Insane.
if that had a taste I wonder if itd taste like slightly rotten food you made last night.
if that be a sight it would be thunder with no sound, it would be comfort of your in the arms of someone who broke your heart
The lazy afternoon sunrays looked cozy resting on the carnivore leaves. My eyes trail a path across its bloody mouth
there was always a blurred line between two im-plaus-ible kinds.
"YARA!"
a small protest rose my throat dying as quick, my eyes now on Elizabeth Eve. Eve, Mostly because she had no grace of any one id imagine owning the name Elizabeth.
"Can I have one moment without your ass spreading into my thoughts?" my voice muffles back into my sweater as i bury my mouth further into my folded arms only overpowered by her mimicking my words.
"into my thwweewee too bad, why haven't you been writing?"
"Because I don't want to"
"Bull shit"
"No, I shit huma--"
"YARA, COME ON!"
"No inspiration" earns me a groan
Sure, she was great support and I loved her to bits but every time we bring up my unfinished 'story' I wrote on this app for well what started as 'shits and giggles' Its almost as if we are talking someone who has passed, of something that was.
Words, Words that think its funny to be a taunt or two but not the arguments I swallowed, the rage I hid and all these opinions I have about what could've should've but are never enough to have an ending without loss and im in a spiral of if that's how emperors felt.
'shits and giggles' was me rerouting the world map on my book with my pen in hopes of what could've been better only to realize mine is narrowed to limited attention seeking and selective empathy.
A Writers Block, that's less sad.
Sometimes, words and me truly have no intermediate and sometimes they simply aren't...there, i prefer-red a good distraction at times like these, like the wide eyed cherry haired girl whos sunny sided the omelette of my life, so I turn my head to her
"The story is yours before it is any one elses, mkay?" she smiles warmer
"Claire?"
"hm?" she glances back from the filling in class as the break end nears
"Insane is..." i drag hoping shed finish it for me, she never questioned my questions and I never her choice in guys.
pondering for a bit, she catches back onto her train of thoughts "...admiring the singer better than the an overpowering instrument In the back"
huh.
Insane, is
to be the best
to the worst, Almost.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
god, I hate wheels on the bus, especially when people go up and down.
leaning against the window I was watching the passing streets, the smell of cigarette, is that spelled right? Cigar-ette?, cig-arete? Whatever, phonics are useless. Smoke depression overpowering the smell of pie the lady beside me is hiding under her bag, as much as I hate to admit it the combination of the smells were awfully pleasing. It had been a mistake I wonder at times choosing to pick the bus over my dads ride home, but again I was as eager to be told of the decline in jobs, of increasing prices and his disappointment in my interests as the next kid with parents, no pun intended. "There was no decline in jobs" I wanted to say, "Just in passion" I wanted to stress however that's delusional but again not as delusional as applying for job and doing the major everyone I know and don't is on. A realist world for business men was never delusion however, one rules and many follow, modern slavery, Hypocrisy was never lost or found it took a different form because afterall satan sneaked back in heaven with just another form, but oh to survive, oh to survive
oh to survive.
and I used 'the' too many times in this thought, I correct my thought. Which is obvious that I was, wasn't it?
snorting at it, I catch the lady's attention. Oh god, what id do for that pie however, she doesn't seem to be appreciating the gaze.
"God forgive you"
"pardon?" my reverie is broken by blinks, surprise tingles me into a chuckle
"It is not an Entitlement to be proper but really is, it seems you—your types are spreading"
"Par—I, uh what?"
"the Lebanese"
oh.
oh.
I was NOT staring at her boobs, but the bag on her lap oh my— "Mam i—'' I chuckle "the pie smells lovely"
"God help you, really" and with that, she leaves.
huh.
that made my day.
My groan entered the house before I did and my moms scream greeted me before well, a scream. I frown, which fool says I frown? Anyway, I mean no one laughs at the given situation obviously we fr--ANYWAY. Anyways, I did frown. Pushing past crying Asma before u- turning to pat on her head in reassurance for whatever she was crying about, probably that she did her 1st grade memory project for 15 minutes and wanted a break.
"Did you dirty your pants? You know I can no—''
"I didn't, Ma."
"did you see the interview I sent y--''
"yes, dad."
Closing the door half way I slump onto the bed, my knuckles, my head my spine would appreciate a good pop but I groan instead. Alas, I cant rest gross so im on my feet before my bags in the cupboard and im in the shower.
chsssssssssstaptaptap
I snort again,
that's the shower imitation, get it?.
A hum a tune and I tap my toe to it, humming is a softer form of singing and tapping your foot—vibing, from oxford synonyms is a softer form of dancing. Softer form of passion is hobbies because if you dance too hard in the shower you fall hard.
gr-ate-ful for the shower im out and on my bed, gr-ate-ful, yes. I remember the spelling. Good, one point to yara.
still damp, I pull on a shirt and shorts. Im gr-ate-ful for the dampness and the cool air soothing the burns of the day in my room.
im grateful.
for my parents and their hardwork, for moving countries before I started middle school, for my friends, for eve, for food on my plate a roof on my head, for my guidance and support.
for
"w
o
r
d
s"
I smile as I spell out.
ok, now.
laptop on my lap, sat straight, thoughts in my head.
switch on
thoughts in my head
MS Word, click, the application loads
spin
Spin
Spin
Thoughts in my head
Spun
Opened
................
No more thoughts in my head
the cursor blinks at me in taunt and I close my laptop
lay back down on my bed, reaching out for the pillow cuddling it into me, the distant murmur of TV and real world statistics drowning me further into my impending headache,
and im lulled into a breakdown before to sleep.
YOU ARE READING
A Train to homes.
FantasyYara, dragged around by the expectation of the realist world stumbles or really cries herself into oh no!, is this her story she woke in? and oh no! is that a cute boy? and the only way home seems to be this train which travels everywhere.
