Tag Archives: submission a week

Week 22 – Yearning

There are things I know I’m missing, which can haunt me to no end. I don’t always know what they are nor can I see them clearly at times. I’m thirsty for something, yearning for it – but what? No clue.

What can desire bring me? Will satisfying that itch, that yearning, will it make it all better? Would I be happy then? Will happiness cling to my chest and will peace take board?

I often doubt it. Sometimes when I know what it is I yearn, I know the harm and consequences that may occur. Many have tried to convince me to silence the voices that tell me not to give in to temptation. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

I pride myself on saying “no”, but it’s frustrating and can be insulting when someone belittles my intelligence or beliefs. “Sure, I’ve been waiting for you to give me permission all me life.” When will it be okay to say yes?

There are times I yearn for something not so harmful (you know unless some freak accident kills me, or I contract some unknown disease that will later be named after me). Live by the ocean or the sea, camp out under the stars in the middle of nowhere. Trust a stranger and sleep on their couch. Open my heart, even if for a short while and let myself feel… try things that scare me. I yearn to live. I guess that’s the clearest image most times.

However, it’s the smaller things that can get to me at times. The day to days. The things I miss or wish for; the company, the care, the peace, the noise…the love. I find myself thinking about my mother often lately. I would think of those moments I disappointed her, or the moments I did something that hurt her in some way and I would beat myself up for not being a better a daughter. I wasn’t bad, but I still have those bad memories I thought I had forgotten or let go. It’s the love that I miss the most. I guess I beat myself up because I never showed her how much I loved her – that I appreciated her more than I’d showed.

There are moments I feel I’ve lived too long and times when I feel I haven’t lived at all; that the end will find me all too soon. I hope the end doesn’t find me too soon.

Week 19 – When I Wake

Groggy and sluggish I wake daily
Unable to move my head.
My brain recounts the odd and hyperactive dreams,
That keep me unrested.

I can no longer muster the energy to be spry.
I sit on my bed’s edge like I did back when I was a teen,
Staring at the random grains on the varnished floor
Waiting for my brain to begin ticking.

Cogs are rusty and squeak.
My cognitive faculties deteriorating day by day,
The internal departments unable to communicate as they did,
Once upon a time.

I’ve been avoiding that addictive elixir I call coffee, for many years now
Trying desperately not to rely on its magical properties.
I yearn for the boost and clarity it provides me,
But do not miss the occasional gastric wrenching.
Oh, that Aroma.

Sleep seems to be one of my constant desires,
Yet I fight it for I have so much I wish to do.
‘Wasted Time’ I often think, though I know better.
The ‘wasted time’ still wasted on my lack of energy to do what I wish.

I find myself disconnecting during the day
Just staring off into space.
I may be mid conversation and lose my train of thought,
Sometimes losing it completely.

The whirlpool is strong,
Drowning my mind.
Do I keep swimming against the current and hope for the best?
Or should I just let myself get swept away?

Fatigue… is my shadow companion
Depression is his brother.
Darkness follows their trail,
For a mother cannot leave her children alone for too long.

Fight it all I tell myself,
But sometimes one is too empty
Too empty to wake
To think
To care
And too empty to even drink that aromatic roasted elixir.

Week 18 – Tick Tock

Tick tock goes the clock

Tick tock go to sleep

Tick tock goes the clock

Tick tock wake up

Tick tock goes the clock

Tick tock do your work

Tick tock don’t stop

Tick tock do speak sweet

Tick tock or not

Tick tock flies the clock

Tick tock it won’t stop

Tick tock laughs the clock

Tick tock hear it mock

 

Week 16 – Carla loves Frank

‘Carla loves Frank’ was scrawled on the decrepit wall. The neon pink paint still stood out through the generations of dust piled on top. Sierra gripped her SMG wondering how life must have been back then, before the Infestation. She tried to step carefully through the echoing ruins. Although she had trekked through the halls of the train station several times, today felt different. ‘Stay alert’ she kept reminding herself. She had a feeling she might have to actually use her combat training.

