I'll never be tamed...
Tied to a post in a neat backyard with a leash of greenbrier
The vine would tear into my neck,
Beheading me as I'd try to run into the forest...
I'd rather be a gory cadaver than a pet.
I'm a beastly vagabond with a traveling garden
A myriad of proud flowers
They never wilt...
They're loudly vivid
Always cheering for me with colorful voices
Telling me to be "Perpetually wild"
They say that I'm "A shining, silver creature after the Id's own heart"
So, I'll always be a voracious hound
Always hunt gratification
I'll aim for the throat
The instant kill
Instant ecstasy...
In that moment,
Nothing can surmount devouring a pitch black tree with pink bubblegum leaves that grew on top of a flying mountain after climbing the slim, smooth roots as they drag along through a cerulean sea
Or flying on a cloud of petals from my gorgeous garden
Chasing a consciously fleeing stream of honey coursing through the sky
Twisting and turning...
Making me hungrier
Making me want it more
I'll give chase to the fluid concept of beauty and sedation until the end of time.
The end of everything.
Even as all fades to black...
Even as I turn to ash.
About the Creator
Duanyell Williams
I like to tell stories.
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Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley6 days ago in Fiction
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