It's dark. I'm biting a blade. It isn't cold like they say. It is sharp, warm, a burning comfort. Or perhaps a symptom of insanity. The blade doesn't speak to me or lure me in, and the silence is just as empty. Maybe if this was a poem they would speak, they'd tell me everything is gonna be okay and cure the endlessness.
There is no moon tonight, the stars are hidden. Only the hum of suburban disturbia accompanies my thoughts. A slice on my finger screams at me. Another symptom of insanity? We are broken, so the song goes.
I long to sit in the rain and let the drops cut away this. I long to float under the stars with waves lapping at the hull. I long to feel the breeze hushing and pressing against my cheeks.
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Drabbles and Dabbles
Short StoryDrabbles: Use only 100 words, and tell us a story. That's the challenge, if you choose to accept it. Don't waste words, and use no more and no less than precisely one hundred words. Go! (You'll find mine in the pages that follow) Dabbles: Every so o...
