An English Writer's Mind

Imagine that one day you wake, tied by chains to a chair. Across from you stands your killer. They smile a lifeless smile; their smile is only for their amusement. Somehow, the killer has set up cameras, to let you watch... Watch the life you once lived, a life where everyone exists without you. One you used to have, but no longer. Instead, sits a replacement. You're constantly made to view the world without you, but the copy's. To... Live by the rules that this killer has governed for your eyes. They suppress your sleep; keep you tied even in this state. As much as you want to get up, you're bound, kept until they say: When it's time to finally get up. The longer this goes on, the more you wish for it all to end. You hope for a day that will come that gives you freedom, And so you hold onto that hope, you choose to stay strong... but for how long? Days pass, And weeks come and go. Eventually, years begin to reach their cycle's end. You're s...

Your eyes view me as a demon If so, I'll be a devil. Your gaze skews me like a saint That be, I'll be an angel. I can only be me, and nothing more; A lover in matrimony, or a sensual paramour A god of hegemony, or a ravenous manticore A bringer of sanctimony, or a scandelous whore A growing agrimony, or a feral bore A member of an amphictyomy, or one to abhor Adjusted to polyphony, or broken to the core Advant to gluttony, or one to adore A fiend in parsimony, or one that gives for A two-faced phony, or a mind to explore A fester of idiocy, or a wise mentor A cist of disharmony, or a tranquil shore A contradicting irony, or a stage of folklore I will only be me, and nothing more. Your tongue speaks me of as a heaven, If so, I'll make you tranquil. Your voice spews me like a wraith That be, I'll be pure evil.

            The withered cerulean colored trees beyond my cell window looked as if they endured the harshest tundra, as stalactites of ice hung sideways from their branches, but even with how cold the world looked, I felt nothing against my body. This came as a surprise as I had not even a piece of fabric to cover my starved looking figure. The world outside was a frozen wasteland, covered in shades of blue and white. Everything I saw before me was foreign, and I have no idea how I ended up in this prison. This place would have been beautiful if it didn’t appear so unforgiving. The sky was a deep indigo, showing no signs of a sun or a moon. That too, felt as it was consumed by malice. A world destroyed by the elements and blotted in shadows. Where am I? I turned my attention back to the quarters of my confinement. There was no bed, no toilet, nothing but immovable stones that matched the color of the world outside. Even the gr...

The moon was full and bright, and despite its cold winds, this made the perfect evening for Alistair to spend with his beloved wife. It was a ritual that they shared for many years, that on every full moon, they would dine on the marble balcony that overlooked their garden of cherry blossoms. Dinner was prepared by their servant Walter, who would bring a new dish that he learned during his holidays in Italy. Every dish was always accompanied with the perfect wine. Each night spent with her was more precious than the last, until Victoria never sat across from him again.             “A beautiful evening, is it not?” Alistair asked, hoping that the wind would answer. Victoria had passed six years prior, and despite her absence, Alistair always requested that Walter prepare a dinner for two on every full moon. For six years, he sat across a vacant seat, eating his meal and drinking his wine, alone. Her death came without warning. ...

There's no worse feeling than not being able to trust your mind And no matter what you're feeling, the answer's never fine. Your cries, your pleas, your screams, wish to be heard The lies, decrees, far from absurd. Yet, many deem you as someone that will only whine, Internal wounds bleeding, flowing, like a river of wine. I wish to be null, silenced, dead Never will I be full, vibrant, fed.