Author: Steppenwoelfin PM
A brief poetic text on despair, release and the healing power of writing. I would be very happy if you reviewed this, especially since I have resumed posting after two years.Rated: Fiction M - English - Angst - Words: 256 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 1 - Published: 07-03-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2929222
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: Fresh off the angst burner for you :-) Classic disjointed-coherent angst by Steppenwoelfin after a very long time. Please take the time to review if you liked (or disliked) this text.
Behold me sitting in this putrid pit of despair - my soul beyond repair - I stopped caring about people staring. Regression into depression - I am alone - alone - alone as the bone of someone or something dead. I fragmented my memories, hoping that if they were naught but scattered ashes of the cremated corpse of the past, then I would find peace even when bothered by a stray piece of memory.
I went away, a way, my way - not yours. I sold my soul to the cold - I was comfortably dumb and numb. Then you came back, my writing - you returned; - from where I do not know or seek to know. You pointed to the past - to the present - to the future; three friends and fiends that cannot exist without each other: cling to the past, you warned me, and my sole present would be a drowning future.
Outside, the setting sun whispers farewell compliments to the coy clouds, and they are tickled pink. Darkness falls and stumbles up again, spreading gentle oblivion across my vision of times past and future. The swifts fly swiftly, iridescent melancholy shimmering in their cries. I am here; I am there, and you came back to me, a wealth of words riding on the wings of the swift swifts, to release me from my distilled despair.