We questioned everything but never received any response. No evidence or trace of origin. We contacted the ends of the solar system and still never any roots of a creator. The Black Death is nothing compared to this big, empty, and lonely existence on solitary Earth. I've seen our Pale Blue Dot of a planet but have always taken it for granted. I'm not a stoic any longer. Whatever is approaching is inevitable and impossible to alter its trajectory. One by one, the planets fall victim to this Nihilistic Ball. Decadent Dance. Mars and Mercury will dissipate and Venus is already gone. Uranus will collide into Broken Jupiter. Arid Saturn. Nocturnal Neptune. Pluto has returned but retreated into oblivion. And now it's our turn. We're next
About the Creator
Anna Torres
I’m a 37-year old mother. I love reading, metal music, and writing. I have begun writing again since 2021
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Good Morning, Vampire
Good Morning, Vampire. I cannot give you any more asylum here. No sanctuary from the sun, no rosary beads tucked away beneath this masquerade. You tried to storm this castle but I wouldn't allow your unholiness in. What did you think you would conjure here? No spells to be broken because I am immune. Can we really be reborn from this loss of dignity? I let you dilute me until there was nothing original left. You wanted me at the bottom so you could keep me prisoner. Afraid of an uprising when I finally realized this was all staged. Ascending upward was the death of our misfortune. Subterranean miscreant, I will use the rest of my holy water to cure you. I'll send you down to your maker and I hope they bring the violence. You were the sinkhole I kept on drowning in. My mouth full of deafening screams that no one could hear, especially you. The morning light will wash over you and be your undoing. You're the Grim Reaper but the day of reckoning has come. Traitors have been tested and been deemed unworthy. There's something about your existence that makes my blood boil. Without you, my life could have avoided turmoil. I predicted a riot against pity and self-loathing but you always loved me when I was broken. You rose to the top while I paid dearly for the darkness. Spirits lose their spines and have to assemble new ones. I didn't know you wanted me to remain hopeless. To abrogate you would have been the most supreme evil plan I ever conceived. You always returned to capsize the boat I rescued myself in. You created tsunamis to torture me and I always responded with more tears. You were the strain that continuously infected me and my mental health. I slept in a lonely bed waiting for you but you never had any warmness to begin with. Your coffin lay undisturbed while I assembled more garlic and crosses to defend myself with. You were the smoke that always burned my eyes. You were the stake in my heart that wouldn't let me die. You siphoned my sanity and blood out of my well-being. Draining me to the point of exhaustion and suffering. I have the marks on my neck to prove your abuse. I have the trauma you inflicted that I cannot wait to lose. This will circle back to you sooner or later. This will creep back on you but you will never learn your lesson. You always exploited the worst parts of me. You always managed to get on the dark side of me. You contributed more to my misery than you ever tried at my happiness. We are on the do not resuscitate list and it's time to finally lay you to your ultimate rest. I didn't know then that this was truly for the best. I wall you in behind these red bricks and wait for the sun to take you away. Morning cannot come fast enough. I hear your nails turn to stubs while you scratch aimlessly at the chamber door. My hands won't reach out for you anymore
By Anna Torres12 days ago in Poets
3:00 AM Challenge Winners
B. A. Durham’s False Memories blends dream and reality in a seamless mix. As his father, afflicted by Alzheimer’s, fades away, the narrator is haunted by a dream that may be a memory, returning to him insistently. The piece is full of wonderful detail (the father touching his lip where once there was a mustache, “but now he is clean-shaven—he has been for years” — and moving in revealing the complexities of a family’s life. A worthy winner which shows the power of dreams to influence us.
By Vocal Curation Teama day ago in Resources
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