sip sip sip sip sip sip
A glass of stolen red Wine
In a dirty whiskey glass,
Touching my lips for the 49th time.
Hoping to find the right words,
In it’s comforting, bitter relish.
Wrapped in the smoke of burnt incense sticks,
Head- heavily placed on the bricks of the freezing fireplace.
The sensations of a cigarette smoke caressing my lungs,
As my brain slowly comes numb and duns.
I’ve lost all, including my words,
The glass is empty and the ashtray is full
What do I do, do I beg to Lords?
Where is my higher perspective and how have I become so dull?
there is so much in my mind that I ironically can’ t write anything at all
Quick C grade essay that i wrote for my mocks. Publishing it so i don’t lose it again, but you can have a read. Also, excuse the mistakes, English is not my mother language.
Short story in which the central character has an overactive imagination
As i walked through the dewy forest, inhaling the cold, poignant air, my thoughts kept pressing in my mind. With every sensation – the sharp, howling wind, biting my cheeks, the soft leaves of the dark, majestic trees comforting my fingertips, the hundreds of rich smells that tickled my nose and the way my bare feet felt on the cool, muddy ground, with tiny branches getting stuck between my toes – it all seemed to pull my being away from the present. I imagined what way this place was decades and centuries ago and how much it has experienced.
I wondered if the ground under my feet has always felt so comforting and safe. With my eyes shut tight, i could almost hear the commands and screams, and footsteps of soldiers that this familiar, as it seems, ground has felt felt and experienced, just being where it is now, still and distant from what ever i going on above. I then imagined the children of the same soldiers, my age and even younger, running on the same ground as their fathers and brothers, never knowing that the blood they relate is deep below their feet, being a part of nature now, so close but so far at the same time.
I lay down on the muddy ground, with my golden hair creating a crown around my head, glittering softly in the sunlight. For the moment i forgot about my beige summer dress, or my pale skin, getting sodden and soiled, i was there and i was a part of the nature, with so many more significant thoughts circling through my mind.
I looked up at the rich, majestic trees, that seemed to be reaching for the immortal emptiness above. I imagined how much the trees have experienced since only being a tiny seed, blowing in the wind, without any power or control, to what they have become now, independent and powerful. I imagined how many birds they have welcomed, experienced them to lay eggs, teach their offsprings to fly and leave later in Autumn, with the chance of never returning. I imagined children running around, filled with joy, building treehouses and climbing. I imagined the same children a decade later, carving the initials of themselves and their other halves into the same, old trees with the half crashed treehouses decorating their giant branches, trying to make the memories forever lasting. But, now it’s only the trees, who never saw their children return – they grew up, some have families they need to take care of. Soon their own children will find this place, when wandering deep into the forest despite their parents’ disapproval, and a new cycle will begin.
I’ve always been astonished by nature and by how it’s a part of all off our lives, just staying still and so distant. My mother used to tell me that i had an overactive imagination but i would rather call it open – mindness. Every time i am out in nature, i wonder about everything it has seen and experienced. I wonder about the moments of joy and sadness that nature has shared with all of us, always being there for us, comforting us and never letting us down, seeing us grow and develop.
As i lie with my eyes closed, i feel a drop of refreshing summer rain gently hitting off my forehead and drain down, caressing my my temporal lobe and my ear. As I lie there, i feel more at home than i have ever, with nature comforting me and being there for me. I enjoy every second of this feeling for now, knowing that one day i will be gone and a new cycle will begin, and i will just become a distant memory. But at the present I am a part of the nature, i am here and i am now, and i am grateful.
Falling into the misty sky,
Floating numblessly, hand in hand,
From the dismay, left on the neck of Apothic Red.
Swirling through the darkness,
Surrounded by the familiar; dissenting,
The well known enternal emptiness
Lulls our existance in euphoric exaltation.
Drawing in the acuminous air,
Dismissing the awarness of our trapped soul,
Losing the senses;
Dosed by you and the orion grins.
A drop of cold November rain on the tip of your nose
Reflecting the restless sea
Sharing our remaining warmth supplies
Your heart beating anxiously
Trying not to think of the approaching goodbyes
The cold November wind – whistling through the abounded gate,
Blowing our sanity away
Sharing the photo albums of our minds
Your frosty fingers tying together with mine
Causing our lost souls to collide
And for the first time in so long – i was home
(This is a very meaningful poem about a friend and you are not supposed to understand it)
You hide in the Golden Room
Smell of nicotine, musky odor
Blue hands sliding over pages
Rudimentary – Gloom
Your eyes in the words seem to zoom
Surreal spectrum, reflection of a fluorite
Like the ‘bright shits’ the night before
disarrayed – they shoot
You’re hiding in the Golden Room
‘swag fags’;deterioration – decay
guffawing in the dining area
The glass door slams – dishonour
Taste of wine on your lips
From trying to drown the anguish and fear
Reaching for the green light,
Searching for an alter ego – familarity of a soul-
The same cold finger-tips
We’re hiding in the Golden Room
Bells of hell and suspicious sights
Our silent footsteps across the floor
Oh sanctuary-savior of yours
-It’s Yeats in your attaché, you’re not a loon-
Let’s hide in the Golden Room