My hands are my mask. (in_the_shad0ws) wrote in wayyouwhisper,
My hands are my mask.
in_the_shad0ws
wayyouwhisper


1) These are 2 paragraphs from the story Lucifer Prey that I am currently still writing:
I close my swollen wet eyes to reveal the picture of a narrow needle being slid into a necklace of blue veins that are below the thinnest layer of skin underneath my wrist. Liquid is leached from the cold needle and invades into my arm. My warm blood in my blue veins freeze. They look like streets on a map upon my arm. That arm becomes paralyzed as my index and ring finger twitch unknowingly. The fingers on my right hand uncurl as the needle is released and rolled off my sweaty palm, falling into the shadows. Behind my eyelids, all I see is this image. All I feel is this image. All I see is me. There is no background or scenery. There are no colors. And, now that the needle has disappeared from the scene, a spotlight shines a perfect gray circle below my feet. My right arm then freezes up. Within minutes my left leg continues the process, then my right. The rest of my body goes numb without much wait. From head to toe I’m numb. Not even the thickest edge of a knife could pulse pain. All that I can feel and all that works is my mind. And, my mind is the one thing I wish were numb. My mind is the one thing I wish I could pull the plug on.
The beautiful circle beneath my hollow body begins to expand. The spotlight reveals a bland wall with torn gray wallpaper. An old clock looms from a nail dug into the thin wall. The second hand is melting, seeping black boiling liquid down the wall, staining the splintery wood floor. The scrawny minute hand is bent and broken, just like me. It stays frozen in the same position, pointing to the six with it’s crooked limb. It reminds me of when I would point at the one gold sparkle in the black sky. I’d hold my arm out, pointing my finger at it’s radiance bright spot until the sun made it visibly impossible to see. The spotlight circle magnifies until the entire scene is perceptible. Sunlight streaks a wall with half-witted lines that are sneaking through the broken blinds that rest in front of the square window. That is a window that I have snuck in and out of, ripping the screen and trying to run from my life, but only finding myself to be running deeper and deeper into it. As more light dumps into the room, my paralyzed body is slowly graced with the feeling of life and touch. The blue tint from my chapped lips swivels down the side of my cheek, and my hand wipes the cold liquid away. My gray skin grows just pale, not much of a stunning improvement, but ivory is the powder that the ballerinas wear on their beautiful faces while allowing swift moves to speak. The feeling is back. I’m in the same state from before the incident of the leaching needle.

2) A poem titled Falling Ladders:
Open wounds never heal, not even if you thread a string of stitches along the edge of the strawberry gash, it’ll bleed a river of guilt.
The bars creating checkered patterns in front of the window stick to my tongue in the winter, they are the portals to the faces and feet because I’m hiding behind the barriers that my sorrow has built.
Even if I have to lie my way through a beaded bracelet of people in my path, or put a bullet in between, I’ll never be shot down.
Because I’m so far below that there’s no going deeper, so kick the shovel and spit on the dirt that’s my blanket above me while I sleep underground.
And will you still give me a blank stare while I’m crying but this time with a loaded gun in my right hand slowly inching towards my temple, my index finger wrapped around the trigger about to curl it tight?
And will you still pour buckets of lies over my ugly body so like leeches they suck the blood inside as I sleep while grinding my teeth throughout the short night?
And will you still laugh when you see oil of threats drip from my mouth and swivel down my chin?
And will your eyes still catch on her curves and vanishing waistline as well thin?
And will you take a step to the side when I trip off my ladder, hit my cranium on the concrete floor after I fall?
Or will you say your apologizes while I rest in my death bed so you can clear your conscious once and for all?
As my ladder is falling straight towards me, all I can do is stare up at you as you laugh yourself into a silent gesture, and I’m wilted on the floor.
When will the day come that on my pillow will rest a pill half the size of a dime and after I swallow it with the sweat from your palms, I will bend over onto my bed and sleep forever and forever more?
Sometimes I have to run my cold hand across my cheek to make sure I am truly there and not just a poor painting on a piece of glass.
But I can feel the slowly strummed strings on the violin pulling tears from the corners of my eyes, wondering when the mortal suffering will fade into the darkness, allowing the pain to pass.
As each white and scrawny black piano key blows out of tune, we all hold our necks for soon our voices will follow.
We should really look at the ones breathing the same air as I, the ones opt for staying by us, and realize in our dusty take for granted minds that after a nights slumber these people may not be here to share the tomorrow.
We’re all waiting for something, leaning on the tops of our ladders to hold onto what we’ve wanted for so long.
As if our entire life is written in the words from a lyrical slow dancing song.
The symphony is slowly rocking my fragile soul because it’s legally in the wrong hands, and like sand I’m trying to fall through their fingers back into the golden castle with a sea shell as the front door.
Braid my blue veins, there’s no hope, and I want them to be airtight seeing I am done for.

3) Something short because the last two things were probably too long:
I inhaled the stained air around and the smell of nicotine crawled down my throat.
Its stench is sewn in each thread within my winter coat.
Dropping its burning self onto the the dirt ground,
My shoe wedges it in, as I pick up another for just one more round...

And by the way, I don't smoke. I always write random things in other people's point of views. Thanks for reading everything, I'm sorry this was entire post was so long...
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