Why I keep writing
I started because I was told I wasn't good enough. A teacher once suggested I needed a tutor for English. Hearing it broke me for a bit. I always liked stories, whether I was reading them or writing them for myself. I was always creatively inclined. Hell, my parents are both working creatives, one as a creative director and one as a professor of illustration. My hobby was music, but my passion was writing, and it all culminated my last year of college when I came in second place in a creative writing contest with a story I wrote in a bit of a dark place. The validation was nice, but what was better was the gained knowledge that I can actually do this and have people like what I have to say. It's gratifying if nothing else.
imaginary friends.
writers are the people who don’t let there imaginary friends die. i wrote that in a challenge a bit ago. i guess i started writing when i was eleven. it’s embarassing i see so many who started when they were four, five. the minute they knew what pencil was created for. i started writing because it was my way of running away. i couldn’t run away. i wouldn’t make in very far. besides “a place can’t take away your problems,” i read that on a tee-shirt or was on bathroom wall? i can’t remember anyway. writing helped me cope with loneliness, when i was too awkward for friends. when people found me repulsive, when i had problems that i didn’t feel i could talk about. i was never a diary type of girl. i couldn’t write about my day to day life that would just be depressing. i couldn’t write about my day to day problems that would just be stupid. i mean i tried to be after a while i’d look through them and realize that never came far. never really rose above the problems it didn’t help me it just depressed me. so my writing became my diary it was a way to tell my story without being so blunt, without anyone catching a glimspe of it and thinking that i was the problem child. that i was crazy, that i had issues which all may very well be true. it was without the frills of saying dear diary today i cried on the bathroom floor. i was much too old for imaginary friends but somehow i couldn’t let them die they had seemed to hold my hand on stormy nights. they had been the only constant friend i had that couldn’t die, or grow tired of me. i’m not trying to sound deep the fact is i’m really quite very shallow. but when it comes to writing i feel like my heroines understand me. i know i created them so they should, but quite frankly i feel like as i create them they come alive. i wish life was like writing a book. i guess there would alot of backspacing and erasing but at the end of the day it would be creative, it would mean that with the mark of a word with the tilt of a pen life could change life could expand and dissipate. you wouldn’t be afraid to step out and speak what was on your mind. there wouldn’t be repressed feelings that weighed on your heart like a 100 pound weight that you had to lug around. i guess what i’m saying is that writing has helped me accept that life is crazy and unexpected. it’s helped me see that you can’t take back things said or done like we wish to. wow i just looked up and realized i’m at 500 words in less than five min. i guess it’s clear that writing helps and that i ramble endlessly.
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Slas(her)
I got cut today and I didn’t see it coming.
I didn’t notice it at first, it just felt like a swift kick, leaving me a little winded and a little sore, but no worse for wear.
Once I settled down, I felt the wound and it opened and bled and bled and bled...
I can’t stop the bleeding.
I need stitches, but I’ve alienated all of my help. In my process, I’ve isolated myself from every person who could patch me up...except for the person who cut me.
The King Is Dead
-I-
The night vacated to the passionate horizon, and in the songs that rang slowly through the swirling wind, a man crept with malicious toes in the pulsing sand.
As he neared his destination, the colliding Universe before him astonished him.
Every star, including the sun, was placed like sprinkles on cake, and every disc from Andromeda to the Milky Way, spun with excellence.
A film played before the dark haired man, his stone like demeanor flourished with a kaleidoscope pattern of light.
Never had his heart been struck so powerfully, never could he interpret beauty without wanting it dead.
His unconscious mind split into two houses of thought.
“Kill the child and resume your villainy”-“Consume nature’s beauty, drink from the red cup, and feel the suppressed thought rise!”-” Penetrate the Wife with the keen dagger, splash victoriously in the family’s dread”-“Split the cosmos, cleave the atoms, eliminate the sadist!”-“Come forth knights of the night, and finish this jester, posing as a sympathetic entity.”
-II-
“King” he called himself.
At the moment he waited for the troops in his fragile mind to conclude the battle of sanity versus insanity.
Time wasn’t, for it froze.
The Queen and King stood apart at the court,
the ruling was impossible to finalize.
How do you tell the King to give up power and the Queen to stand solely alone, over a fallen empire.
Murder and Beauty
Blood and Life.
“What is it?”
“You longed to kill your sister,no?”
“But, why?”
“Do you not remember the moment she pitted you against the lions, do you not recall the time when she beat you down and bruised you in the sands?.. Abandoned you in the crowd!”
“Do you not recall the men that looked down at you with disgust, remember how their limbs rose when this blade pierced their stomachs?”
“Beauty wears a crown, topple it. Hate holds a knife, embrace him!”
So the Ocean and the shore in front of him splashed with deep blue roars.
