I could hear the low murmur of the TV outside my door. I turned and tried to block out the noise and as I closed my eyes I could see the screen. Flickering the same colours and sounds of everyday.
A decision. My mind flashed through the multiple options until it came to rest on the one I wanted most. I opened my mouth, the pause not yet noticed.
The world is a lie. People say that the world is beautiful. So is lying beautiful?
This magical world of wonders.
I capture life twixt these gentle hands of mine.
Just think of life; you'll be up of night. Think of death, you'll be done in an instant.
The swing sways in the wind. The rusted chains moving slightly as the wind pushes it. One moment the wind is overpowering it and the next the swing is in control as it sways back into its original position.
I stare out at the world which used to be beautiful. It is still beautiful, more so than before but it is missing the unseen beauty. It is missing the people. They are still there. But they are walking by without noticing the view with which I see.
The rain patters on the roof. I hear its fast movement, falling then splattering into a hundred droplets, then disappearing so fast that it is impossible to see.
I can hear the news playing down the hall. The even tone of the newsreader spreads the news about the murders, kidnappings and miracles that make the world. I listen though it is all the same.
The sweet juice dripped slowly down my chin before I swiped my hand across it.
The pain swelled around my ankle and moved up my leg. I tried to think about something else, but my mind just flew qu ickly back into the world of pain. The world I had never planned to enter.
The hill stood, casting a shadow across the town below. Trees down the bottom gently made its way to the top, being lost over the other side. Houses dotted the hill, standing out in the green canopy of trees. Their hard faces creamed with age.
A new way to describe things. A way which lets the mind imagine it for themselves. A way which contradicts things to create an image, different for every person.
Clashing with harmony.
Life's door has opened, and one day the exit will too.
A life of dreams can only be imagined.
As the sun set over the sea it cast an array of colours over the deep blue ocean. The pinks sang over the sea, whilst the yellows spread light around. Every second it changed as the sun moved closer to the horizon. A deep navy began to form with the tan, differing from the light colours that hovered above the ocean.
Trees covered the entire hill, except for the big gap, that showed where the expanse of trees had been cut down. Their torn trunks viewed red in the distance, showing the blood that they had unwillingly give.
Her shirt looked like the stars had decided to come and land there. The remains of a tissue left in the wash had left its mark.
Ringing out silently was the little gold bell that would always clang until the one it waited for arrived.
The dappled light dances against their bodies. I wonder where I will end in life; somewhere great, or someone who is hated by many. Or, the worst of all; someone who will be forgotten.
What is normal? For, for something to be normal there must be something abnormal, but who is to say that the abnormal is not the normal?
Her voice rose in a word, her face swelled to red and her eyes turned to the ocean. She spoke unhinged, riding herself of weeks of un-breed torment. A slam announced her exit. A silence announced her questioning. A few moments of cautious glancing and then a small voice. The class wouldn't linger on her or long.
But then a sparkle glances in your eyes, and you look, to see the moon placed in amongst the dark. Clouds spin around its body, so much so that you cannot tell if the moon is only half, or if it is the clouds that restrict your view.
By and by the years go nigh.
She listened to the screams of rushing kids. Shouting, jumping, having fun. She cringed at each scream, they ripped through her heart and broke her mind.
One day I will find something in the world that doesn't cost any money. Maybe that thing is love.
I turned and saw the empty house of memories.
I see him walking. You can tell by how he looks. But what really is different about him, how does his mind work, why can't he be normal.
I love closing my eyes, seeing the redness of the sun behind my laden lids. I pause in the moment and take in the blissness of nothing. Then I open them and take in my brightful surroundings. The place with which I had just left comes to me, fresh and new. The sea sang with mellow gold, glistening through the mist. But through the silent shadows speech a figure begins to emerge. Cloaked in black, shrouded by sheets of fold, they step without noise into the gossamer surroundings.
The waves tumbled in, swirling into life, encompassing the already dark depths, bringing with it stories of stories.
I always wonder why we live. Then when I am happy, I realise why.
The glen shined with the ray of sun, falling on the log in the middle. Behind, a bed of lilies stood straight and tall, falling into the dark soil.
How do you live, when someone wants to kill you, and they don't care if they die in the process.
The woman sat, alone and forlorn, staring out into the cold meaningless night, whilst fancy dressed pass gaily by, not sparing a thought to the heavily clad stranger.
I drink for the hearts that I have broken, for the lives that I have stolen, for the tears that I have shed.
Her smile did not light up the world but it lit up mine.
The grass grew greedily.
What is beauty in itself? Is it a doe or a deer? A flower or a blossom? Is it a rainbow or a cloudless dawn? A sunrise or a sunset? Beauty is everything as long as there is someone to believe in it.
For a moment I see her as she truly is. I see her past the make-up, to the lines drawn on her face, the expression behind her smile. I see her worry, her pain, her attempts to be someone she is not. And that is when I see her as she truly is, the person she tries not to be.
So I stood there in the wind and rain, shouting with the rest.
She laughs like she never laughed with me.
