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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Whiteout dots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: layDsayD
    ASL Info:    29/f/florida
    Elite Ratio:    3.16 - 264/243/147
    Words: 408
    Class/Type: Prose/Serious
    Total Views: 551
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2456



    Description:
       


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

    dotsWhiteout dots
    -------------------------------------------


    I have a belief, very few know what it is to be terrified
    I mean really terrified. Most who do are dead.
    I however, am of a select few.
    What is in on her socks? Is that piss? Blood?
    Scissors. What? Give me Scissors.
    White walls, distant whispers. Call the police.
    The pattern on the curtains looks like waves
    green and blue waves, or diamonds.
    My God! Are those… burns?
    In this motley crew, few are of the blood
    I doubt there are many with this brain, gift, curse.
    If there are any, surely, they are insane.
    Trust me I have been there, not always, but a lot.
    White walls, plastic mirrors
    Light that must reach you through rusty metal covering.
    Oh, let her rock…it won’t help her, it won’t hurt her either.
    There is a fragility that comes from being thrust in and out.
    Time is just red digits on a woodgrain table clock
    or on a cell phone across a face.
    A voice that just seconds ago, was soothing
    Spews forth from the mouth of my monster.
    You want to reach out, touch his face
    Just to see who it is, you can’t trust your eyes.
    White walls, metallic taste, a sting then a slow burn, chest heat.
    SHHHHH awe honey, this is gonna make it better.
    My God what did this to her?
    Have you ever yelled into a canyon, an empty vacant space?
    That sound that boomerangs, that is what it’s like, only it’s a hundred echo’s.
    That is what the now sounds like, when I am far away.
    White walls, yellow roses, wilting. I won’t do it
    It’s too much. You give it then, because I’m not.
    You must reach me from 25 years ago, how is that done?
    I haven’t done it personally, I hear it is difficult.
    White walls, the green beans smell.
    fingers bandaged together, mummy hands
    Use an image.
    What image?
    One that is easy, soft, kind, one that she smiles about.
    Jesus how the fuck can I do that?
    If you can’t, then wait.
    Wait?
    Yes, wait it out.
    So, I leave her bleeding in the god damn closet?
    Yes, and prey she comes back, I suggest that you admit her.
    White walls, stiff sheets, like an undisturbed snow, a hell for the imagination.
    A blank canvas to be filled, with the horrors, or the beautiful brush strokes.
    My choice.




    Submitted on 2018-01-28 21:41:53     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

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