Balcony

Yesterday

I sit indian style on my wooden balcony. With closed eyes I sit. I try to remember what my mother looked like. I try to remember the smell of grand ma's cooking, but I cant. I try to guess the cars by the sounds of their engines. I hear the lady downstairs dogs barking. I try to push the voices out of me. Cool autumn air moves my hair softly. I am so lost,dont ever want to open my eyes again. I just want to stay here in the darkness. The noises surround me, they are defeating the madness. I wonder if death is this way. No more light, only sounds,feelings. Maybe I am dead,just a spirit existing on this balcony. No I'm alive, I can still feel pain. Must open eyes again, go back inside. Tomorrow I will pretend I'm dead again.

Author's Note

Ignore grammar I'm drunk.

Reviews

[Through the Gateway]

Sometimes the demons find us easiest when we're trying to drown them out. The quiet moments when our pain is fresh again and our defenses are down make us wish for some sort of relief.

This may have been drunk writing...but it is heartfelt and sound.

[cest la vie]

I hate to say this, but when you are drunk, you write some damn good stuff.
I know many can relate to this feeling of just wanting to shut our eyes and make it all better. If only, right? I love your fresh style of writing.!!