Fiction. Poetry. Lifestyle.
My long life full of strife has made me a witness to humanity’s tragedies. You see, dear receiver, I am something that transcends your war and your diseases. Yet, this cursed era hurts me just as much as it hurts you. Know that this is a terrifying time. Such a time where love is locked up and touch is hidden away from all who need it. How can we forget the bittersweet tastes of the past that have overshadowed this lonely era?
Usually, it’s just grey. A phantom grey with the ghost of what could have been haunting my one decade of living. Barely living. Surviving – maybe.
They say, having a disability ‘builds character’ which is true (to an extent), I had grown confidence. Recently, I am hyper-aware of my disability. It is as if I have only begun using a wheelchair and I am adjusting to this new wheelchair-bound life. It is as if this human-surveillance world is something new to me…
Spasms of unrelenting misery assault my body. Wreaking havoc with its unsympathetic weapons created for ministrations of torture. My attacker mercilessly holds me captive in my own frame. A prisoner to a biological and physical default with no key to unshackle me. My own body believes me to be beyond redemption, accusing me of crimes I have not committed. Unbending when it comes to compassion, it enforces unjust punishments upon me…
In, out, in outOut out, inout, in in.Breathe Eyes – ripTear at me and leave me bare.Holding in aWhimper. My body attempts toMould itself.Into the crowd ….
His feet shuffle forward, struggling to move across our blinding white bodies. We who have been exposed to so many emotions: rage, honesty, loss. We ….
Clashes of heavy beats that sift through his earphones are aligned with the hidden thoughts that he is hopelessly working to push out. So he ….
Believe me when I say this, but the heat was enough to make me collapse. It didn’t help that the multitude of people decided they ….