Closing eyes after closing time
A brown bottle stares back determined.
The buskers are singing in the streets outside.
The rain drifts sideways not obeying.
My little space warmed by a heater,
Its nearly four and
I
no nearer
Rest or comfort.
Oh, this soiled soul.
Poor me.
Only one to ever suffer their heart.
Poor pompous me.
The first ever to fall apart.
This origami boy tore so easily.
The singer continues to sing,
The rain continues to rain.
The little storm of no requite continues to haunt my little but warm respite.
I look sideways at the bottle.
Shall we dance again?
About the Creator
Mark R. Cieslak
"Our lives are madness. Trying so hard to make moments, take moments. Nothing but pianos in a storm."
"I hear the singing."
"What singing? You never said..."
"Ah boy, what singing indeed."
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Six Feet Under
Buried alive. What a horrible way to go. Yazz lay there, in her own thoughts. What else could she do? She was hungry, thirsty, tired, mentally, and physically exhausted, and more than anything, she was bored. She hoped she would die of boredom before anything else, anything else would've been more painful. Like many people had, she and her friends had talked about what they reckon the worst ways to die were, it was a morbid subject, but it came up every now and again. Yazz had always been one to argue her point on drowning, others had mentioned burning alive, slowly and painfully bleeding to death, hung drawn and quartered, and being starved to death. It was strange that none of them had considered being buried alive, it had never come up. But now, she was thinking back to those conversations her and her friends had had, how could they have not thought about it? It took a lot longer than the others, you were completely confined, you couldn't move or do anything, you just had to wait, until your body was physically unable to support a life system anymore, which could take up to four days. Four! By far the longest out of all of them. She recounted some of these conversations just to try and pass the time, anything to pass the time. It was difficult to know how much time had passed since she had been underground, it was difficult to know anything. There were many things that Yazz didn't know, she didn't know where she was, she didn't know how she'd got into the coffin, she'd just woken up there. Yazz also didn't know what time it was, or even what day it was, she guessed at Tuesday, it was Sunday evening when she'd been buried alive, intentionally, and although it had felt like weeks had passed, she was still alive, which means she hadn't died from dehydration, and therefore it couldn't have been more than four days.
By Liam Stormabout 20 hours ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
Hi Mark - So glad I've just discovered your marvelous talent. By using the word "Buskers" I just want you to know that our 'Mutual' friend Rachel is teaching me 'Brit'~'merican translations - ProBono - But, I'm a slow learner...ask her! *I've subscribed with pleasure as I scroll through your eclectic presentations. Jay, Jay Kantor, Chatsworth, California 'Senior' Vocal Author - Vocal Village Community -
The wallow of self-pity and its erstwhile companion, alcohol. I like the tag "For fun". Wondered if there was something ironic there? I liked the way you poked fun at "yourself" which shows a self-awareness, even if it is a bit of a gloomy poem with the rain and the brown bottle.
A lovely little sink into late night lows.