Twist My Words Around

It's All About the Word Play

Posts tagged fiction

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Forever Cannot End

And If I love you until the end of forever, will my love be proof enough that you are every bit of amazing that I say you are?  Will you then believe me when I say you are the best?  Will you trust me when I say that you are perfect?

If I love you until the end of time, will you love me?  Will you still hold my hand like it is your only connection to this spinning, tumbling, and turning world?  Will you still soothe and caress me with your soft kisses?  Will you hold me when I stumble and cry?

And if I love you until the end of time, will it be enough?  Will my time, energy, and love- all that I gave to you- be enough to make the world stop?  For if I cannot love you until the end of forever, I just might die.

Filed under fiction prose love forever original writing time

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I Will Not Dream

Don’t you dare apologize and take away my pain.  Don’t even think about kissing my injuries and soothing my sorrows.  I need this pain.  

If ever I am sad, it is because I once was tricked into believing in a dream.  This pain will remind me that dreams are for fools.  I will fall asleep each night clinging to the memories of my pain, perchance I will not dream.

Every day will be dark.  Blindness is solitude, deafness is shelter.  You cannot exist in that world.  Every kiss will be bitter.  I will sabotage every relationship while I cling to my pain.

This pain will whisper to me in the dark of the night and tell me what I need to hear:  no one is worthy, and least of all is you.  Your company would hinder me and your words would poison me.  Your love has already poisoned me.  Health is now a dream.  

You did this to me.  You loved me and you broke me.  Don’t you dare apologize.

Filed under dream pain original writing prose fiction darkness shakespeare love relationship

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Juneau’s Prison

What’s the devil doing on your back?  You are always running, trying to get away.  Yet, you roll out the red carpet for him.  You put him on your back as if you were his throne.  What’s he doing on your back?

Every day that you keep running, you add a brick to your prison walls.  Look at the prison you’ve found yourself in.  It’s a self-imposed hell.  You polish the bars that bind you.  What solace do you find in your punishment?  The devil alone can keep you company in your pristine prison.

Who is this devil on your back?  He makes you run faster, but from what?  Is the record-breaking pace worth the blisters on your feet?  You left so many people in the dust.  Do you miss them?  You run so hard and so fast, no one can keep up.  As you disappear on their horizon, all they see is the devil on your back- and he’s laughing. 

Filed under original writing fiction prose devil pressure prison running

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I am lost at sea. This endless expanse owns my soul. It was weeks, maybe months ago that I finally relented to my fate. Time fails to pass. Perhaps time has ceased to exist and this is all a shadow of the world I once knew. I will remain here, a captive to the vengeful blue. Engulfed in my misery, I try to remember my past life. There was once a lover in the night. I loved the way he smelled. It was like a salty mist… actually, I can’t remember how he smelled. The memories are lost. There is nothing left.

I am lost at sea. This endless expanse owns my soul. It was weeks, maybe months ago that I finally relented to my fate. Time fails to pass. Perhaps time has ceased to exist and this is all a shadow of the world I once knew. I will remain here, a captive to the vengeful blue. Engulfed in my misery, I try to remember my past life. There was once a lover in the night. I loved the way he smelled. It was like a salty mist… actually, I can’t remember how he smelled. The memories are lost. There is nothing left.

Filed under original writing prose fiction sea lost despair

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The Boxer

You look at me with those sad eyes.  It’s a half-empty look.  Where did you go?  Half of you jumped-ship and left your body short-handed.  You are ill-equipped to deal with the struggles of life.  I see you fight a fight you cannot win.  And it kills me.  Oh, where did you go?

You look like the boxer that never won a fight.  There are scars and bruises from the fights you couldn’t win.  They are reminders and they are your omen.  How trapped and lonely you must feel.  What comfort could I provide?

You are a dead man walking.  Time must be so surreal to you.  Time will bring your demise but at unknown rate, you should hate time.  But you don’t hate it.  The part of you that cared about time cared about me.  Do you miss that part of you?

It is as though you seek what you lost with no real hope of finding it.  You search because you must and you fight because you cannot stop.  You know nothing more than the fruitless searches and deafening blows that punctuate each day.  You wonder- when will it end?  But the answer would kill you… and truly, it will kill me.

Filed under boxer fiction original writing prose cancer death

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Kiss Goodnight

At the end of the day when the world weighs heavy on my shoulders, I am glad to find comfort on my cloud of pillows and blankets.  As I lay there in my heavenly retreat, I feel you lean over and kiss me goodnight.  

