A wedge sits uncomfortably between my eyes
Jamming the gears and locking up tight.
I have seized up
The figures, the world’s and the words
Refuse to move.
Refuse to come from me as the grey cloud sits.
Have I ebbed out?
Is this all the I could muster? Half completed stories that I cannot post?
Endless world’s that swirled and swam before me
The people I saw as I fell into sleep
Those that whispered to me as I attempted to be “normal”
Have they left me?
Are they sleeping?
I hope they are merely on vacation
A brief stop from the normal
I don’t want them to be gone.
I don’t want to see the stories end, the world’s shut off.
The fairground to stand still in the darkness as the youths smoke nearby.
I want to turn and see the city.
The city the blurs passed at an incredible rate.
The homeless lady and her cat, the kittens that share her box and the crumbs she can provide them.
There is no warmth here in the alley, but the affection and care she provides keeps there little gears and cogs whirring and beating.
She knows that it’s a hard life, but there mews keep her going and away from the drugs and alcohol that provided everyone else’s relief.
Looking further, the lights grow brighter as I stare. I don’t know the name of this place, but it moves with its own rhythmn, one I’ve never seen with real eyes.
One that doesn’t exist.
No history, no people, no foundations in reality, but there it is.
Clear as day in my mind.
Now I just gotta get the characters whirring…
A Storem by Sixeighty.
(Started as a poem and ended up a story… kinda. I dunno seemed to fit the description)