Everything is kind of dying.
From the initial point dividing.
Factors fracture faculties fixed,
Light expansions cyclically twist.
Earned in being,
Sparked alight,
Shooting from the darkest night,
Every expanding ebb and flow,
Down through all the rabbit holes.
Courses cursed and minds collide
Crushing indifference founding
Fundamental divides.
Spinning orb a give and take
On until volcanos wake.
Guilty masses ill at ease,
Stagnant distractions
Numbing squeeze.
Debt accrues with the loss of past
Mother natures weakened grasp
While now
Everything is kind of dying
But touched with wisdom
Dawns enlightening.
To have lived would mean
An end was plausible,
So realize it now
Life is possible.
Dreams of the Guillotine
Standing here at the guillotine
About to lose my head
The thought arrives that I’d rather be
Anywhere else than dead
*
I’m not sure how I got here
The reasons are quite confused
Regardless of the answer
I stand here as the accused
*
Passing out is not an option
As my troubles are indeed deep
Hopefully before blade meets neck
I can wake from this horrid sleep
Thank you, and goodbye
X,
You chided me. Said I spent too much time on that “shitty app”. What did you call it? “like Twitter and Facebook for wannabe writers”? That is was nothing more than a social media dumpster fire, “full of drama” and for “mediocre talent”. You called me naïve and too quick to join the “clique”. You regarded my interaction with other writers with utter disgust and jealousy.
Your words stung. I’m not sure if it hurt more because of coming from a lifelong friend, or from a fellow writer I had always respected. You being both, it certainly hurt. But this is not the reason for my email. I want to let you know I am leaving everything behind in order to focus on my writing.
First, I want to tell you ‘thank you’. Thank you for fortifying my suspicion that I may indeed have a story within worth telling. Without your disparaging words regarding my talent and social habits, I may have never taken this drastic step of cutting ties and pursuing seclusion. Your harsh words have ignited a fire in me to write like I never have before. Thank you.
Second, goodbye. Do not reply to this email. You will not hear from me again. I am excited for life’s upcoming chapters; I feel they will be some of my best yet. Our friendship is now a mere footnote of regret in a book forever shelved. Be well.
Wannabe writer no more,
Mariah
this stall is occupied
i can't afford
a private hell.
my hell is
a public bathroom
with no locks
where travelers come and go:
i smear my shit on the walls,
like letters on a computer screen
hoping to deter them
but it only seems to attract more
like flies.
they gawk at
my display,
some even call it art,
as i smear my innards on the walls.
i can't help it;
my innermost thoughts must always be
thrust out
like vomit
after a long night
even when they'd be better left
unwritten.
my mind, like my body,
must shed its waste,
but it is not flushed so easily
down the toilet.
my pipes
are clogged,
choking on filth.
trash
with nowhere to go
simply makes its home
wherever it is convenient:
collecting
in frantic internet posts
that are quickly buried,
filling the gaps in my brain
until it begins to rot,
eating away my memories,
just to sustain its malformed flesh.
i can't afford
a private hell.
mine is a public bathroom,
where everyone comes
to dump their waste,
here and then gone.
yet i remain:
i haven't finished
dumping my load yet.
Mourning
Every morning when I expect to hear your knock at my door, and I don’t….. I'm in HELL.
Every time I go to the bathroom and see the light you just bought and installed for me…..
I’m in HELL.
Every time I’m in public and am reminded of a time we shared over the past 13 years or even something you enjoyed…..
I’m in HELL.
Every time I start thinking about what I should’ve said or done differently……
I’m in HELL.
Every time I wish I could have just one hour, minute, or even a second to say goodbye……
I’m in HELL.
Every time I realize that I have to remain here - without you…
I’m in HELL.
But, every time I look into our son’s bright, blue eyes and see yours staring back at me …........
For just a moment…..
I’m in Heaven.
I will always love you.
R.I.P
Patrick Stone aka "Pitty Pat”
08/28/1978 – 04/19/2023
On Repeat
BabyShark do do do do do
Baby Shark do do do do do
Baby Shark do do do do do
Baby Shark do do do do do
Mommy shark do do do do do
Mommy shark do do do do do
Mommy shark do do do do do
Mommy shark do do do do do
Daddy Shark do do do do do
Daddy Shark do do do do do
Daddy Shark do do do do do
Daddy Shark do do do do do
Gandma Shark do do do do do
Gandma Shark do do do do do
Gandma Shark do do do do do
Gandma Shark do do do do do
Grandpa Shark do do do do do
Grandpa Shark do do do do do
Grandpa Shark do do do do do
Grandpa Shark do do do do do
Little fish do do do do do
Little fish do do do do do
Little fish do do do do do
Little fish do do do do do
Hungry Sharks do do do do do
Hungry Sharks do do do do do
Hungry Sharks do do do do do
Hungry Sharks do do do do do
Swim away do do do do do
Swim away do do do do do
Swim away do do do do do
Swim away do do do do do
Swim faster do do do do do
Swim faster do do do do do
Swim faster do do do do do
Swim faster do do do do do
Safe at last do do do do do
Safe at last do do do do do
Safe at last do do do do do
Safe at last do do do do do
bye bye sharks do do do do do
bye bye sharks do do do do do
bye bye sharks do do do do do
bye bye sharks do do do do do
(goes back to the top and repeats for eternity)
Standing Strong
They stare with their wandering eyes,
They don’t know the pain I despise,
My scars hide the pain inside,
Thirty surgeries in and the fact there won’t be more, lies!
Fear of the blade, blood like past wars, trying.
I won't let them win or see me crying.
I stand strong, proud of my scars,
The war within, ever brewing, always trying.
Invisible illness hiding inside trying to get out,
The pain never goes away but gets worse in bouts,
EDS, POTS, others, the diagnosis such a lout,
I will not let this break me down or pout.
I am who I’m meant to be despite the pain,
I stand strong, be brave, live to sustain,
The warrior within is always just under the skin,
Take heart, be valiant and I won’t let my pain be in vain.
Virelai, Your New Favorite Meal, and Reverb with an Epidemic Noted...
Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.
In today's vid on the channel, we look at two user challenges, some damn good writing, and the accidental death of a recent video. Oh, and if you're going to record without headphones in frame, uplug them. An old dog learned a new trick for next time. Anyway: Here's the link.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-StiZEFTtEk
And.
As always........
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
and the blind guitarist will play on
for hours and hours
he lies
down
but doesn’t sleep
“Can’t sleep when your
eyes aren’t
tired,” he says
but his eyes are
beyond tiredness. They’re dead.
Been fished out
quite expertly
a long time ago by a
very unfortunate, very unhappy
mother who couldn’t stand
looking into them
“Bitch should’ve gouged
her own then,” he says
these days, laughing and
making jokes about it
Not a lot of
people
find them funny though
but that’s all right
he’s not some standup comedian
No, he sits down
on the park bench
and plays the guitar
from noon to morning
for eager audiences of
dead children
who look up to him as a hero
Sometimes
real people
even throw coins at him
sometimes
even food
And all his songs
are about
cheering
and loving life
***
INSTAGRAM:
https://www.instagram.com/bogdan_1_dragos/