Poetically Resurrected
New member
Title: Fallen Angels
Short description: Two suicidal teenagers meet when sent to a psychiatric hospital in northern california. From the beginning they form a secret suicide pact but they end up forming a close bond of friendship. Love is stronger than their will to die. Story of friendship, love, honesty, and sheer determination to overcome all obstacles.
I have heard the sound of despair slice through the breeze like a steel knife and I have seen the wound bleed raven wings circling through the crying of the fading night. I have not run away from the light, the light has run away from me. I have not run towards the darkness, the darkness has run towards me, and happiness has not been elusive just hard keep. Am I depressed, or simply deprived of the inexplicable joys of uncertainty? There is question, in truth, after all. Yet still, let the wound bleed until my voice is heard, or let it slowly succumb to the slow acting poison of death and may it forever rest in silence.
Outside of my closed bedroom window, I could hear thunder run across the sky like buffalos upon the plains and see the rain pounding the ground like machine guns. Within my room, my back lay comfortably against a white wall facing the opposite wall which stared back at me menacingly until I was forced to look away. Candle light basked in the shade of utter silence illuminating the darkened caverns within my deep-set eyes, scarred from tears that dampened my pillow conceived from my tortured soul. Their yellow and orange embers streaked across my black walls abandoned of any posters, banners, and anything else absent of dullness and conformist appreciation.
My white tee-shirt began to stick to the back of my neck. It was getting hot.
“Stupid blade—won’t----cut!” I groaned, spitting out every word, eyebrows narrowing in frustration. “I swear to--- (I caught myself remembering that I didn’t believe in God)…”
The cold, silver blade my forefinger and thumb precariously straddled was as sharp as the great white tooth that was fixated upon my brown necklace lazily hanging about my neck. I had gotten that necklace from my Grandpa who passed away last summer from old age. Natural causes, ha! Old age, my ass! That’s what the doctor’s tell you when they do not really know what the heck is wrong with the person. Figures, their all conformist fuckers anyway. I never have listened to them and never will. Fuck ‘em. All of them.
“Fuck this shit!” I said, scrambling to my feet.
Almost instinctively, I tip-toed to the bathroom, and was careful as not to awaken my mother who was snoring furiously in the room next to mine.
“Looks like I won’t be getting very much, if any, sleep tonight,” I said, mumbling under my breath, flipping the bathroom switch.
The entire bathroom lit up like a light bulb hanging from a ceiling in a dark room.
I looked into the mirror.
My afro was as big as Oprah Winphrey on a good day at Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles. My eyes were a reddish-yellow color, kind of like oil and blood mixed together in a skillet when my mother was cooking fried chicken. Note to self: Never eat mom’s fried chicken.
I was wasting way too much time staring into this mirror. I hated it anyway. I needed to find an extra blade. I turned on the faucet just a tad bit, and I let the water pool inside of my cupped hands. I splashed water on my face then began to rifle through the drawers pulling out rubber bands, combs, and those little bottled lotions my mother always stole from hotels. Nothing.
I pounded my fist angrily on the bathroom wall and I thought I heard my mother cough.
I covered my face with my hands and let them slide down its length.
Suddenly, without warning, an idea sprung to my head like a frog into a pond. I quietly, stealthy as a cat, tip-toed my way downstairs, almost slipping on the last one, instinctively grabbing hold of the stair case railing. I laughed silently to myself and scurried into the kitchen.
It was cold downstairs.
There were still crumbs on the kitchen counters from where I am guessing my mother had been pigging out before finally going to sleep. Ironically enough, they reminded me of the time she said she was going to try and lose weight. “I need to lose weight so I can look good!” I told her I believed her, although that was a bold face lie. In yet, why did this consequential discovery of crumbs surprise me? She never followed through with anything, especially being a mother.
Then I saw them. They were beautiful, our beige window blinds sliced moonlight onto their jagged edges like cheese, completely ignoring our black magnolia sitting upon the window sill. Once again, that sort of reminded me of the time when my mother forgot to add any type of seasoning to our sirloin steaks or the time when she added water instead of milk to her morning coffee. “Fuck yes,” I said, gliding towards their wooden casing by the kitchen stove. “My, my, darlings, you look so….sharp
Short description: Two suicidal teenagers meet when sent to a psychiatric hospital in northern california. From the beginning they form a secret suicide pact but they end up forming a close bond of friendship. Love is stronger than their will to die. Story of friendship, love, honesty, and sheer determination to overcome all obstacles.
