An English Writer's Mind

  “I killed him,” the words came out of Jude with what felt to be the most honest statement she’s said in some time. “Who did you kill?” Her therapist Miriam responded with obvious words of concern. Miriam tried to catch Jude's eyes, but her gaze was locked onto the floor.  For a moment, only silence filled the room. It was only ten seconds, but both Jude and Miriam felt that it was time so thick that it needed to be severed with a knife.  “My dad,” she said at last, with a hollow tone. “Under normal circumstances I would have to report any acts of violence, but Jude, your father passed away in an unfortunate plane accident. It is normal for people to bear the guilt of responsibility during their time of grief, but you did not in anyway contribute to–” “Have you ever heard of The Last Clock?” Jude quickly interrupted. The look upon her face was one of distress, as if pleading for someone to finally connect with her. Yet, even with this plea, her focus never left from the spot on th

 For years I thought I was not meant for this earth. Truths be told I yearned to never be birth. But alas I live amongst the billions Wondering why I went one of the lucky millions. I aspired, I dreamt, I accomplished and spent,  My younger years have dwindled they've come and went. Now 40 I wonder if I truly belong With little to offer but my words to a song Time has passed so quickly to dawn, Each waking day, yet another one gone. One day I'll rest an eternal goodbye But this day will wait till I'm ready to die