Prompt: WRITE ABOUT A TIME THAT YOUR ILLUSIONS OF SOMEONE OR SOMETHING WERE SHATTERED. Like a wall the ground beneath my feet sturdy and tangible. My back against the cool hard surface provides comfort of familiarity, rooted in the reality gravity pulls us downwards towards the earth and we can still stand upright. I lean …
on ordinary days when life feels light and carefree, my mind wanders to a time when we existed ignorant of the future unaware of the past an imperfect bliss. In these ordinary moments when I think the current has corrected itself I’m hit with a tsunami of longing jagged memories strewn on the shore.
The first time I met her felt like nectar flowing through a bee A complex, natural reaction simplified into an infatuation, a chemical transformation Her treacly saunter, saccharine and unbothered replayed in my mind a thousand times an indelible golden sunset Diction Treacle – a thick, sticky dark syrup made from partly refined sugar; molasses. …
A thousand thoughts rushed to the periphery Each sensation intimated a different choice, a different path, which further split, divided, then multiplied The mind devolved into a state of chaos; Entropy festered. Lana knew time was running out The dreaded question dropped in the air like an atomic bomb. She gingerly stowed the decision on …
The doctor placed the bell of stethoscope on my chest. Her brow furrowed. “I’m afraid you have Takotsubo cardiomyopathy” I drew a breath. Inhale. . . My lopsided, unwieldy heart Palpitating, Palpable, weighed heavy with grief. Could she decipher neuroticism between heartbeats? Did heart arrhythmia sentiment exist? Did electric signals for a venereal jaunt and …
Centuries ago, a beautiful woman lived on an island She was looking for a soul to understand her Every morning she would climb to the forest’s canopy Every day she would sing a lugubrious song: Can you hear me? See me? Please, come seek me Free me The song rippled across the island’s rivers, traversed …
Before the brush meets the canvas the painter pauses and ponders her next stroke. The moment before the beginning is always disquieting. She takes a deep breath, grips the handle tighter; begins. She paints nervous puddles of questions, meaningless marks, empty strokes, Until a pattern emerges and she adds a new colour to the palette. …
Yesterday I had a dream In the dream, I wrote a song about you I culled the notes from your past , arranged them in the present; folded the lilt of your voice into the time signature; tucked my favourite memories into each trill. i wrote you into the da capo in the coda, we …
Propped under the lonely streetlamp, she takes a drag of her cigarette Cranes her neck forward A thin curl of smoke escapes through the orifice; Glassy red lips. She seems fragile against the light. Transparent collarbones, slender shoulders. A sinewy body, Beautiful but tired. The phone trembles in her pocket. It’s him again. …
Deep in the thicket A truculent murder ensues. Hemorrhaging ideas; Suffocated thinking; Creative surrender The victim lived a moribund existence, a series of insouciant performances opulent stages, inimical audiences the same vacuous script in perpetuity. Life without an apogee You experience death twice: The first is corporal The second More painful self-inflicted death, …