We sit together in a stone room. The naked bulb swings lazily, like a whispered word on a breeze to nowhere. I watch it move back and forth, a metronome for my blank thoughts. Together we sigh. The vibrations of broken dreams quake through my being. The insides of my eyelids appease me as I am lulled into a deep sleep. I hear the reserved gurgles of the blood in my veins. My blinking slows. The floor and my back become one. We sink deeper into the plush concrete floor. I hear the murmurs of a thousand past companions beneath me, above me only the cold ceiling (although the image of clouds is still burned into my retinas). If I owned my tears, I would cry. Cry for the loss of innocence. But that would break my concentration. So we sit, the light bulb and I, swaying to the merry tune of despair. The stale air cycles through my lungs. Oxygen screams. I hold a silent funeral in my lungs. The corpse storms off to the heavens of the ceiling. All is at peace. The walls are singing in the low baritone voice of doubt. I smell fear and sweat and safety. And they sing too. I tighten my calf muscles. And they sting and they cry now. And the singing stops. The walls run away. The smells hide beneath my shirt. The light bulb mocks me from its perch. I am levitating. I hear a deep humming. It gets louder. It steals the children in my brain. They scream. They are alone now. Distant. They are lost. We are lost. We float in a red wagon to the core. Numbers steal my eyebrows. A man with white-tipped shoes pokes at a caged idea with a metal pole. I hear a moan. The man giggles. We all take off our shoes and socks so as not to disturb the sands of time. The foundation shifts and I fall through the cracks. I flash an indigo distress signal to the pilot of my mind. The steam breaks my fall. I see a dark man with a change purse. He smiles warmly while his hands melt into the floor. I tremble. The dismembered voice of the bulb whispers. And so I melt too, into the floorboards of hysteria. I am now surrounded by the sparkle of new coins. I hear the muffled sound of running water in the distance. The floor is solid. I am stationary. So I sit and whistle to the tune of lost thoughts, my hair follicles dancing to the beat of my trapped soul.|||dude that was like reading an acid trip....
i have never been on an acid trip but if i were to write about one that would pretty much be it i think
i mean that in the best way possible. like, theres so much visual stuff going on that even though a lot of it is really far fetched you can still totally picture it happening.|||Awesomeness!|||thats really good i didn%26#039;t read it all my eyes are sore, which is worrying but yeah from what i did read its really good no in fact saying its good isn%26#039;t good enough it was excellent! you%26#039;ve a got a thing for writing|||really impressive imagery.
It reminds me of a book called stunt by Claudia Dey if you go to her website she has some excerpts it might inspire you she has an amazing gift for imagery as well :D|||I%26#039;m not exactly sure what it was about, but it was vivid! Great imagery for sure.
