This was written earlier today, but I realised it fits with the “Discoveries” Prompt on Totally Optional Prompts, since it was the result of an epiphany I had about what we do to hurt ourselves and prevent ourselves from getting the help and comfort we need. It’s kind of rough, but I am posting it here for your pleasure. Enjoy.
-Nicole
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We bury ourselves in tragic ground, set ourselves on fire, become our own funeral pyres. We refuse the water, expose our pain-racked roots to the fiery face of the burning sun. We wither and die, becoming martyrs and ghosts, crying on the pain posthumously in ashen whispers and post-dated screams. We become beautiful corpses riding shotgun in our own black nightmares. We become nightmares, frightful to look at, faces contorted in beautiful agony only for a lack of healing salve that we could have rubbed on our own wounds to seal them. We wait for rescuers…and we wait…and we wait…and we die…and we do this to ourselves.
Written 10/12/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.
This takes me to another level, a deeper place, perhaps. To an insider knowledge of hellishness and helplessness.
Good write!