And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt. ~Sylvia Plath
In a effort to get my mushy brain to start thinking creatively (its been on a hiatus for some time now) I decided to open my blog and just write whatever comes to my mind. I sure hope this is going to work. My brain has been kind of a bugger lately--sluggish, easily distracted, rather sleepy and uncooperative (sounds like my teenage son). Anyhoo...here goes nothing:
He whispers in my ear,
a humming sensation that causes me to tip my head closer,
but his harsh words,
though sung in a lullaby rhythm,
sting my senses.
Let go, he says. Just walk away.
Who are you trying to fool?
His breath is warm,
so contrary to his icy fingers
that slide up the length of my neck
and pinch my skin,
refusing to let me go
even as I whimper, "I can do this."
He chortles.
His tongue flicks my earlobe.
Keep telling yourself that, my perfect little liar.
He pinches me harder.
I listen to him, though I know better.
His words coat my soul in grey and sink in deeper,
filling me with self-doubt and despair.
He isn't real, but his presence is crippling.
I try and shake him off and move away,
but I feel his invisible mouth brush the crook of my neck
even as I switch rooms, switch scenes, switch states.
You and me, we're a pair...
He whispers, so sickly sweet.
And I'm not going anywhere.
He whispers in my ear,
a humming sensation that causes me to tip my head closer,
but his harsh words,
though sung in a lullaby rhythm,
sting my senses.
Let go, he says. Just walk away.
Who are you trying to fool?
His breath is warm,
so contrary to his icy fingers
that slide up the length of my neck
and pinch my skin,
refusing to let me go
even as I whimper, "I can do this."
He chortles.
His tongue flicks my earlobe.
Keep telling yourself that, my perfect little liar.
He pinches me harder.
I listen to him, though I know better.
His words coat my soul in grey and sink in deeper,
filling me with self-doubt and despair.
He isn't real, but his presence is crippling.
I try and shake him off and move away,
but I feel his invisible mouth brush the crook of my neck
even as I switch rooms, switch scenes, switch states.
You and me, we're a pair...
He whispers, so sickly sweet.
And I'm not going anywhere.
Not too shabby. I just wish I knew what it meant :) What do you think it means?
Hey, if you decide to do a free write of your own, leave a link in the comment section below so I can pop over and check it out. I won't know you stopped by unless you let me know :)
