Writing to Breathe

I’ve been working crazy hours but I’m still writing or thinking about writing as often as I can. I really want to keep this writing blog up. Moving to LA this year. I don’t want to be rusty when I go, lol. This is mainly just a ‘hang in there, girl!’ to myself. SIGH

Jumbled Ideas

I am slowly emerging from my cocoon of unproductively and the alluring seduction of suicide is passing by. Regret and mourning still ring in my ear but the call of life has driven me away from the precipice of eternal damnation. This is good, I feel human again and wear the scars to prove it. Words of glory tumble from my fingers and I am sure a masterpiece is forming, erected from a passion to escape death and be worshipped by artistic gods. Think me not a narcissist but a person freed from the wallowing depths doubt. I am great and my work bares its reflection. Deny me not this glory.

I rummaged for days through the remainder of my hope’s destruction, wishing for a sign that I should begin anew. The blood had stopped and dried against the gnash on the side of my head and the blurriness of my vision cleared a bit. I was hungry and chewing the dirty bits under my fingernails gave me no satisfaction. My leg, cut up and feasted upon by the bugs of the night, dragged as I continued my search and dread soon grew in the pit of my belly when nothing appeared but more loss. 

On bleeding knees, I prayed for my youth and a time when my wishes were placed on falling stars and blown out birthday candles. Time had not been a friend of mine and agony instead was the only beckoning hug to entice me. Cloaked in the night, I took refuse in the winter’s chill. Tired, I lied down to rest, my fate up to the gods I did not believe in. Tonight I would let the winter’s night be my muse and surrender to its will.  If I should see another morning, I’ll once again toss aside all doubt and seek again for relief.

100 Word Story

The warm liquid burned my throat as it went down, the taste was bittersweet. Ten years today of sobriety; the slip up was purposeful. I held the cool glass against my temple as my thoughts once again turned to her and the toothy smile that was no longer mine to gaze upon. The churning of my stomach seemed to be soothed as it filled with the amber liquor but a sudden knot bubbled in my chest. Another sip. I chewed the inside of my cheek, cursing the welling tears that threatened to fall. Happy anniversary, Margaret. This drink’s to you.

Jumbled Ideas

It comes at night, a numbing ache that spreads through my body like a morbid virus, wrapping itself into a tight squeeze around my vital organs. I gasp for air, but all that enters my lungs is the chilling dread of uncertainty. Despair! That’s the little word that has the power to shadow my world and swallow any light of hope. This is the hour that I lay still with a covered mouth to muffle my agonized cry. With closed eyes, I dream of the morning. A prickle on my back and I turn in the hopes that it is realized, only to find a crease in the mattress where he should be. The spasm in the chest feels like a slaughtering of my soul and my dream turns to death. Let this be the night that the moon smiles down and grants me reprieve, for I know I shall not make it to tomorrow.