The walls have become a prison. They rise too tall, they block out the sun. Whatever we lost, we can’t remember. The control is gone, the past is forgotten. They played the odds badly, they surpassed us horribly. They gambled on their beliefs. They bartered and traded their lives away. The toxicity is in our lungs. It has lodged itself into our future. Nocturnal anxiety. These days leave me in a trance. What do we look forward to? Endless mis-colored sky? Never-ending homicide? The good times left us behind. I don’t have the strength to carry on. There is only time for one more song.
About the Creator
Anna Torres
I’m a 37-year old mother. I love reading, metal music, and writing. I have begun writing again since 2021
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Fulcrum Grim
The air is conspiring against me. It’s like the drain of the ocean is commandeering me and sucking me down. I’m only treading water instead of swimming to shore. I’m only gasping for breath instead of preventing a heart attack. It’s a cryptic void that’s attempting to swallow me whole. A collection of drifting embers that is floating to nowhere. I hope for rescue or relief from laborious peril. What lured me out in the first place? I panic internally to keep from surrendering. The tides are unforgiving but so am I. I am isolated from despair and captive to the undertow. All I see are sea apparitions but there’s no where to go. I see phantom ships but they are just worthless vessels. I’m losing the grip on my rope and my precious sanity. I rather sink into the sky instead of absconding into the earth. A Fata Morgana attacks my senses that are already dull. I wish this mirage was an oasis but it’s just a tease. A mimic Atlantis exists just beneath the waves. Circular motion interrupts my vertigo. Lucid fluidity forever interjects between failure and apathy. Where can you flee when all exits are closed? Every direction is the exact same. GPS coordinates hold no sway over corrupted reality. If I let go, I can finally reach this blessed nirvana I so crave. Tranquil meditations will help sever all ties. A choice to whether approach the monsoon or forfeit my longevity. Oxygen has become my enemy. This Plutonian chasm drags me under with its tentacles. I am enlightened from this abysmal purgatory. I have finally reached the horizon. I have finally reached the shore I have sought for so long. I am delivered from this heaving abyss and its holy pit and am now one with the earth
By Anna Torres10 months ago in Poets
I AM
This is not who I thought I would be. Before my family was captured and forced into slavery, I had aspirations of becoming a wealthy business owner or possibly a scholar and philosopher. Becoming a warrior was the furthest thing from my mind. Unfortunately, our Roman conquerors had other plans.
By Mark Gagnon4 days ago in Fiction
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