Sunday Should Be Easy

Prose

My name feels raw against my skin, crawling out their mouths and whispering madness I can't quite make out. Bones quiver and thirst for longing and to belong in this suit I dress in each morning, quaking the earth as I walk and stumble through locked doors to no where, open ones that close on me quite frequent. Tears not shed anymore, a storm that now runs dry of its well watered well, drought that killed my civilization. Follow the GPS instructions to get home-- where I should be, where I belong between two shafts of protection-- armor that guides those bullets away-- towards me. Be humble, a will that sounds like screeching tires, chalkboard nails, dentist drill, hurling itself towards somewhere forward, always circling future schemas. Won't anything come knocking ever or won't I dodge these bullets forever?

Author's Note

I wrote a bunch of fragments yesterday because I felt like shit and then some how this came about... It started out as a journal entry and turned into I don't really know actually. I'd say it's pretty much just a stream of consciousness.

Reviews

[SHEEMA HUQ]

Ooh, you depict the most mind scorching, ear scratching noises, each disturbing sentence has been brilliantly written, I'm glad I that I came across you this afternoon, thank you :)