Tell me how to strip away my skull to get to the broken bits within. The twisted wires that connect me to the overwhelming want for darkness, for nonexistence, for my flesh to peel off, because I cannot survive with just bone. Tell me there's a strip of hope I'm not seeing, one strong enough … Continue reading A Strip Away
Tag: suicide
I Want to Howl
I want to howl for the pain, strip down to all fours, bristle and fang, yowl like the dying for at least there's an end to that. I want to tear skin and flesh built over the years the cover the original me. The me who danced in summer rain, napped beneath swamp coolers, and … Continue reading I Want to Howl
Whisper
Quiet, now. For once your fears or discomfort are whistled to, he shall deny them. But they shan't dissolve. So whisper to the darkness that something's wrong and let it echo back. Or perhaps the abyss will swallow it. So hush. For if wrong's swallowed you'll want it too, you'll lean over. But should someone … Continue reading Whisper
Son of Star
Ah, son of star I see you, up there, blinking and wavering from the constant burn. What you wouldn't give to fall from heaven and dive into the ocean. But the ocean is vast and dark and cold, and so very unlike the family of stars. Burning, as they may, from the essence of their … Continue reading Son of Star
You Can’t Go Home
Why can't I go home? This war, someone died. There's blood-- it could just be red and I'm freaking out-- why am I freaking out? Can I come home? Because someone died and I wasn't made for this. I was made for mama's arms and the kitchen during the holidays and well worn sofas and-- … Continue reading You Can’t Go Home
I Live
My breath tastes of green onion. Chai isn't enough to balm the taste. Desk lamps shine on lonely work, and I want to read to be taken away, but the clench the onion brings me back. I ate dinner. I function. I breathe. I live. And it sticks to me like green onion breath, overpowering … Continue reading I Live
Author T.S. Lowe 