Crave

Empty. 
There was a hole inside me that was built on hate and distrust.
A place that could never be comforted, not even by a mother's touch.
It's been eating away at me, creating obtrusive and unbearable hole inside
the inner core of me that screaming for comfort, even though none can be given
or is enough.
Lifeless.
It demands to self-destruct if not satisfied.
Yet, there's nothing I can do. Just think.
Pools of hard tears come from my roaring eyes,
"Fill me."
The fountain vanishes. The whole is still there, I clutch my pillow in a bare
hug thinking it will help, but it just gets rained on some more.
I lay on my back, still, concentrating on my breath as a sharp tear makes its
final exit, but more threaten to sting.
I can't sleep, not when I crave comfort. No one can.
I ponder myself alone in a jail, locking people out as I pour onto the floor
in a heap of my own mess.
Staring at the ceiling, watching the invisible grids move, shake, and form.
My breathing is heavy and unsteady, as I try to control it I fail and the screaming
whisper inside me craves more.
Unbearable. Uncontrolable. But if I stop trying it will not rest.

I have to try.

The want for rest is filling my soul so, that it leaks more from my eyes.
I picture a quiet garden. With roses, and daffodils, sunflowers, and lilies.
Babies breath, orchids, and tulips. I sit upon a stone carved bench with
wet mossy vines swimming and weaving around it. It's early morning,
and the sun has just begun to make its presence known. I lay on the soft earth,
feeling the prickling grass wet the sides of my skin, cooling dew pastes my
skin with a unsettling shiver of cold. My breath is soft and the rythm, as of a
lulliby. The scent of roses fill my nose, and inverts me under a trance,
willing me to pick one and smell the rich sweetness of its silky petals.
I caress the rose upon my cheek enjoying the cloud-like petals that almost
form a warm blanket of comfort, that makes all the pain, and emptiness,
sorrows, and sins simply drift away as if floating away from the shore off
into the forever sea.
The tall, strong willow engulfs the suns rays, giving me the opportunity to lean
against its proud back and reach the distant sleep.
The sun tries to break through the askew branches and leaves, yet fails,
Nothing can hurt me now, I am wrapped in the warmest blanket, surrounded
by the pillowy cushions that seem to breathe to life. Leaves are scattered
across my feet, brown and forgotten. All the monsters gone. The weeping
willow's tears.
Before I begin to fall, the screaming silences and the voice finds me again as
I mutter the words:
"Oh my weeping willow, do your leaves fall every time."
 

Reviews

[BrokenButterfly]

That is not a story. That is poetry, beautiful, slightly cryptic, but amazing poetry. You are not a crappy writer. Your words are beautiful, your soul is deep.

[Vanessa]

He, I readthis one too. I KNOW I DID.
Either way, I adore it.... nearly as much as I do you....



Nearly. And that says a lot.

[Brandon]

I thought this piece was nicely done. You did well the painting the scene and expressing your emotions. Great Job.