(Source: staypozitive)
Here lie massive, starless spaces; an abyss where you and I can trade places. Colorless. No shadows, no windows. It’s like we’re on opposite sides of the glass; we cannot touch. I’m uncomfortable. Vulnerable. As the wave of self-consciousness plows it’s way through my chest, as the surge of diffidence makes it’s way too, the oscillation of my thoughts becomes even more rapid. Oh those thoughts, they cascade to and fro, like a violinist’s fingers; so brisk and bewildering. I’m bound by it all so fiercely. If only I could reveal my soul, my heart would be tethered no longer.
It leaked out slowly from the porous underground; a feverish red color with an impenetrable smell. It almost looked unreal. As it spread, the red curdled into black masses. So it’s true, he thought, it’s really true. It had erupted. He expertly, yet timidly, stepped over the excrements, and began to run.
“Come down, come down young thing,” he said with his hands clasped in an O around his mouth to maximize his sound. “No, I don’t want to. You…you can’t make me.” He paused “Why are you frightened? It happened years ago.” The voice of reason. “You don’t understand,” she began to weep, “It all happened when someone left the window open. I’m not ready, I’m not ready!” She fled from the window, and dove into her comforter; sopping, quiet.
-Rachela Wiselure
sometimes writing is like dancing
you simply need to loosen up
not take yourself so seriously
pretend no one is watching
let the tension out
and not be afraid to make no sense
to anyone else
at all.
