I’m just going through the motions.
Void of any real emotion.
Suicide is a selfish notion that I entertain.
Hear you asking what’s the matter?
Saying how you miss my laughter.
I know the love you’re after I can’t give away.
Find myself saying words I hate like it’s me, not you.
I know I’ll miss you when it’s too late and it’ll be my loss.
Swear to you if I knew the reasons for the changes you are seeing
I’d gladly unload my heavy burdens at your feet.
Standing at the edge of nothing.
Feel my heart ripping open and I can’t stop the pain.
You will see I was haunting my life.
Untouchable, unlovable and always on the outside staring in.
Maybe tomorrow will be better and I can love you more than I ever have.
So you’ll know it was I that was sick and you can carry on when I’m gone.
Written for Yeah Write
he loves me not, he loves me
guess that fucking daisy lied
I could use some help right now
but I cannot swallow stale pride
keep running in place while he leaves me behind
he has a smile on his face, I’ve got a war in my mind
walking around alone
trying to adapt to uncertainty
money is a hassle and pain is never free
I can’t connect with Nathanael West
even though I think I should
writing bad poetry that melts paint off walls, rotting any wood
I’m in some type of rut
a hell I can’t escape
my muses are m.i.a.
I’m overdue for a break
he loves me not, he used to love me
Autumn will kill these wild daisies
What’s the lessons of loss?
Reminder that tomorrow is not a promise whispered alluring in your ear.
Mortality touching your skin, clammy and cold.
Death etched in minds so you tell yourself not to take anyone or anything else for granted.
Then the darkness that consumes your soul quickly fades away in a warm Spring breeze.
Living settles in with your morning coffee as you yell at your children, cuss your partner for leaving the milk out.
What is eternal rest to the youthful?
Something that drags the departure of a loved one into dreams, spinning nightmares.
High school and college are demanding attention, dating, social activity.
You tell yourself you need that bucket list.
Paradise and Hell can wait until you’re old, after you change the world.
Time laughs as you lounge around, procrastinating, deciding you can make memories the next day.
Suddenly you realize you’re forty, you’re at a crossroad, and nothing in your world was the way you wanted it to be.
Don’t drown your memories in liquor or work.
Maybe the lesson for the living is to remember sorrows, don’t let your heart mourn in vain.
Or maybe there’s no hidden answer to your life, no rhyme or reason for anything.
Though you shouldn’t listen to my voice, after all, who am I to scream out advice as my wrist bleed in the public fountain of this world.
Written by: Donetta Sifford for Visdare – 140 – Hesitation
Since I’m beginning to work on a new novel, this post about debut novels was refreshing.
I really enjoy talking about debuts.
Many debut authors are nervous about their credentials (do I have enough? do they mean anything?), their contacts (who do I have to know? what if I don’t “know” anyone?), and their book (what if it’s not good enough? what if it’s the best I’ve got?).
I think it’s time debut authors gained their confidence and started to tap into the excitement that agents feel for them.
Here are 5 Things You Didn’t Know About Querying as a Debut Author:
1. Agents look forward to your work. Any agent who is building a list is looking for work. Not all agents are building a list however, so save yourself the heartbreak and query agents who advertise that they’re looking for new talent.
2. Your credentials aren’t holding you back. No bylines? No problem. I never brush off writers who haven’t been published in literary journals or…
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