It courses through my ragged bones, piercing through my swept skin. Driving into me, into my mind, into my soul. It is there always, spurred on by its continuous capabilities, by its believable strengths. But it holds no wonders, only deceitful pasts. It does not help me, but it imprisons me in this self-caged trap. It is why I sit alone, hide alone.
Death it came a'knocking, death it came a'talking, death it came a'walking, singing out to me.
The lights come on and cleanse the sky of stars.
Cool seductions of night, symphonies of day.
Rain splatters the glass, creating broken crystal.
I wish amongst the stars at night, praying like a dream.
Shadow, shadow, dancing through the din, singing through a story, flying past my kin.
Less description means more imagination for others.
I'm not a King, but who's to say I'm not as great. I'm not a hero, but who's to say I'm not as valiant. I'm me, so who's to say I should be someone else.
I walked on the willow with the muscling wind.
I do not feel regret for what I said, but I wish I had not said it.
Oh how it was when the words escaped my broken lips, their meaning shuddering through me in a wave of emotion.
The trampoline has always seemed to revolve around things. I remember how my sister had lain there with her boyfriend, and they had talked, laughing without stealing glances around them. He had then treated her roughly, not in a bad way, but like he didn't see the need to protect her. The last time they had lain there, he handled her with care, like a delicat porcelain vase that need polishing. Three weeks later she announced that she was pregnant. And now, I watch as my other sister lies there with her boyfriend, just like the others that had been there before. And it makes me wonder, how will he treat her?
The great calluses of nature gently twined around thine hands.
Softly the sun touches the clouds above its presence, turning the ivory floss to pink.
There is a girl. She wants to be an actor, there amongst the lights. She wants to be a dancer, pirouetting on the stage. She wants to be a singer, standing before a crowd. She wants to work in an office, clicking on a computer. She wants to walk the mountains, puffing deep with the heights. She wants to be all these things, known and unknown. But really, she just wants to be one thing. She wants to be a writer, where she can do all these things effortlessly.
One. I took the callous step across the hard-drawn bridge and climbed willingly over the placid planks. They creaked nauseously with my thin weight, daring to create fear in my smooth demeanour.
The lion pranced demeanourly across the path, striking nauseous fear into the fellow companions. Slowly it looked down upon them, and, with a silent purr, stalked away.
The flowers danced melodically in the halfmoon, their petals facing to the sky.
Hold me tight, hold me where the wind won't blow. Hold me tight, hold me where the shadows won't grow.
The house just sat there, solemnity and forlorn surrounding it's body. A rigid gate lay cracked around it, bushes shrivelling away at its touch. It was like all life scuttled from its grasp, all green inside the gate fractured and dry. No life breathed, every root long drawn into its depths. No one reached for the gate, it sat silent, rusting as each raindrop fell.
In one hundred words you can tell of a person, and how they conquered the world's end, finding glory at its edge. In one hundred words you can tell of a sunset, and how it fell softly to dive through the sea, embracing all it saw. In one hundred words you can tell of a broken heart, and how its sorrow encompassed the mind, driving to the soul. In one hundred words you can tell of fear, and how it crossed the paths of imagination and entered the way of reality. And in one hundred words, you can read this.
Why cannot I be beautiful? Why cannot I be smart? Why cannot I be everything that I want to be? But if I were, would I still want all those things.
The squeals echo off the wall, bouncing through the caves as we jumped with delight. Our shouts prolonged by the rock around us, we continued in our gallivant way.
Two choices, two, only two, but more than two, maybe more, maybe less, but only two.
I smile as they smile, I laugh as they laugh, but really inside I am breaking, wishing to hide in the smallest ball.
Different colours can reflect different things about a person and the way that they are perceived by others and themselves. Do people really wear colours so others can be influenced by what they see. That is what people are doing, they are influencing others minds to turn to the way that they want them to; but does it always work?
The day draws near and still I am here, silently praying that a miracle will fall beneath my shoulders and shroud all pain.
Red flows smoothly to my face as I hurry to bury my face in my open palms.
I dream with a mind so great that not even imagination can encapture me.
Just because the world turns round doesn't mean you have to.
The fear builds up, and I wish amongst wishes, that I had just turned up 10 seconds later.
She stepped casually across the deep ocean trench, reaching high up into the naked depths of the world.
The simpleton of life is one that cannot be accepted easily by society.
Name one thing in the world that is still natural.
The treetops glittered with the drops that passed through the wind.
As I look down, I do not see my hands, but the hands of the one so like me.
I took the callous step across the hard-drawn bridge and climbed willingly over the placid planks. They creaked nauseously with my thin weight, daring to create fear in my smooth demeanour. My thin hand rung around the smoothened rail, gripping endlessly to its cold demise. On the other side I could see the fine gate, welcoming me.
It gripped me as an iron cage descended upon my body.
I spent my days travelling; bounding across the world just as pages flitted across a book. Worlds were opened to me, new experiences explored.
The wonders of life are envisioned by those hoping to gain something. But for those who hope to gain nothing, they are the one who see the truths of life.
The phenomenon of one word leaving your mind as another enters is quite astonishing really.
I'm a little bit mysterious, and a little to well-known.
For those that read these dappled words I thank you with a heart gone gold.