#tiredwriting

The weight shifts off my body like thick bedsheets on a summer morning, The wind taps a song on my window, Teasing the day awake as I pull myself together, It feels like my eyes were dipped in syrup that coagulates at the very top, The weight shifts again, Inside my skin very minuscule children play with crayons, All over the walls they paint and doodle, Pictures of a kingdom once thought to have fallen, Now historians and seekers of truth stand in awe at the mountainous kingdom made at the hands of children too young to understand death, My teeth yellow in the rot of lies, My tongue twists at the tangy and sour mouthfeel of insults and envious lines, The weight now placed carefully on the back of my neck, feels like needles with bad ink, Injecting their venom into me, into my beauty, Realizing I have yet to stand up I hide under crimson sheets too thin to warm up the room, But the wind and gust I once knew can no longer blow these cheeks red, And the weight shifting through the soles of my feet launches me forward, Shifting my eyeline from the ceiling to a small shrine dedicated to fallen heroes, My mouth drips blood from the gums and I wonder if someone bit the insides of my cheeks when I slept, I can feel the trickling of the weight now swirling through my thighs and passing through my loins, The fever gets worse as I get better, And the lightning storm that began to form outside took the shape of an untouched lover, Ready to rain down upon the world for the mistakes of another, “I’m not ready”, I had whispered, But no one was around to hear me weep into my wooden hands, What beautiful seeds I could grow from these apendages, My joints could house the weeds, and my soul would be your garden, But the insects eating at the leaves will have to stay because I’m lonely on the days you go away, And so the weight shifts off of me, Making me lean into myself, Warping my forehead into itself, Introspectively forming a void with whatever body I have control over, And when the process is all said and done, There will be no more shifting, No more moving parts on immovable people, No more shoving your thoughts down the throats of those who can think for themselves, Because how else would you learn? If not by knowing that someone else can be a better you than you could ever be!

Blake: Yang..

I’ve just discovered that trying to write when you’re tired is REALLY hard.  I’ve been staring at the page for about an hour now, and I think I’ve typed 4 whole sentences.  Pretty sure I’m not going to hit my word count for today, but I have most of tomorrow off, so I should be able to make it up.  I’m approaching 12,000 words, and realized that this is the most I’ve written continuously since high-school.  Kinda surreal.  Anyway, time to go back to killing trolls in an interesting manner.