Twist My Words Around

It's All About the Word Play

Posts tagged prose

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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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Violent Violet

I am sent into the wild by my mother. I am carried by a critter that will give me brief passage, or by the wind which will send me where it wishes. I am whipped and pushed about, always at the mercy of others.

But when I finally find the earth, I will take over. I will claim the soil, the sunshine, and the water as my own. I will bend them and change them for my purposes of conquest. I will cut the earth with my roots and exploit the soil for its minerals and moisture. I will cast leaves to steal the sun. I will take all that I need.

Bees and butterflies will flock to me. I will charm and manipulate them with my perfectly crafted petals. They will do my bidding. I will cast away my offspring and give them no further thought. Time is better spent on my triumph over the elements. I will ravage the land and pillage the sun!

Heed my warning: I am the most violent of violets, and I am done with mercy.

Filed under nature violet violent original writing survivor survival flower prose fixtion

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Laces

You tie the bunny ears together and pull tight.  Your morning ritual marks the beginning.  A new day with new promise and hope.  Today you will not make yesterday’s mistakes!  Today you will take control and get it right!  It always starts the same.

There are so many things you can control.  You can double-knot your laces so you don’t trip on them.  You can order a skinny latte and eat salad for lunch.  And there are things you can’t control.  You can’t control the wind and ice but it doesn’t stop you from wishing you could.  A cold day is made harder by the phone call that comes as you prepare to leave for work.  You finish tying your laces and move across the room to the phone.  It’s the hospital- there’s been a terrible accident. 

I remember the way you looked at me that evening.  I couldn’t feel the stitches, but I could feel you look at them.  They were holding me together, broken pieces longing to be whole.  I couldn’t feel my own heartbeat, but I could feel yours.  I was afraid, and so were you.  But you would never admit it.  Instead, you took my hand and held it tight.  Our fingers intertwined- forming laces.  I was broken, and these were the laces holding me together. You were scared, and these were the laces holding back the tears and lending you strength. 

Each day starts the same.  We tie our shoe laces.  And every morning he takes my hand and we form laces.  We need these laces to hold us together.

Filed under shoes laces hands fear love lovers prose original original writing

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Queen of the Daisies

Did you ever see her with a crown of daisies?  Maiden of the meadow and princess of the spring! 

Light surrounds her and seems to radiate from her.  Sunshine pours down, warming her skin and splashing on her hair.  Her golden locks resemble the fine rays of the sun.  Her eyes are as green as the leaves that adorn the daisies.  The freckles that tickle her skin are the breezes that tickle soft petals. 

She floats amongst the field of flowers. And as she moves, she picks with perfect precision the prettiest of flowers.  She folds and braids the pieces to form the halo for her head.  She is a self-made queen with no need for a king.  She has her own kingdom to watch.  A kingdom of soil and sun.  She has a court to consult.  A court of bees, butterflies, and blossoms.  Hers is the meadow, and she will live amongst the daisies.

Filed under daisy flower kingdom queen nature beauty original original writing prose prose