should try it if your favourite genre is dark sensual romance.

P: Do you have an unsung hero who got you into reading and/or writing?

A: I never thought about that.. Maybe those people of Syria and Palestine who struggle to protect their families but are not given honour and respect they deserve? The honour for the pain they are going through and the difficulties they are facing. They keep on giving hope to their families that good times would soon come but are eventually butchered in cold blood? I keep on writing about the horror of Syria and Palestine. Maybe, I don't know...

P: Describe yourself in three words!

A: Moody, curious, adventurous

P: Is there one quote, from a writer or otherwise, that sums you up?

A: "I became insane after long intervals of horrible sanity." -E.A. Poe (He's my idol tho)

P: Favourite music to write and/or read to?

A: That depends on the genre I'm reading or writing to.

P: You climb out of a time machine into a dystopian future with no books. What do you tell them?

A: No books? Okay, that's a nightmare. I thought about it for a really long time but I can't possibly think of a future with no books! I mean, as long as people want to be educated and 'rich' we'll have school books. As long as we have thinkers, daydreamers, escapists. We'll never run out of books.

P: Do you have a local Indie Bookstore we could approach for our ongoing feature?

A: Nope. I live a place away from the main city centre so I'm not sure if I know any.

P: Is there anything else you’d like us to know about you/your work/social media accounts?

A: I'm from a family where I'm the part of the second generation who is being educated properly (the first being my parents) English is not my first language or anything but I've always preferred reading and writing in English. I've currently written a short romance novel I recently published on Amazon Kindle with the name "Yours Truly." (It was my first attempt to write a book I don't know whether it is actually good enough to be considered as a book ahahah) and I'm working on another modern romance novel "His desire, His revenge." And yeah, that's probably it. You can find me on Instagram as Aksa.8 for more of my scribblings and other random stuff and updates. :)

What a great insight into the life and times of this lovely and promising Proser. If you have yet to do so, please follow and interact with her. If you yourself want to feature, or would like to nominate anyone, do please get in touch. We have a few in the queue, but we always welcome more of you to it!

Moistened eyes, brewed memories

Enchained with the same old stories...

Yet again I steer phantom night

Dawn at brink, but you ain't in my sight.

-Born Maverick

He was thinking

That lies came to his lips

Faster than they used to

And he wondered

At what moment

He became this way

He was thinking

That he used to listen

For birds out the window

Try to identify them

By their chirp

Now he only hears 

The heater turning on

When he is staring at the wall

He was thinking

That it was all his thinking

That changed him

And he wondered

At what moment

He locked himself away

His smile never seemed

To touch his eyes

And so he went outside 

And shut his eyes

And waited

For the next bird

To fly by

Madness is a kind of sanity.

Indulge before the breaking point,

or risk shattering.

Risk a numb mind, an unfeeling heart,

and that's just to start.

Compulsions to stress and delusion,

wickedly depressing confusion,

lack of communication, denial

and suicidal musings bound

to confound and constrict

happiness within,

to the point of hurting yourself

merely to convince

yourself you are real,

between cycles which spin

and twist and spin and twist and

bite at your soul's infinite,

compel the muse to self-mutilate,

and hate the things it trusted to be

her inspiration's kiss, blissfully transcendent.

Instead, a proclivity to

d e a f n e s s to that which is

beautiful and rich, 

and a propensity for 

b l i n d n e s s to finding the 

panacea meant to cure all this.

Madness, that is.

Happiness in disguise.

Truly fulfilling. Truly ingenious, and oddly wise.

Indulge in this,

from time to time.

A harmless flight

from the chaos of society.

And once you've had your fill,

ease back down, and 

experience the thrill

of laughing at these maniacs

with sad faces and dilapidated lives,

knowing full and well, you are this, 

from time to time.

While you endure precisely the same pain,

but feel no remorse, and no shame;

acting not on your agony,

but the interpretation of its meaning.

Appreciating the contrasting shades,

cavorting amongst the haze,

the dazzling hues of all this.

Madness, that is.

I want breakfast, so I scrounge up an unsatisfying coffee, and swipe through my dating apps: five new messages. The plant on the sill with leaves spotted yellow strains toward its own bright love. I respond yes to a date tonight, and push at the pot until it rests in the sun -- but where it sits will be shaded come afternoon.