Hey guys, so as you may have gathered, I have my computer back. I'm still not allowed on Facebook, but I don't really need Facebook. I have theO and music on this computer, so that's good enough for me! Thanks for all the support my friends gave me when I was upset, I am feeling a lot better now. I'm also no longer mad at my parents. Holding grudges doesn't do anything good for me, so at some point I had to let it go. Anyway, here's a new piece from English class called Unwaking. I hope you like it! Make suggestions please, to tell me what's good or what I could improve on. I like feedback, and need it to become a better writer.
Unwaking.
By Sarasface.
My imagination
often takes me to places I don't want to go, places I know
I shouldn't go
where feet walk upside down on a sky
of dark sidewalk
and the head is way down low.
Where the sky holds no color
and the brown grass doesn't grow.
It's trampled, flattened by hooves,
and by slushy, dirty snow,
melting,
marred by deep trapped prints
seeping into air where I breathe in fears,
Hit by tidal waves of fury, I drown
in tears. The world is
dark green, muted, I hear
screams
echoing from below, sobs--my own--
shake my back, my shoulders, my bones,
echoing on all sides are
moans
from the zombies that are this
city of gray debris and broken buildings, shells. A granite, faded mutation, this hell.
Wake! Wake!
Before it is too late.
The ground above my feet trembles and shakes.
Towers wobble in a tumultuous earthquake of emotions,
accept it already, I know I will break.
I'm smacked hard against
the ground, again and again, renewing
old bruises that never go away,
the sky is mottled sick purple and
gray. My face no longer rests in the dirt.
This is the exact place and it hurts.
It hurts.
My skinny legs tangled, twisted, and trapped,
bruised and bloody, like the face. Breathing is fear
No one can get away from here.
Still they crawl. They'll never stop.
Am I one of them? I'm not.
Their claws scrape the backs of my
hands, twisting their fingers in mine,
frantic.
Is it hunger? Do they crave
something to eat, or is it me?
The only drifting, living thing?
Are they lonely? I am. My head is full of sand.
Gritty, foul gray sand. I am not--I am them.
Wake, wake,
before it is too late!
I must escape.
I must escape!
