WriteMyke

I find it is like a sucker punch that is whispering a quick jab to the jawbone. Relentless, such as twisting my lip between my teeth; I do not stop until I feel dread and drink the iron flavor like wine. Sipping the pain as one would pleasure, I feel it spread all through my bones, like a droplet of a foreign liquid in purified water, expanding throughout and soothing my bitter resentment. My pearly whites plucking at a small fiber of flesh until it snaps releasing the acrid, maroon escape from my worse enemy but only for the very split-second of apathy found for every moment my heart flutters for no cause, every nagging hour that my affection stands without application and every instant that I realize I am still seeking. All I have found is a goddess that does not exist, a muse for a deceased artist, a harlot for saint and clown for my penance. They whisper a serenade from a fictitious place leading even the most willed to doom such as a siren calling through the night and turning the...

I had a dream the other night that I had no eyes. I couldn’t get over that image. The feeling was panic mixed with shock, yet overall, it was uncanny. It was so mystifying, in fact, that I spent the whole day being revisited with vivid flashbacks. It wasn’t as if my eyes were seemingly airbrushed away from my appearance. I had open cavities on my face. Disturbing. I could even recall the feeling of cool air pressing itself within the center of my head much like a breeze crossing over your eyes. The event was so astounding that I found it gripping my attention sporadically throughout my day. I never even stopped to ask myself how I saw myself with no eyes. Peculiar how a dream that was holding my subconscious captive all day could stall thought like a rhetorical question when seen at a different angle. Rather than why, but, now, how? I saw myself in a mirror. I know that; I remember seeing that. I know that I shouldn’t consciously ponder what my subconscious does, I doubt that’...

I may have reached the point in my life when the pictures that are taken of me right now will no longer be approached with the “look how young I was” response in the future. They, instead, may very well be met with the “I still had hair then” nostalgia. That reality is deafening. I love Nostalgia, I’ve been in a perpetual state of it most of my life but I also love my hair. I don’t know how to cope with this. There are a lot of things that are worse and I feel like a child that’s not getting their way but I’m not ready to be faced with my mortality and that’s what this represents. I’ve always been fond of my hair, since I could remember. Matter of fact, since before I could remember. My mother told me of the first time I got my haircut. Don’t mistake this for the times before when my mum got my haircut. This was the first time I got to direct it. Apparently, the hair stylists thought I was a riot. I’d have numbers for individual strands of hair and specific lengths. I made up my ow...

A first-floor parking spot. A Venti Iced Caramel Macchiato with two extra shots of espresso. A friendly tail-wag. A stranger’s genuine smile. Sleeping in. The calm before the storm (in both the literal and metaphorical sense.) A good beat. A cool and refreshing breath of air. A two-cup bounce shot. A triumphing active apathetic avoidance of embarrassment. Steak. Whiskey/Ginger. A clean house. A classy woman. The few times a year where you get to blast the heat and roll the windows down to create a small, controlled sense of chaos as two temperature extremes flow around you in a whirlwind of subtle variances between chills and hot flashes while still being subjected to the crisp fresh air around you outside.

I'm taking creative writing. I believe that my portfolio will be expanding quite a bit in this class. My instructor has already declared that she's simply going to make us write. So, my blog should expand quite a bit as well. The particular assignment is to take the last line from a poem we like (Edgar Allen Poe - "The Raven") and make it the first line of our own, original piece. This is the result: Shall be lifted nevermore, Beyond the earth evermore Past the scarecrow of paramour To a place I’ve been before. Try to deceive against the grain, Abolished from the masses I came, Rise above the ashes of fame, To thyself, myself became. Teach the lessons of the past Knowledge of man amassed, Instruction manual of life surpassed To a place greater than vast. Grasped before the value of pain Fermented truth of solidified disdain Pushed aside my telltale bane The fragment of existence remains. Shall be lifted nevermore, Beyond the e...

It was a vivid image of intrinsic exaggeration, a frozen portrait of fluidity. Time did more than stand still; it ceased. Consciousness spiraled to an immense point of absence. There was no flooding luminance, no tunnel. One could say nothing existed and would fail to be ingeniously knowledgeable as opposed to saying entirety inexisted deeming one relentlessly axiomatic. However, the infinite void allowed the putrefying nothingness to consume perception into a bath of irrelevance, an infantile state of futile quiescence. Sans everything; it was an abyss of supreme nihility, a simplistic loop of nil. Suddenly there was sound. A distinct oscillation of a reverberated frequency resulting to an omniscient humming that numbly struck awareness like a chord. Then, like accosting winter as it hints insidiously into summer through the fingers of fall, I felt a flickering rime seep into conception. Next, a name was repeatedly called with a quiet overture of playground-style banter lofti...

Read at your own discretion, whilst filtering my aggression my dreams become an obsession, in an ambient location, away from frustration, your world, with abbreviation, your criticizing inquisition, in non-fiction, nor taking position. I know thyself through deterioration, in no need of introduction, just induction and justification through stubborn progression. I will take these legions and lead them to destruction! To find gratification, I must first seek the ratification in total conjunction, with this proclamation of explanation. I need no recognition, for my decision is in arbitration of this damnation. Twisted and fitted with acquitted acidic restriction I’m honed in to the big picture and I’ve about had it in. Finding that riddled with an unusual perspective, my life must be inconclusive with an intrusive speculation. Sit down, erase the frown of your periling situation, for the general population will cower in fear of your open emotion. Empathy is dead and so is freedom in thi...