Pitch Imperfect

She sealed the windows from the night
but it slithered in as it is wont to do.
The pitch of it stuck to her thoughts
sticky with longing, viscous and wet.

Crushed by the weight of the nothingness
she stood still and silent in stitched slippers.
Waxen puddles pooled around the snuffed candle
leaving just a smoking ashed wick of a woman.
 
The air was chilled by cold-tomb memories.
She was the jail keeper of her own prison.
Swallowed keys lost to the hunger of empty years
leaving scribbling scratched in a deadbolt diary of despair.

Reviews

[A hare off]

There is a sadness and an emptiness in these words that finds its way into me and grabs ahold saying, please see me, through that curtain, amidst the smoke, please open that door so that I may flee this inner horror. Wow, this is one affecting piece of writing. It pretty much took my breath away. And that is not easy to do.

[icelandicblue]

Thank you for reading this piece. When darkness calls I write. I'm attempting to write myself to the sun one of these days. Thanks again for your comments

[terry smith]

Sweet!!! In a cage of your own design forever your soul is blind never for the light of day to see a cage of your own design now just let me be,

[icelandicblue]

And yet, escape is always on my mind.

[terry smith]

make a plan like escaping alcatraz then take joy in the rays of the sun your new life of freedom just begun..

[.]

-- i have lived in those dungeons of despair... and written my way out of "nothingness"... but there was a time (last year) when i had lucid dreams for nine months... -- i would wake up feeling like i hadn't slept a wlink and most of those lucid dreams/nightmares were about gunshot wounds... (sometimes before being thrown off a train)... -- this post reminds me of that phase... -- i think i'd have remained in those dungeons if i hadn't decide to write my way out of them...

-- this is brilliant stuff... -- it provokes the reader into sharing memories that the reader might not normally choose to share...

[icelandicblue]

Hi serah,

I have been in that bad place for roughly four months. I have hidden myself in books now I am trying to climb out through my writing. I think you understand me from my words. I do appreciate your review more than you can imagine. It feels good to be heard.

[.]

-- hey girl... i hear you... just know that you're on the right track... i can sense it in my bone marrow... and write every day if you can till you're exhausted and can't write another word... ~ serah

[emmajoy]

'The pitch of it stuck to her thoughts - sticky with longing, viscous and wet.

Dark, dismal sadness but so finely written. Life has a way of trapping the dark, pulling down blinds and leaving memories tightly wrapped. Guess strength has to be dragged from somewhere, but as your stanzas display - start to finish, tis not easy.

[icelandicblue]

Yes, sometimes sadness sticks to you like flypaper. Thanks Emma.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

living in her own prison...windows and bars cannot keep out the memories...but can keep them in...what rises inside of us is most devastating and there is no protection.

[icelandicblue]

We cannot always hide from ourselves. Thank you jacob.

[rubie]

This is an exquisitely crafted piece. Your use of alliteration adds to the mournful tone.
"The air was chilled by cold-tomb memories". That's my favorite line.
Memories have a way of freezing in our minds forever....

[icelandicblue]

Thank you rubie for your kind comments. Nice to meet you.

[rubie]

Likewise!!