“Are you there? King..”
-III-
The visions are scarce in man who is dead inside.
For certain, that was the case at the present...
The King could only see red, crismon, scarlet, BLOOD
Or whatever the dead men slain wish to call it...
He only ever wanted the plainest human generosity; acceptance.
What does it take to simply come into a room and not be seen as an outcast, pushed fast by the eyes of the children who wished not to play with him.
Expedient little philosophers they are, when the night is dim, and there lies a body to discard of, and the gas is near red..
Throw the little miscreant off, and out of bounds..
Why hold the child’s hand?
He’s just a burden.
Although.
The water sinks, the pale faces will never dwell this place..
So at 7 a.m
he drank chlorine to the brim!
The King was a child-
The King a man-
The King, he swam-
Locked with fate he had little options-
The mother smoked the cigarettes as he drowned,
a sadistic witch!
She was not a queen, nor some random fiend.
She was the deliverer, a swindler of lives...
The child began the evil steps, before he could talk...
Fastened seconds talked to the wicked witch...
So tormented with these vicious lines:
“King’O’ King
how the waters,
they sing!”
“The lights, proud in the night.
Life, such a tasteless delight..”
“Raise a hand,
I will not stand that demand!”
“Beg, beg, and beg.
You’ll never emerge,
ha!
You’re
dead!”
“ha!
you’re
dead!”
-IV-
“So? Have you decided, have you circumscribed that stupid man? What does the court jester say?SPEAK...”
Why should he speak if daggers talk well, and in some instances better...
The King doesn’t need family,
all he needs is the darkness...
“Remember what she said you massive dunce? She took every last ounce of trust, and covered you in the dirty!- dirty, ‘urrggg!’- the stupid- flippant- ‘ahhhhh!’- THE LIES”
His mind spoken only with anger, it seems as if the insanity fled a while ago...
Now what has left to go is the madman that lays- or the defendant...
His sister was there, right before him.
He hid in the thick foliage, just staring at the smile of the small boy, and the passionate glare of the little girl..
They looked onward, with no care for the millions of days they may lose, to death.
Cursed are the scum that look for revenge
for others blunders...
However the sister took his trust...
She took him as he was, and then twisted every last fund from the relief jar...
The tears, oh, how the tears were perfectly aligned with the careless hour...
Regardless she took him high, then low...
Her death could be soon,
“Oh Rose, how’ve you had this coming”
-V-
”you’re-dea...”
“oh, Daughter?...What are you doing here? You shouldn’t intervene with my silliness..”
“What are you doing to my dear brother?.”
“Just a quick dip”
“His face is red, it’s RED”
“So what? I’ll see to it that you both are dead!..”
So the small girl pushed her into the deep
vat of chlorine.
And ran forth into the deep green forest, it was a place to be lost, and then found...
A place to take a breath from insanity, then what?
Lost children sucked to a dead end...
Not enough hope garnered for a new home.
In the darkest corner, the two alone..
Promised..
To search for a new home.
Don’t cease...
Please!
The lies are apparent, she vies...
Transfer him from the depths of the bubbling charcoal
Throw him yonder when the moment is quiet.
“Did she wish to silence these things?”
The Autumn was his fall...
Trees dancing with life..
O
How ecstatic!
That frantic criminal...
In this trial, A King is on against a child reminiscing over a trifling
snake.
She slithered, O she spat...
As you sat in the moons theatre...
Oh she knew well what the darkness could do for sure!
In the pursuit of happiness, what are you willing to
terminate?
So she did what the wicked do to survive...
Though hardly could this idea be possible, she spent hours teaching him the ways to look up.
The sister held him when the shrieks peaked the dark corners.
She was a foreigner to life...
The witch and daughter were one...
It takes the peak of a full moon
a hundred times over to drive in the pain to the maximum.
The night arrived as any other, although he was older, and more importantly- innocent...
The daughter knew what must be done, the two were to be one....
Brutal breaths, and covered crest...
The night was young, so as they were brought to where the moon howls, she told him:
“Look down- my King”
The whispers were murmurs from the dead demons of grief...
“You have reached the summit, that evil wench is down in red...”
“The world is ours. You are free, although it seems the afflictions are glowing green. You, my King...
have yet to live your dream”
Still a sane man sat on the edge of the spiralling cliff.
He looked around, and heard no sound.
He wished a wish..
He found a fulfillment never so Supreme.
All he could do was look back
and say:
“Queen, or better, my sister..Once I was breaths away from Providence, then you pushed that devil, that hound!
Down back to her
shallow chasm... ”
The moment was glorious, the passion could simply be breezed,
passed by every shadow that crept in the foremind of the Queen, of Rose..
