ButrosButros_Grantos
Bluelighter
I haven't written a story (in the sense of short story) for a while, and I wondered why and then the following just kind of popped into my head, a little sentence that starts like this, stay with me as I'm not sure where this is going...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Untitled" by G.W.Sebire
I sit in my usual place, in the same unusual times, looking upon my computer screen. There is an imagined? luminous glow upon my face, and the gentle whirring is forever coaxing me onwards. The words begin to spill, to fill, to complete the emptiness of the page.
Take it I don't need it
Past associations, memories, torments. I use them, which is fair, for I have been used by them. Every goodbye, every pain, every lie, every hurtful truth. I use them. When I'd wished that I would die, when I thought of nothing except making through to the next weekend, when I would replace the knife and not go through with it... I use them. The self-loathing, the hate, the addictions. I use them. I use them all.
Take it I don't want it
Half of the time I don't realise that I'm crying when I write, swimming in an ocean of sorrow. "Sometimes I feel like I will drown", oh yeah. I ask myself what I am doing to want to relive such things, and I thought I had no answer. But I do. In the telling, I lose a little more, of the grief, of the regret, of all things tainted. I start to remember happier things, and not focus on the bad.
Take it, take it all
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Um and that's about it I think, so I guess a thankyou is in order for letting me hlaf my troubles by shairing them. That is all.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Untitled" by G.W.Sebire
I sit in my usual place, in the same unusual times, looking upon my computer screen. There is an imagined? luminous glow upon my face, and the gentle whirring is forever coaxing me onwards. The words begin to spill, to fill, to complete the emptiness of the page.
Take it I don't need it
Past associations, memories, torments. I use them, which is fair, for I have been used by them. Every goodbye, every pain, every lie, every hurtful truth. I use them. When I'd wished that I would die, when I thought of nothing except making through to the next weekend, when I would replace the knife and not go through with it... I use them. The self-loathing, the hate, the addictions. I use them. I use them all.
Take it I don't want it
Half of the time I don't realise that I'm crying when I write, swimming in an ocean of sorrow. "Sometimes I feel like I will drown", oh yeah. I ask myself what I am doing to want to relive such things, and I thought I had no answer. But I do. In the telling, I lose a little more, of the grief, of the regret, of all things tainted. I start to remember happier things, and not focus on the bad.
Take it, take it all
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Um and that's about it I think, so I guess a thankyou is in order for letting me hlaf my troubles by shairing them. That is all.
![:\](https://bluelight.org/xf/BL_Images/Orig_Emoji/wrygrin.gif "wry grin :\")
all th times i am hurt, all the shit i am working through. all the hurt and pain i am going through.
and running never solves anythng...things always catch up with you one way or another