‘Carla loves Frank’ – Wait! Did I get turned around? She thought. Drip, drip. The writing looked darker. Drip, drip. Sierra made her way towards the graffiti. Drip, Drip. As she got closer, the colour became clearer thanks to the dregs of light shining through. She reached out and touched the scribbles. ‘Fresh…blood?’

CLICK CLICK CLACK CLICK. CLICK CLICK CLACK CLICK. TUT TUT CLICK TUT. Click…click…tut…

Sierra’s heart fell into a pit and her insides shuddered – screaming at her to turn around, to run.

CLICK CLICK CLACK CLICK. CLICK CLICK CLACK CLICK. TUT TUT CLICK TUT. Click…click…tut…

The sounds repeated. ‘They’re here…’ More joined in, voices rising. CLICK CLICK CLACK TUT TUT CLICK. With tiny steps, still gripping tight her SMG, she turned slowly, hoping to postpone what was to come. The dripping was now drowned out by the chatter. Sierra faced them, a horde of creatures resembling crickets and cockroaches. Antennae that seemed to move of their own accord with exoskeletons slimy and crunchy.

Sierra gulped down the last of her saliva, unable to produce more. The army stood before her. The Festants had arrived. CLICK, CLICK, CLACK, CLICK. They continued. Her heart pounding against her ribcage, attempting to escape. She knew this was probably the end. She thought about those who waited back at the camp unaware. She knew her mission. ‘I might as well go out with a bang,’ she thought. ‘At least now they’ll have a head-start.’

Gun in hand, she wailed her tribe’s war-cry. Her machine gun screamed, raining metal fury on the monsters. She continued fighting even as her magazine finished, and even as the horde overpowered her. She fought as they tore her limb from limb, but as they were just about to take her heart she thought, ‘Fuck you Carla and Frank’.

Week 14 – The Deal: Part One

He emerged from the darkness, the dim street light barely illuminating his face. Hair styled and short, the wind couldn’t get it to dance like it did the surrounding shrubbery. His walk was sturdy and open, secure of every step he took. Although his boots were heavy, his step was light. Light struggled to reflect off his brown leather jacket, which weighed down his loose shirt. He smirked my way. It was my first time meeting him, but that smirk, although normally insulting, was comforting. A cat scurried across the road that still shimmered from the rain earlier that day.

“The house on the left” He said.

“Is the house on the right” I replied.

He smiled, completely unphased by what had just occurred. He took out an envelope from his pocket and gave it to me. I took a cursory glance at the bundle of money inside, judging that it looked about right. I nodded my head towards a nearby trash can, that hasn’t been cleaned since it was placed on that road. He walked over with a spring in his step, causing me to move back, unsure of how to read this stranger. He searched around the bin and looked my way, expressing with his hand “where?”. I gesture “underneath” and he gives me an “okay”.  The man lifts the metal bin and throws at an abandoned car, shattering the already battered windscreen. I heard the cries of a few feral creatures hiding in the dark, escaping the sudden intrusion into their urban habitat.

Momentarily distracted, I looked back at the customer, trying to keep a professional poker face. I didn’t want him to see the hoards of cells inside me screaming like people about to be massacred.

“Is it what you wanted?” I asked. Desperate to keep my voice from wavering.

He looked down at the fabric package and removed a crudely wrapped gun.

“Is it a 35 like I asked?”

“It is.” I replied.

His smile got bigger, causing the creases around his eye sockets to further hide his dark eyes. A cat screeched and dropped something heavy, startling me enough to look in its direction. My heart pounded against my ribcage trying to escape my chest, just as frightened as I was by the entire situation. I let out a staggered breath and looked back at the stranger. His smile now from ear to ear, hands out in front, legs spread out shoulder width.  I no longer faced the unhinged customer, but the barrel of the gun I had just delivered. He stood there, pointing it at me.

‘Shit’ I thought, ‘Is it loaded? Or did he load it?’. I could feel my guts telling me to run and my brain screamed MOVE! ‘FUCK! I’m going to die! I’m going to die! Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!’