I have heard the sound of despair slice through the breeze like a steel knife and I have seen the wound bleed raven wings circling through the crying of the fading night. I have not run away from the light, the light has run away from me. I have not run towards the darkness, the darkness has run towards me, and happiness has not been elusive just hard keep. Am I depressed, or simply deprived of the inexplicable joys of uncertainty? There is question, in truth, after all. Yet still, let the wound bleed until my voice is heard, or let it slowly succumb to the slow acting poison of death and may it forever rest in silence.
Outside of my closed bedroom window, I could hear thunder run across the sky like buffalos upon the plains and see the rain pounding the ground like machine guns. Within my room, my back lay comfortably against a white wall facing the opposite wall which stared back at me menacingly until I was forced to look away. Candle light basked in the shade of utter silence illuminating the darkened caverns within my deep-set eyes, scarred from tears that dampened my pillow conceived from my tortured soul. Their yellow and orange embers streaked across my black walls abandoned of any posters, banners, and anything else absent of dullness and conformist appreciation.
My white tee-shirt began to stick to the back of my neck. It was getting hot.
“Stupid blade—won’t----cut!” I groaned, spitting out every word, eyebrows narrowing in frustration. “I swear to--- (I caught myself remembering that I didn’t believe in God)…”
The cold, silver blade my forefinger and thumb precariously straddled was as sharp as the great white tooth that was fixated upon my brown necklace lazily hanging about my neck. I had gotten that necklace from my Grandpa who passed away last summer from old age. Natural causes, ha! Old age, my ass! That’s what the doctor’s tell you when they do not really know what the heck is wrong with the person. Figures, their all conformist fuckers anyway. I never have listened to them and never will. Fuck ‘em. All of them.
“Fuck this shit!” I said, scrambling to my feet.
Almost instinctively, I tip-toed to the bathroom, and was careful as not to awaken my mother who was snoring furiously in the room next to mine.
“Looks like I won’t be getting very much, if any, sleep tonight,” I said, mumbling under my breath, flipping the bathroom switch.
The entire bathroom lit up like a light bulb hanging from a ceiling in a dark room.
I looked into the mirror.
My afro was as big as Oprah Winphrey on a good day at Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles. My eyes were a reddish-yellow color, kind of like oil and blood mixed together in a skillet when my mother was cooking fried chicken. Note to self: Never eat mom’s fried chicken.
I was wasting way too much time staring into this mirror. I hated it anyway. I needed to find an extra blade. I turned on the faucet just a tad bit, and I let the water pool inside of my cupped hands. I splashed water on my face then began to rifle through the drawers pulling out rubber bands, combs, and those little bottled lotions my mother always stole from hotels. Nothing.
I pounded my fist angrily on the bathroom wall and I thought I heard my mother cough.
I covered my face with my hands and let them slide down its length.
Suddenly, without warning, an idea sprung to my head like a frog into a pond. I quietly, stealthy as a cat, tip-toed my way downstairs, almost slipping on the last one, instinctively grabbing hold of the stair case railing. I laughed silently to myself and scurried into the kitchen.
It was cold downstairs.
There were still crumbs on the kitchen counters from where I am guessing my mother had been pigging out before finally going to sleep. Ironically enough, they reminded me of the time she said she was going to try and lose weight. “I need to lose weight so I can look good!” I told her I believed her, although that was a bold face lie. In yet, why did this consequential discovery of crumbs surprise me? She never followed through with anything, especially being a mother.
Then I saw them. They were beautiful, our beige window blinds sliced moonlight onto their jagged edges like cheese, completely ignoring our black magnolia sitting upon the window sill. Once again, that sort of reminded me of the time when my mother forgot to add any type of seasoning to our sirloin steaks or the time when she added water instead of milk to her morning coffee. “Fuck yes,” I said, gliding towards their wooden casing by the kitchen stove. “My, my, darlings, you look so….sharp