Here, have some 3 AM writing exercise.
Sitting at three a.m.
It is dark.
Music pumping through my ears like my heart pumps
Blood.
Like it is keeping me alive.
A steady beating that keeps my thoughts in check.
Lifts my spirits.
Brings me back from dark places.
Everything is a blur, all the time.
I am confused. Broken. Hopeful/less.
I am desecrated fragile innocence.
I am nothing that is good.
This is fact.
Even the worst of us have hopes.
Words blast through my ears:
“Love. It will not betray you, dismay or enslave you, it will set you free.”
Mumford and Sons singing a cure, beautiful, to fill the silence.
To fill my heart.
I believe. I believe with the pounding voice of my heart hammering at 114 beats per minute
In my chest, a beating drum, strong and fast.
I am afflicted with many things. To be sure.
It is wanderlust. It is a bird caged, beating its wings to be set free.
Tired, fluttering weakly;
In its dying throes.
I want nothing more than liberation.
Freedom.
These sound like the thoughts of the dying.
I’m not. Well, maybe just a little.
I am all scattered thoughts and unfinished stories.
I am a prisoner, a slave to myself.
Beaten, starved.
I breathe and feel the foundations shake.
Steady,
I can only stand for so long before my legs give.
And I am on broken knees again,
All pieces to be picked up off a dirty, ruined floor.
For the first time in months, words flow steadily from sore fingers.
Sleep deprived, nothing makes sense but this.
I need air.
I need green grass, clear waters, blue skies.
I am trapped in a world of grey, dead things.
All around me there is nothing but corn fields, flat and monotone.
Like a world drained of color.
But I have seen more;
And everything in me screams for it
In dreams that make my heart soar.
There is a peace in this. The quiet of this kind of night.
I see my breath as I write.
Cold.
And it will seep into my bones until I shake,
Consumed.
Swallowed whole.
I am nothing but a broken doll,
Forgotten, faded memories,
Dull and lifeless,
On the floor.
This is who I am.
One thought at a time.
Completely.
This is me at my most open.
Honest.
This is real.
It is dark.
Music pumping through my ears like my heart pumps
Blood.
Like it is keeping me alive.
A steady beating that keeps my thoughts in check.
Lifts my spirits.
Brings me back from dark places.
Everything is a blur, all the time.
I am confused. Broken. Hopeful/less.
I am desecrated fragile innocence.
I am nothing that is good.
This is fact.
Even the worst of us have hopes.
Words blast through my ears:
“Love. It will not betray you, dismay or enslave you, it will set you free.”
Mumford and Sons singing a cure, beautiful, to fill the silence.
To fill my heart.
I believe. I believe with the pounding voice of my heart hammering at 114 beats per minute
In my chest, a beating drum, strong and fast.
I am afflicted with many things. To be sure.
It is wanderlust. It is a bird caged, beating its wings to be set free.
Tired, fluttering weakly;
In its dying throes.
I want nothing more than liberation.
Freedom.
These sound like the thoughts of the dying.
I’m not. Well, maybe just a little.
I am all scattered thoughts and unfinished stories.
I am a prisoner, a slave to myself.
Beaten, starved.
I breathe and feel the foundations shake.
Steady,
I can only stand for so long before my legs give.
And I am on broken knees again,
All pieces to be picked up off a dirty, ruined floor.
For the first time in months, words flow steadily from sore fingers.
Sleep deprived, nothing makes sense but this.
I need air.
I need green grass, clear waters, blue skies.
I am trapped in a world of grey, dead things.
All around me there is nothing but corn fields, flat and monotone.
Like a world drained of color.
But I have seen more;
And everything in me screams for it
In dreams that make my heart soar.
There is a peace in this. The quiet of this kind of night.
I see my breath as I write.
Cold.
And it will seep into my bones until I shake,
Consumed.
Swallowed whole.
I am nothing but a broken doll,
Forgotten, faded memories,
Dull and lifeless,
On the floor.
This is who I am.
One thought at a time.
Completely.
This is me at my most open.
Honest.
This is real.