BANG! The sound echoed through the deserted neighbourhood.

 

To be continued…

Week 13 – Blank is the mind…

Blank is the mind that doesn’t expand

Blank is the mind that doesn’t see

Blank is the mind that doesn’t tick

Blank is the mind that doesn’t think.

Cold is the heart that doesn’t cry

Cold is the heart that doesn’t love

Cold the heart that doesn’t mourn

Cold the heart that doesn’t feel.

Poor is the man who doesn’t live

Dead is the man who doesn’t experience

Sad is the man who’s ignorant

Useless is the man who doesn’t have hope.

Week 12 – Sands of White

I dream of a land with sand of white,
with waters blue.

I dream of revitalising breezes,
with air pure and true.

I dream of cool rain amidst the summer heat,
as the playful drops stream down my hair.

I dream of lean sun tanned bodies,
and a whirlwind love affair.

I live in humid heat,
with no desire to move.

I live in suffocating streets,
the sound of cars do not soothe.

I live surrounded by bears and wolves,
all wanting to take a bite.

I live in world where I’m jealous of birds,
especially when they take flight.

Wouldn’t it be nice to find a happy medium,
and find that special place?

Because If I ever do…I will constantly
sport a bright and smiley face!

Week 11 – I Dream of Zombies

I dream of zombies almost every night
It can at times, be quite the fright.
I run away, but they have me in their sight
I turn to face them and get ready to fight.

I rarely hide or cower,
I often tap into some unknown power.
In their blood I would shower;
Unless I can pick them off one by one, from an extremely high tower.

Sniping from afar is not enough
Hacking them to pieces is not enough
Be tough they say, be tough.

Burning them alive is not enough
Blowing them up is not enough.
Be tough now, be tough.

No matter what I do, it’s never enough.
Be tough I say, be tough.

I try to rest far away and on the floor I lie
Work out a plan and think up new things to try.
Only once was there a battle I would not survive
But at least I woke up while I was still alive.

You can’t blame me – I was going up against Godzilla.
I have to say, my dreams are often exciting thrillers.

Today I asked why zombies? Why?
I read a few websites and I won’t lie,
I felt they were appropriate and quite true
They were barely hints, but I now have a clue.

My brain’s been warning me for years
The reasons why I have no more tears.

Beware! Beware! Disconnection imminent!
Beware! Beware! It might become permanent!

Till now thank God, I have not yet turned
So there’s still hope, before all is burned.

I’m still in the transition
Of becoming dead inside
So it’ll become my mission
To save myself before I slide
Into the darkness from which I won’t escape
It’s within my hands to change my fate.

I dream of zombies every night…
I won’t let them become my blight.

I do not care

So the thing is …I do not care

You look and  pressure with you glare, insisting on what you deem as right

As I search into the intricates of my soul, I find that I truly ..do not care

Now now do not huff and puff, quite simply put

in cliché words and lame terms…

It’s not you it’s me!

I do not care, I used to though

oh how I used to fuss and fret, arrange and change or even reinvent  to squeeze and fold and trim myself to fit your cracked up mold.

I see you glaring tutting and staring, scolding me into your cold little box.

OK….umm  maybe I’ve babbled forgive me sometimes I tread off tracks

But just in case I wasn’t clear

Fuck you, I don’t give a shit!

Week 6 – Red

Clenching, nails digging in, piercing my flesh.
Blood gushes out, each beat ejecting more.
The sensation is bitter but relieving.
Taste lingers in the back of my mouth.

Although my eyes are shut,
I can see the crimson stream
travel through the constricting tunnels.
It pulsates like a beacon,
numbing the rest of me.

The blood courses throughout,
never reaching its destination,
it spills through the gateway – the gash.
The numbing spreads,
almost pleasant now.

Muscles relax and tension dissipates.
The pulsating sensation begins to fade.
The numbing takes over.
Fading…I’m fading.

All I see is red, even as I float away,
It’s not darkness that consumes me,

It’s blood.