Writing Prompt

She was no saint More of a sinner But now she is no more All of what she was remains within her

In life she was conflicted Born into privilege her life was determined for her She felt as if a bird in a cage with her beautiful wings clipped She had a glimpse of the tawdry side of life and a longing began to stir

There must be more fun than polo ponies and the dandy’s who compete Always posing for each other and the debutants that swoon Her life was so flat and adventure she craved So she got in the habit of exploring by the light of the moon

The village after sunset changed quite a bit With ladies with brash mouths, half dressed and reeking of cheap perfume She had never seen the dark side of libations until now But somehow it looked fun she’d acquired a costume

She just had to know the adventure of life Something that lady’s of her stature never knew All appearances and stature jewels and fine frocks She was ready to get messy be vulgar have a whiskey or two

So the very next day she set out to find Her new life was waiting by nefarious design It seems a man was lurking watching this all When the woman now dressed tawdry and swilling moonshine

Of course before long the predators honed in there sites On a woman so lovely yet tortured by hysteria and laudlum alike There was to be no more respect For this fallen debutant had a miserable life

The men they lined up for a grope and a poke No end to their depravity the acts they forced her to take All while opium, laudlum and hash he administered to her The pull of oblivion she felt a meaningful life she definitely could not create

So late one night after the last bloke was serviced She trailed her fingers down her body feeling battered and bruised Then gazed at the mirror where her young beauty once had stood This was her reality now battered beaten and used

She saw no point in her existence so reckless she’d been Her beauty had left her replaced by haggard deep lines Scarlette red eyes andher makeup long smeared She walked in the moonlight to the edge of the forest and into the pines

Slowly she tread over duff rocks and limbs With only the moonlight to guide her This would be the night of her ultimate demise A rope she had stolen from the livery tied high up in a fir

She piled up some rocks she could kick away When she was able to limb to the noose The intoxication cleared and she felt the gravity of her upcoming actions How did she get so dirty battered and bruised

So she climbed up the rocks inspected the rope Slipped the loop over her head Jumped off of the rocks into the abyss And after twitching and struggling she hung limp and dead.

Quiet exhalations, Not of sadness, Not of regret, But of nostalgia for a memory, That has yet to show itself.

Sometimes being tired is less about no sleep and more about the fact that your soul feels no peace.

Sometimes being tired is being sick of the chase exhausted from always running but never winning the race.

Sometimes being tired is having a hard time hanging on when everyone around you expects you to be strong.

Sometimes being tired is giving up what you should get to just fade into the background like an old friend they will forget.

Sometimes being tired means you leave what you love when you can finally admit what they give is not enough.

Sometimes being tired means you stop fighting the fight as you slip away quietly like a thief in the night.

Because, sometimes, being tired looks a lot like goodbye.

It was a beautiful night, the music and watching the sunrise come over the mountains as the small hours gave way to early morning.

That walk home, and then making love while the sea air blew through the open courtyard into our room. It was all so wonderful.

And now everything is awful and empty. The day after ecstasy, all I can do is wait for my neurochemicals to top themselves back up, because the MDMA and alcohol have drained them, me completely. Pushing all possible pleasure into a few unforgettable hours.

And for what? I don’t know if this pain and emptiness is worth it, but it must be, because I’ll do it all again tomorrow once Everything is replenished.

For now I just have to wait it out, and this is what it’s like. I tried to read a book, and without the dopamine and serotonin there’s no way for me to empathise with the characters. I just see words existing there across a page.

Weightless descriptions without meaning.

Well, without meaning for me as I have no feelings left. I am literally empty. Surviving, hanging on through nausea and a unique kind of loneliness.

Though we cuddled all morning so that helped. To touch and smell someone you love does take the edge off of even the worst hangover, but we will probably have an argument or two before the empathy chemicals top themselves back up.

I feel like total shit, but last night was probably one of the best nights of my life.

There is no joy without pain. I always think this on a hungover morning and yet it never really helps.

Cheers to us all.

Everything around me seems to crumple like a snow storm. All the colors that surround everyday life swarm around me reminding me of what I don’t have. The energy I once possessed as a young child is replaced by a deep longing to rest and shut out the world. A deep longing for an escape that will never come.

We can hear the soldiers outside.

Mama says if we are quiet then we will be safe and we can see Uncle Henry in England. The soldiers outside are very noisy. They are stamping and shouting. Nobody else is making noise.

Mama says that the house we are staying in is not ours and so we must be careful not to mess anything up. I do not understand why we had to leave our proper house.

Mama says we must pretend not to understand if somebody speaks to us. She will do all the talking. If there is a problem, we are to ask the owner of the house that is not ours to take us to England, to Uncle Henry.

Mama says that if somebody comes up the small stairs outside the door then we need to hide in the wardrobe in the other room. At home Mama never let us inside the wardrobe, not even when we were playing hide and seek.

Mama says not to tell anyone Papa’s name. Especially not a soldier. And we cannot say that he was a doctor. Not to anyone. She says that if they know then we will be taken to where he is. I do not see why that is a bad thing. I have not seen Papa for a long time. I miss him.

Mama says that if we need to run quickly we are to leave our bags behind. I only have one bag. I wanted to bring more of my nice clothes but Mama says not to because they will still be there when we go back home.

Mama says that it is like a big game of hide and seek. I must be very quiet, no matter how much J want to leave this strange room that is not home and go outside.

Mama says she is not worried but I can see that she is. She is trying to hide it from us. Mama is worried about the soldiers finding us but I do not know why.

I say to Mama that she doesn’t have to worry. I am the best at hide and seek in all the land. If I do not want to be found then I can stay hidden forever. I can teach her if she wants.

Mama laughs and says that it is okay. She believes me. And she was very good at hide and seek when she was a little girl too.

Mama says that we will have to leave when it is dark. Me and Fritz and Mama. And we are to burn our papers. The lady who owns this strange house got us new ones. Ones that have different names on them and say we are not from here and say we are not Jude’s.

The soldiers have marched away and we cannot hear them any more.

Mama says that is a very good thing and she sighs. A big, long, heavy sigh. One more day, Mama says.

All my dreams come true.

In the night, when I lie on my bed and fall into a deep slumber, my mind weaves a collection of dreams. Dreams built on my desires, my fears, my hopes and despairs.

And when I wake up, whatever I dreamt of will become a reality. The only catch is that I cannot control what I dream of. Every night, every dream, is a roll of the dice.

I've had this ability for as long as I can remember, but the funny thing is, I don't really have anything to wish for. I mean, sure, I have wants and needs like any normal person. But there's nothing that I would be willing to give up everything for to get.

That is, until I lost my child.

Now, all I want in life is to hold her in my arms again and tell her that everything will be alright. I want to feel her heart and feel her breathe and smile and laugh and-

Live.

I spend my days asleep. Desperately hoping for a dream where I see her and bring her back to life. I've spent more time asleep than awake in the last year.

The dreams have stopped.

But I keep sleeping.

What is the meaning? What is my purpose? What is this feeling? Is there any way this can get worse? I’m in despair,no feeling has ever compared 21 and i still feel link a child In terms of maturity I feel like I’m wild Some things I’m desensitised to Thinking I’m used to this, it’s what I always do But I’ve never considered the possibility That this mentality is just a part of me The mentality is because of my past Because I haven’t matured this feeling will last And what are humans without making progress? Am I a human if I’m feeling stagnant Why do I feel I only regress I don’t feel I can, but only can’t