An English Writer's Mind

A question of concern                                                              Words that spew out from the masses From those that will yearn                                            Never once seeing the thoughts full of caskets Hoping one day that they'll never learn                                             Visions of pain, infliction, and acids Early sight bemoaned to a casket or urn                                Forevermore fearing being buried in ashes Those memories are dear, deserving o...

Each new day brings a sun that's rising  My mind isn't compromising   It's comprising of thoughts not confiding in shots    Connecting no dots and idolizing dreadnoughts     Asking me always my thoughts on what a beautiful suicide means.       How do we act, how do we fall,       What's the best way to answer when Death gives us that call        I've seen how I die in most ways, not all         I thank my will my veins aren't drowning in ethanol         Though I can recall years against the wall          hitting a bottle of alcohol, like some repeat protocol           Just tryna end it all. That fate is one I must erase            Once and for all.            Why do I fight? I'm still asking to this day.            ...

How is it that when I seek help, try to find peace         I'm detained to a world of noise Distractions, televisions, monitors, a menagerie of people         And all I want is absolute silence Judging eyes without a chance to defend         It irritates, not stimulates the sense What they want from me is not what I need         Faltering my strength, my balance, my poise This society has taken everything from me         Array from the pain, the discord, and voilence Something these vultures do not comprehend         Peace from this, are they really so dense Just leave me alone So I can be free Mentally you bleed What must you atone You speak of solitude, but you know who you are        this journey here ventured has brought us thus far It's easy to hide, to reserve in a shell            ...

How many times have you met the Reaper? Your every breath will one day cometh To you become the eternal sleeper. But not today. Not tomorrow, Not any time soon. Don’t even come back. I’m alive and I like that. I am not a buffoon, No sorrow. Here to stay. I’ve changed my life, I’ve dug deeper. Eye to eye with the face of Death, My eyes, a proud demeanor.

          Her breath was rapid and short. Each stride that was taken was one that came from a need for safety. Beads of sweat dripped down her face, occasionally merging with the constant tears pooling from her eyes. Camille was not sure why she was running, nor was she aware that she was doing so in that moment. It was when her vision came back that she realized her movement. In a strange twist, it felt as if she had just woken from traumatizing night terror, but her body had reacted long before the nightmare was over. Run . I need to keep running. The thought lingered. The commanding whisper grew louder with each pressing step, as if she weren’t fast enough. Despite the burn of the lactic acid in her legs, Camille forced her feet to push harder against the ground. I’m not far enough away yet. Each inhale allowed her another set of steps until a sharp pain darted through her ribs; her body demanded pause. The sprint turned to a jog, wh...

My eyes felt like they were crusted shut. I didn’t want to wake up, I didn’t want to get up, but one look at the clock sprung me out of bed as I shouted, “Oh, shit,” realizing that I overslept, and I only have thirty minutes to get to class. I poured a bowl of cereal, opened the fridge to grab some milk, but the carton was empty. “Assholes,” I grunted, figuring that one of my flat-mates was responsible. What irritated me most about it was that if I even confronted them about it, both would deny it. Freakin' asshats; no one here even tries owning up to their mistakes. I was about to dump the cereal in the trash when I noticed that it was a heaping mess that couldn’t even fit even a single flake without falling on the floor. I really don’t have time for this right now and I’m getting more pissed by every new problem. I decided to leave the bowl on the table, and grab some bread instead, but of course, even that had to go wrong. As I opened the loaf, all that was left fell on the fl...

Alone, she waited for her father to arrive His poem is what always made her feel alive. Moments of cherish centered around the time When he returned, to read her favorite rhyme. The winds grew louder, howling through the trees To which, her cower moved her under sheets. The storm crescendo’d turning rather violent But still, she sat, leaving her just silent. Not a moment too soon, a knocking at her door The fear, once had, won’t bother anymore. “Sweet Emilia,” he spoke, “I fear I took too long.” “Of course not, father. I just waited for your song.” Like an anniversary or a form of jubilee Her eyes lit while smiling full of glee. It was their custom for him to address Her favorite story of The Girl and The Red Dress. The winds went silent, and the trees grew still Like they too awaited their fill He took a seat, next to her bed Caressed her hair, and that’s when he said, “Long ago, was a bright young girl, With a heart so pure, as be...