A daily journal I begun writing a year ago as writing practice. One of my favorite works, I plan to write a story including each entry.
Friday’s Last Friend..
Things bubble up behind blind eyes that mean nothing, a golden moment hidden beneath terror of manipulation. Words; they mean nothing. A useless visad of moments better left unspoken. Insignificant empty bottles are left to clutter the twisted mind stuck in a mud wasted with intoxicants. Yet, a tattered heart keeps its reason to survive, as if just to cling onto a silk strand transformed into steel ropes mending themselves back together. Twisted, congested from the thought of a love long lost, hidden from the truth that beckons on the edge of paranoia, where insecurities run astray in a panicked state of unease, bruising every positive truth into a well built façade. Broken dreams treading amongst a timid, deep sesspool, holding hands with a shattered spirit sewed together with barbed wire made of soft silk.