This time you kissed me quickly as if it were obligatory.  It was as though you were telling me you forgive me a little.  

Last night you didn’t kiss me at all.  I could feel you fuming from across the bed.  It was like you sent flames to torture me.  Depriving me of that kiss was true torture.

Remember when you kissed me sweetly and softly?  It was a kiss that suited my sacred space on that bed.  That was before.  Before I hurt you with my words and my deeds.  Before I abandoned the sanctity of our marriage.  I didn’t abandon it, I only took brief leave.  I’m back now and I left things in disrepair.  I will use all my tape and glue to fix this cloud.  I will wait for your kiss.  

Tomorrow you will kiss me.

Filed under prose fiction original writing cheating repentance love

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Amelia’s Passion

To live life as though it alone is your passion, is to be free. Each breath, smell, and sight is a new and hidden love.   No one can conquer the heart of a woman who knows only the joy of the next unknown adventure.  No one can lay claim to the girl who seeks for the sake of seeking.  She doesn’t want to stay, she’ll be on her way soon.  What she wants is everything and now would be the time.

She lives every second, not one is wasted on magazines or appointments. She waits on no one, not even the sunrise.  The current moment is the only time she tells. She will zoom by you on the freeway and smile as she leaves.  This is her adventure, and you just played a small part.  She is an enigma and a mirage. 

You’ll be strangely happy to see her go because she’s proof that there’s still adventure.  She’s a reminder of the ocean breeze and warm sand under your feet.  She’s the reincarnation of a thousand explorers.  She is neither here nor there so long as she is living.  Life is her passion and life gives her freedom.

Filed under freedom life passion adventure live time original writing fiction prose

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Weeping Willow

River water has never been enough for me. In order to grow, I need your tears of joy and sadness. Others may think you are foolish or weak for crying, but not I. I will listen and soothe.

Moments when you cry can be moments of despair, happiness, and confusion. Your tears mark important turning points in your life. Shouldn’t they be committed to a living memory, my memory? I am here so that your experiences are never forgotten.

Come visit your tears whenever you like. You can relive those moments or look back on them and be glad for the growth that came from them. You needed those tears, and so did I.

Long after you are gone from this world- what was once so intimately a part of you will continue to live on. Late at night, when the wind picks up, my leaves will give new voice to your tears. Others will come to listen and they will come in search of the same relief. Your pain and happiness will be the beauty of my bark and the comfort of my leaves. I am your legacy and you shall never be forgotten.

Filed under despair joy original writing tears tree weeping willow willow fiction

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Fleeting Focal Point

Do you want to know how I know I exist?

One of the bagger’s at the grocery store takes extra time to bag my groceries.  He smiles and sneaks glances at my breasts and as I leave, he watches me go.

At bars, when I go to close my tab, I find I have no tab to pay.  Some mysterious man, perhaps even the bartender, has decided my disposition is too fragile to sign my name to a bill.

The occasional strange man or acquaintance notices me.  And for those brief and fleeting moments, I know I exist to them.  I occupy their thoughts and I am the focal point of the room.

Tom never looks at me the way that boy at the grocery store does - lustfully and barely in control.  He used to.  I stopped existing to him.  The focal point of the room is always the burnt casserole or the lights from the television.  He thinks about interest rates and why our hydrangeas are dying.  I don’t exist.

I long for those chance encounters when I’ll be noticed.  They aren’t interested in my opinions or thoughts, but they are interested.  To them, I exist.

Filed under empty existence fiction lonely original writing sad trapped

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Whispered Secrets

Everyone has secrets they whisper to their pillows in the black of the night, write in their diaries or tell strangers in bars.  They feel the pressure of their secret, knowing they’re the only one.  They feel so alone with their secret and know it is poor company.  No one understands…

An entire forest exists in the mountains of Colorado, a forest of Aspens that bring colors to spring, summer, and fall.  In those months, the leaves whisper with the wind.  As the wind tickles your nose, picks up your skirt, and tears papers from your hands, it gathers secrets.  It is the knowledge of your past and present; the dirty, sad, and desperate knowledge you wish to keep to yourself. The trees grow tall with that knowledge.  On a summer day, you can hear them by the hundreds, secrets pouring in and finding a new home.  You can watch as ten thousand Aspen trees grow green and stretch to the sky, granting relief to a burdened wind.  Their beauty is in their selfless sacrifice. 

The wind blows hard and cold in winter. As the wind blows, it is full of your secrets.  When spring comes, the trees will listen once again, and ease your pain.

Filed under secrets wind aspens trees mountains colorado knowledge fiction winter summer