Do we hearken to our hearts? Do we assimilate our inner instincts? No. We are galloping in a race where we get anxiety because of our ineptitude to fit the so-called success pattern. We follow what everybody is doing to reach perfection. But, life is not that harsh! It sprinkles shimmering flakes of elation and serenity at the coldest of times where we have relinquished our hopes.  

She is cracked and dryShards of whatShould be.Empty air does not live here,A harsh lit space of nothingnessWhere blinding whiteScours reject sidesAnd spears of brokenStab the world.The winds of voicesFlow on pastUnheard.There is no soil or waterBound to take in seedsSoft blown alongTo settle lightly,Root down firm,For nothing livesIn arid pain.Tip the broken vesselOn her endFor shame.Noisome ooze of fecal oil,A black and...

I am the moth in the jarHammering hard against glassAs it warms in the sunrise andBakes in the heatOn my fragile dry leafOf unfortunate soulEver flipping itselfTo get outAnd to breathe.Where the cruel sun beats downOn my wings turning vapidOver dryness insipidThat cracks ancient velvetThat once had held wisdomPotentially vibrant inDust-devil murmursThat whisper the secretsWe all knew and know now,I don't belong here.  Thi...

The night continues to falland I become one with the shadows. Struggling to stay afloat,I am stranded in this unrelenting flowwaiting for an ebb that never comes.This tide is not turning. A darkness has awakened in me. You can cut its roots at the surface,but it lives in twisted stemsand thrives in coiled tendrilsthat are anchored in inky depths.It is here that I shrivel and decay.Enshrouded by blackness - though I occasi...

You believe me if I told you a story, Of a girl who was so lonely, She would break her own heart To keep from falling in love.You might think this strange, Maybe she is deranged, Purposely keeping everyone away, Even those she trusts.It seems so clear some, She doesn't like anyone, So she becomes a burden Upon her own heart.Such a black and white case, They assume in haste, With the real problem clear, She can't get past...

I am the stranger in my house This wretched run-down shack This hovel with pests and peeling paint and dirt floors from front to backShards of glass from long broken windows Litter the furniture and floors But I never bother to sweep them up Cause it’s not my house anymoreDried blood stains the ceiling and corners There’s no love or light in this place The cold and dark have befriended me now In the thick is where I feel...

His eyes a soft blue, elegant and bright, hair darker than black and slightly curled just right. He has an aftershave, maybe he will grow it out. He is waiting for me, a preferred form than all the art. I step up to him, my face flushed. I wouldn't think he would join me here nor take me out. I stood by him, hoping slightly he wouldn't notice my presence. I don't want to intrude in his personal space. Next thing I know, h...

This musing only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.Sometimes I feel that the world is a graceless place. Well, alright, I always feel that. For me, every day is a task that I cannot look forward to. But there is no way to rearrange my knickers drawer in procrastination of meeting the morning (or afternoon, on my days off), and I am lacking the ability to pull a sickie and tell...

I’m running, fleeing in fear. It hunts, it stalks, and it’s relentless. Not machine, beast or man. Alone I face it. I can’t hide. No armor or fortress is protection. No bullet or blade can harm it. It will not die. I’m its victim, its prey. It comes in darkness or light. It hungers to feast on me. It devours my heart, mind, and soul. Hiding is hopeless. Evasion is doomed. I weep knowing its assault is just. It’s my greate...