the other night i posted one of those jumpy no one has any idea what i'm talking about entries. a friend emailed me and asked me to try to see if i could write some more about what i was feeling at that time. that same day my old english teacher told me to try to write something that began with the quote "the worst came after you left." it was more of just an exercise in stream of consciousness than writing, really.
i try.
feel free to also. comment, email, im anonymously. i'd love to see where other people go with that first line. (that's why my teacher wanted me to try it.) you'll probably end up surprising yourself.
the worst came after you left. abandoned solitary figure in the center of winter biting wind and figernails frozen puddles and unevaporated tears. the soles of worn out sneakers, cemented laces and slightly curving toes molded to form, pounded the pavement, unsure of direction, location. gone, not here, not now, not in the suspended second where up is down and food is greed and the walls are distorted mirrors reflecting a convex unrecognizable image with a slightly worn and cemented sunken soul and a face drained of color, vitality vanished, weak flesh withering fast. a lone tear, single, solitary, abandoned in the center of winter, escapes unharmed and the taste of blood coats the inside of apparantly transparent and punctured lips with the thick unpenetrable taste of iron. acid pumping wildly between shredded strands of a former self, legs leading forcefully, unwillingly, obeying a tormented trail of demented tought, try again. thoughts that once collided at a rapidfire pace now feverishly attempt to exit begging protection. (echos that mirror that of heels in long corridors with dull green tiles and empty smiles, echos that mirror the pummeling rains against cracked pains.) long shadows melt on streetlit sidewalk horizons, slamming sudden goodbyes without hopes for future hellos. suddenly i shudder at your slightest touch. cutthroat ultimatums shatter shreds of something i no longer recognize in the confines of the convex mirrors, piercing the sacrificed self as enigmatic emotions slip though calloused fingertips with chipped polish and obscurity evaporates, replaced only by that vague sensation of numbness. this suspended instant (in which i watched your increasingly decreasing figure leave with my strained eyes and dried up hope; in which i read the smudged black ink of blurry words and meaningless lyrics on tearstained papers) hangs enticingly, circling above in the air supported by a thin thread at breaking point. i hesitantly motion to reach up and grab it for the last time to firmly capture it and (fold it with perfect creases and angles) gingerly place it in my back pocket, where now, this memory will remain forever. unless i feel like changing.