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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: "This Afterimage"dots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Drifting Star
    ASL Info:    19/F/Somewhere
    Elite Ratio:    2.02 - 22/101/73
    Words: 368
    Class/Type: Random Thoughts/Depressed
    Total Views: 678
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2284



    Description:
       A random little drabble written in a fit of depression. Forgive the senseless stupidty of it all. I was trying to explain the heartbreak of the situation. I don't think it worked very well.

    -Sennie.


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dots"This Afterimage"dots
    -------------------------------------------


    Stillframe vision; thoughts through impressions. Tonight will live forever in my mind, cloaked by faded violet…The sensation of reality that lingers after the sunlight goes back to nothing.

    Faded silk and forgotten laughter; Homemade videos play back to an unseeing audience of ghostly recollections. Favorite songs have become anthems of distaste and mistrust. Jaded illusionary notes played out over a too-hot solar wind.

    Going through the motions for the sake of something we have no conscious care for anymore…we have empty smiles and lingering malice fills our eyes until they brim over with liquid-crystal frustration and anger. If we cannot trust then we cannot love.

    I’m still traveling through this blackened abyss, seeking the familiar but long-unfelt embrace of my mirror-shadow image. She drifted away, like so much stardust lost to the pitiless breeze of death. She doesn’t miss me.

    The impression of our past is an afterimage, like staring into the Sun until any glimmer of hope has melted away. Not a drop or fragment is left untouched. I’m scarred. Imperfect.

    Kindly pardon my senseless rambling, but the only thing I can see now is the afterimage…tinted blue-purple by the ever-obliterating sunlight. That solar gaze imprinted me with her essence…burned it into my soul.

    The only medium of release left to me is to ink it out. Black ink comes from my blackened, tortured, guilty soul; red comes from the funeral flowers I stone-pressed into my heart…they bleed. And the favored hue of my essence is that tinted, tainted green…the color born of the jealous love that I keep hidden behind my eyes…how it seeps out! It escapes me even now…in the form of crystalline silver.

    I am alone…left without her…standing beside the abyss and staring back into it with faraway eyes. The abyss deepens, pulling me in…do I give in to that beautiful darkness? I see a glimmer there…the glimmer of her eyes in the endless shadows. Her eyes.

    All this is a reflection, the afterimage I cherish when I close my eyes. These haunted, tortured eyes. Never believe any different… I cherish her when I close my eyes… She’s my tainted afterimage of a faded paradise.




    Submitted on 2006-07-11 22:54:58     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      I hate to say this, but I've noticed that females are much better poets than men because they are much more in touch with there emotions and passions.
    | Posted on 2006-07-12 00:00:00 | by Martin S. Allen | [ Reply to This ]


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