It is impossible to tell what every gust spoke,
what was the night attempting to say?
“Dear Sister.
You gave me life, knocked the stone that continued to press me!
I am like a festering insect below the millions of pebbles near the shore..”
-
“Brother please forgive me”
she whispered silently to herself, off toward some other entity that was leading her toward the innocent man before her...
-
Wait,
patience my dear follower..
-
A war flourished above the clouds,
a clash of grey with a splash of striking lighting, plastered the thirsty earth below.
Each strike was potent upon the temple of her body, and furthermore her mind.
Wailing winds walked wickedly,
bleeding stars shone over their
corrupted locus.
Violence pursued every leaf,
every leaf flew in hopes to flee,
regardless of color, red or green, brown or orange;
nothing could stop the inevitable reality that had seized these two.
-
“Why sister, what is it that you do?”
-
“I wish to close shut the jaws of my hatred, I put a woman in a pit!”
from this moment forth her tears were her veil,
nothing could uncover the darkness that had hunted her down to this very instance.
“I thought I could for us..
I thought that...
We were alone as children,as MERE children!
I was meant to live in prosperity.
I should have not intervened, I should have let the chlorine sink into the chambers of your soul!”
The fire raged, the embers blazed, no longer would she live within her cumbersome cage..
“My life was before me and I was granted freedom, now I will do as any under these afflictions should- kill the creator of the madness; to then silence the hysteria.”
Her steps cracked the stone below her boot, and the stone burst to bits.
Rose, had at last accepted her true self, a witch that could only conquer the universe through the power of push, a force that was warranted by the issuing of her shackles...
“Now dwell in the sorrows of hell you repugnant brute, go down the fire chute...”
And so Rose sung:
“Dear King,
dear death,
silence the maddened,
‘shush’ this dragon!
Revelation by thy divine,
why art thou so unkind?
A dead man walking, and flooded back,
the sours of the night will make you cower-
so off
to
your
plight!”
-VI-
Now Rose was grown, a thirty-seven year old woman who wished to spend time in the tempest before her...
The children playfully laughed at the water before them, they saw all its flaws with less hatred, and more enchantment.
Rose could feel the aroma of love, it was one that was so palpable,
so magnificent, that not even her husbands fear of that moment could sway her.
Now was the hour of finality,
too many reprehensible actions have been committed,
backed with all the glorious RED that could fill a dozen or so pools- a hundred times over.
Stars, galaxies, the finite, yet infinite universe, and trillions of beings
could hardly prevent this moment from colliding.
A course has to be driven and driven again.
This one in particular,
was worn and torn.
The King stood afar from the glimmering sands, smirking, and cackling toward his weary mentality.
He attempted to take a couple of more steps forth, to permit a better view, but the strength of the forest was much.
The endearing family were like the Ocean before them,
they would wave back and forth in their happy dynamic; then they launched up in to a gleeful dance, running toward one another, and then blasting past the sand.
Each one seemed filled with more than just an essence of hope, but with complete security.
How could they be filled with such enthusiasm?
A day on the beach, on what felt like a deadly isle.
Not a gust of wind could knock them out...
not a blade could split them now.
-
“So shall it be?
King’O’King..
Let the judge, jury, and executioner at last decide!”
His mind melted with delight, his fat little fingers were beginning to lose grasp of the dagger.
“What are you doing? Have you lost it? What are you DOING.”
So moment after moment he digressed from the basket he was placed in, he began unchaining the cage...
NOW.
-
A second must be felt, and indudged.
Wait one...
-
The man dwelling on the fine cloth could hardly forget the events that unfolded nearby.
Rose had told her wicked tale, and it struck horridly onto the sinking vessel
of this man.
His state apprehensive,
The tips of his fingers
longed to pull a trigger.
The man had been quite the ranger before he settled, and certainly, his wooded rifle could not be left behind.
Even before the stories, he stayed armed, and ready to kill.
A lion he was, after a defenseless
gazelle.
The rounds were keen, they could pierce past the thickest of evils; past any gilded being that wished only to crash down every comet ever conceived to torment man.
He was always vigilant.
Rose had said that
King was a maniac, that he would always drag her across the ground, and slam her shut inside a cell.
She also mentioned the way he would twist the feet of rabbits before her, and launch their guts outwardly...
“He would splash the blood across my face, and pummel my soul.. ”
Rose had enticed this man, not as a lover, but guardian...
They were always close, no matter the distance...
Still...
What was her motive?
The husband, the ranger, and a new life as a stranger...
What was it that fueled her?
What is convenient for one...
Is dreadful for another.
The mother of the King -that witch!-
saw pain as a feeling to uplift
oneself...
To provide exodus for the millions of forsaken thoughts...
Rose’O’Rose...
Do you bleed that pain?
