Part 1Dear Mr. Emmet Cartwright,My name is Trevor Miller and I’m writing to you from a mental health institution in St. Augustine. The story I’m about to tell you is the very story that landed me in here, so my expectation is that you will not believe me. It was because of this expectation that I initially decided to leave you to suffer the coming ordeal without warning. On the off chance that you do believe me, I feel it...
I rose above the clouds in an instance of triumph, basking in the sound of pure honor and majesty. It all surrounded me in one moment of glory. Wings made of light and wind emerged from my back, setting me free, and my eyes saw the world below. I could see everything. It would have been perfect if not for the next instant I was pricked by the needle of fate and banished to the depths of hell to live out a lonely immortali...
This poem only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.This...Existence.ThisMelancholy beat of a spasmodic heartEmpties full thrust intoMires of self-loathing andRues the day thatBorn and bred wereRaised and wed toProduceThis.EmptySorrowsIn the bowl of the beggarWhere pity and scornMingle with incense and onionsTo languish in cob dungeonsThat shun the sunAnd embrace the cold.GatherT...
