BraveWrite, Week 3

September 19th

She fears its gentle hands have found her again. It whispers in her ear all the things she shouldn’t to hear. The truth long gone, her heart long since battered, she welcomes the cold. It hollows her out. Vacant of emotion. It’s too late when she names it. #Depression


September 20th

In the state of #jejune, we were all consumed by our fables. We were a unique center whose storms were unlike any other. The Gods aimed for us, small and insignificant though we KNEW different. But then our eyes opened. We wore others’ shoes and heeded our empathy.


September 21st

Their trunks, china cabinet, and every nook and cranny served as a #cache for their precious items. The house seemed willing to burst at the seams with their collections. It was a glorified storage unit filled with the sentimental. She worried it would go up in flames


September 22nd

The world is full of the #esoteric. It haunts the realms of math and science. It teases everyone. But it belongs to the artists most of all. The ones who draw, paint, compose and write for themselves, hoping some will understand. They bare their hearts for acceptance.


September 23rd

Wanna know what I think? she asked all of a sudden.

What? His eyebrows raised above a curious gaze.

I think life is a marinade in which we all #marinate. It’s experiences, people, and choices are all the spices we added, She smiled and nudged him, Don’t you think?


September 24th

The clock chimed #twelve in the middle of the night and summoned the witch from her workings. Her feet bounced down the stairs, jostling the book she held in her arms.

Ah, there it is, she said while flipping through the aged pages. Clearing her throat, she began to recite.


September 25th

The abyss was #tempting, as always. It called to her in seductive whispers. It threaded its fingers into hers, holding her hand, pulling. Her shoulders drooped in defeat and matched the dark bags under her eyes. The image in the mirror wasn’t her so why continue?


Opinions, Please

I have to ask this of my followers, because I stand unsure of it myself. There are plenty of books and poems out there that deal with sensitive topics. Is there a line we don’t cross when ti comes to this? (This is my trigger warning for this post.)

The reason I ask is, I found a prompt about writing your final thoughts as you fall to your inevitable doom. This prompted me to write about suicide. It is dark and taboo thing to some people, if ’13 Reasons Why’ is any indication.

On Prose, I shared the poem with a trigger warning at the top. As someone who struggles with suicidal thoughts as a result of mental illnesses, I recognize the need for that trigger warning. Most of the time, I am fine to read or watch about such things, but if I am down, it is a recipe for disaster.

So I guess my real question is, how do you decide to share something like that? Should it offer something to somebody?

I feel my poem might offer some insight into how someone thinking about suicide might feel, but I don’t want to trigger anybody either.

Here it is, below. I really am curious as to how people feel writing about these kind of things.

One Regret

The wind chilled her to the bone
A welcome hug inviting her to Death.
Jumping had seemed the only solution
Nothing else worth living for, left.
Images of familiar faces shined in her mind
There were no tears in their eyes.
Her body crumpled on the ground
Would hardly draw a single cry.
Only one regret lay in her heart
And her body hit the stones.