The pain held by your mother, has it towered your head? Or caused death?
-
The husband was an artichect of a wretched being, building her brick by brick...
All the man wanted was for the children to stay happy, and live as any child should.
He knew what came when the ring wrapped her finger,
he knew that death was imminent, peaking around every corner.
What could possibly trouble the lone ranger more...
A fierce night dragging himself through sludge, betwixt a hateful winter , it would rather crisp its breath to icy daggers, than to cease it momentus massacre.
Or
Was it a man who no longer existed?
A dead brother who was pushed down from a spiralling cliff.
It seems the invisible entities that lurk in our minds are far important than any other true danger...
-
“King don’t let them temp your malevolence through
their loveliness...
It is an illusion!
They wish to draw you in, you think they will invite you into their kingdom?
‘hmmph’
They could care litte, that family is an Oasis amongst the angels of hell!
You will regret your actions...
King’O’King
You wish for acceptance!
You want the past, as a thief jewels...
You see the grand, you see the child forgotten...
Left down were the beasts shiver,
laying with a broken back
in shackles that she
placed on you!
Go forward,
and plummet
again!
-VII-
‘Tip’
‘top’
His toes cried against the frigid ground, not a second did he wait to pursue a possibility
to reconnect with a person who had wished him death.
Who only lied to him,
there were many nights he thought of her, mainly when he sunk his now fallen dagger into the chests of wandering men.
He was still innocent at his core, not a second of isolation could counter his innocence.
A villian who had ended many,
a King over the lives he had stopped.
Now he wanted to be in the sand,
glimmering with the children,
learning how to prosper without
a scythe on his mental.
So he pushed through the remaining vines, and came forth, facing the glistering cyclops in the sky.
His pace increased faster and faster, the beat of his stone cold heart began to reignite.
He could feel the embrace that would soon
be his.
-
The lone ranger
danced in peace with the women of his dreams,
he let his body be taken,
and she let her body direct the course of their
intimacy.
With her deep red eyes she pushed
beyond the border of his soul, and
he could feel the desolate corpse that remained inside her,
she was in shock..
What possible sighting could be so detrimental to a single
entity?
“THE KING”
The ranger ran for his artifact, the only thing that could bring peace
between
truths and lies.
He knew what had to take place
but before it could
Rose had
shrieked past the boundaries of her voice, telling the kids:
“Come here little ones, the devil he’s here, the hour has come.
He will deceive, but he will not receive you, no
he WILL NEVER
receive you”
-
As he neared them, The King stared death head on..
He knew that he would not breach them, for something had repelled them,
but what?
“Sister!”
A strange thing was that the King wailed his arm in the air, perhaps not strange, pardon.
What was surprising was the dagger that still was clenched in his left hand,
it remained...
“Little idiot, tear there flesh, and wear it!
They have no care for you!
Do what must be done, end them
all!”
But he did not listen, he still knew a chance to reunite
existed.
He was in a rush, like a bull after red, he could not be stopped, not one
thing could shoot down his desires.
Suddenly....
The King saw the glimmer from the barrel of the wooded rifle of the Lone Ranger,
and without hesitance the Ranger
shot...
There were red skirmishes within the air, and then the sand,
The bullet wept,
the smoke, it was fresh...
-
So Rose said:
“One of the Isle,
King’O’King...
In death you are mild...
In life you were but a child...
Though my heart was dead,
I knew happiness for a while...
Destined for villian-hood...
You had given me strife..
I speak in truths for my family is not here,
see
King’O’King
you are a corrupted figure..
You were dead from the start...
Now
watch
your fallen
kingdom
die....”
-
A bullet could not stop him,
not the innocent child, but the driver,
the maniac with a smile,
the joker with
the
dagger.
-
With a fierce cut
he slashed her…
Slashed her dead
-
THE KING IS DEAD
Can My House Be Your Home?
I know you call her home, but tell me, is she where your hands live or your heart?
Do the constellations littering your irises mirror hers or is it your mouth mirroring the freckles of her skin?
Is it her words that make your skin crawl towards hers or her fingers that raise the feathery down from the back of your neck?
Is she the oxygen that your lungs pull to feed your heart or the adrenaline that pushes it to work in overdrive?
Is she the breath or what makes your breath catch?
Is she the pen on the paper or the words that begged to be released?
Is she the cathedral or the prayer?
The incantation or the spell the words cast?
Is she the sky that holds the light or the stars themselves, always there even when they can’t be seen?
The match that kickstarts the destruction or the already blazing fire?
Is she the caress or the feeling that lingers after it’s over?
The skin or the mind?
The magnetic pull or the place where you stand?
The speed or the lull?
Or is it both?
Is there really any difference to you?
And one last question.
Is it me or am I her?