That Mood

Sometimes I think I should just be locked in a room with paper and ink. No, not even with paper, I have the walls; but what of when that space is gone? Ok, ink and paper then; in endless amounts. Sometimes I feel like I'm not meant to really live in the outside world. That I was just meant to stay in that imagined room and just write forever. I wish that room was real. I wish that's all I had to do in life: bleed. Bleed every emotion I've ever felt and the ones I never will...write of memories and dreams, of imagination and nightmares. Spare the world from lies, just give them the truth. And when death does come in search of me, let the door to the imaginary white room be unlocked and let me be taken away to rest for the first time in my life. And so be it that my work be collected, have the world read and never forget me. And if living ever did me or the world any good, I'm sure it would be only for giving life to my restless hands and unsleeping mind...let them read my dreadful perspective of reality, let them take in the sparing moments of life I actually found beautiful. They will remember me, this I swear.

Reviews

[Robert L.]

This is a hauntingly vivid extended metaphor, a plea for remembrance. It is poetic prose, possibly reflecting a desire not to be shackled by poetry's conventions but instead to write whatever comes to your heart however it comes to your heart. Strong emotional writing here.

[Lauren N. Rodriguez]

Thank you for seeing explicitly exactly what I meant to portray. It means a lot to me for someone to so easily connect to what I have written; your review was extremely appreciated.