Japan’s Pain

  All she feels is numb as she drives away from the past. She doesn’t even recognize her own eyes in the rearview mirror that just stare straight ahead without any real emotion. The chill of seeing that ice cold water is still prominent on her light skin. Like her blood was now the ocean’s flooding waters trying to drown her with horrid memories from the inside out. The water keeps rushing in as fast as the buildings fly by, until no more light can be seen. Dark like death, like she saw all on the streets. Her foot stays on the gas pedal to keep time and herself moving forward.

Writing Prompt: Tomorrow's always a better day...

  "Tomorrow's always a better day;" that's what my best friend would always say. So why was it that after paradise I found a house made of ashes? If my friend was right then so would've been my life. But here I am living this jinxed saying, of a day worse than the next. If only days really did end, then my problems would fade away. I'd be like that house, scarred and long gone.

[Needs more editing, but I felt like posting it. ^^]

Revengeful child

Tripping without fail

Can you not see without me?

I smile at your pain

Stop blindly going forward

Before you fall down

Try screaming like a baby

Don't cry without sound

I Won't Tell You

Well I couldn't tell

Screaming frustration won't help

Secrets will be kept



Silence Free Write

And the silence made my heart think twice before making a sound...The silence of eye contact with the one person I wished not to see, hear, touch ever again. I was hoping to communicate words through our eyes so it would be less awkward. But as usual it's always a frustrated silence on my part. Never do we speak, but the tension grows like an ugly disease. I wondered how we ever did speak so freely before these frozen moments in time we share now. It couldn't be that we were actually so different. All I could think about was those thoughts behind your mirror like eyes. And why they can never reach your mouth and tell me how things really are or should be. In the space of this moment I know how your guilt still eats away at your trembling voice box. It won't allow you to say things that would destroy some of that pride.

Don't have a title yet!

I could've sworn,

it was made of gold.

With salt water pearl knobs.

The grace and majesty,

of my wonderful instrument.

A $300 object

that was mine to keep.

It was just that amazing,

It had its own box,

with cushion inside,

to of course...keep it warm.

That's what I thought when I was in 4th grade.

It was heavy...of course,

 because of all the music it held.

I knew it all,

well except how to play it.

It was my golden treasure.

(Suggestions on editing/ what i should change or add?)

A Symphony of Laughter

The trill of multiple notes,

in one voice.

The captivating sound,

that's contagious for all.

Some of low pitches

and others so high,

a piccolo is no match.

It's really a funny sound,

when someone laughs,

A stifled chuckle,

A loud bellow,

Or a quiet 'hn',

All combined it creates,

one giant chorus

of the same thing,

Laughter.