Feverish Dreams

My dreams plague me with vivid realities so farfetched and daunting I’ve no choice, but to run. My feet pound against barren dirt, stirring dust into the air. Despite the burning feel of it, I must push on.
 
Glancing behind me, I see a pack of wolves. Scratch that. They’re much bigger than wolves. Much faster, too. Their snarls echo off the cave walls I’ve been placed in by my overactive imagination. I know it’s not real and yet my heart races.
 
Teeth sink into my calf and I fall forward with a scream. The wet, slickness of blood drips down my leg and sends these unknown creatures into a frenzy. Their bites shred my arms to ribbons.
 
Just when I’m about to pass out, I have been transported to the centre of a storm. No shelter in sight. But of course, I say to myself and will my sleeping self to rouse. It’s of no use.
 
The rain shifts from small drops to heavy bullets, or so it feels. My skin tingles and bruises under the assault. Thankfully my limbs are restored and I can run towards the edge of the clouds. The ground is wet and I slip with each step. Mud grabs my shoe off and I keep running, leaving it to the land. I can see the sun shining beyond the black clouds and I yearn for its serenity.
 
It’s too late, though. Hail the size of watermelons falls from the clouds. Lightning forks, stabbing at my tiny presence on the ground. The thunder sounds like laughter amidst the roar of the storm.
 
For the first time in years, I stop running. I stand in the centre of the chaos and let the storm strike me down. It doesn’t take long. Both hail and lightning hit me and it’s the most painful thing I’ve ever felt.
 
I wake with a shout and feel my head, inspect my pillows for blood. Everything’s wet from my sweating heat and my skin’s red. Upon closer inspection, I see white forks winding under my skin, following my veins.
 
Not again, I think and lapse back into darkness.
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My Poor Tree

I haven’t drawn in years, if I am honest. I used to love drawing, painting, molding clay. It was an amazing thing to create something from the mind, or mimic an existing object/person. Flaws added depth to it though I struggled with that fact.

Being a perfectionist is not great when you want to be creative, and thus I have been hesitant to do anything artistic for a long time (unless it was instructional). Today I decided to pull out a sketch book and pencils, and make something, anything.

It’s simple, but I drew this evergreen tree. It probably sucks, but I am proud of it, because at least it looks how I wanted it to (sort of).

Pencil.Tree.jpg

Art in all its forms bring a beauty to the world that I enjoy soul deep. It is necessary for any creative soul to find their medium or niche in the world to share their imagination, but it doesn’t hurt to dapple in others at the same time.

I have posted a lot of poems, and will continue to do so, but I am also going to be playing with my drawing pencils. Hopefully I will get some paint and canvas soon to fiddle around there, too.

Sorry for the quality of the picture. Cellphones don’t take the greatest photos so I am hoping I can get my digital camera working. Well, it works, but I don’t have the cable required to transfer photos to the computer just yet. Plus I need an SD card to be able to take more than just a couple photos.