Slasher imagines

Why I'm writing

Spend an hour with your back against the wall, and the weight of situations claw at your guts. It spills on the ground and envelops your being until you're nothing but anger and hatred. Why you can't and why won't are two different things. Leaving marks and stars in the sky's as you depart. Tears and shudders travel your own body, and nothing stops you from pressing deeper. Fear of moving on with others so far ahead. You're scared and tired. You no longer want to be with your back against the wall, but you know there's no difference whether you won't or can't. In the end, thrown dirt and matted carpet only result from those departed stars. Leaving to join all the others who knew you were right and agreed with you when nothing seemed right. One figure that's stands tall, prays on the youth. They tell you to listen. Don't argue. They pray. Pray. Pray. Pray. You push deeper. It grows. The guts have been ripped from your abdomen and wrap tightly around your throat. Why can't you breathe? There's nothing wrong. Just stand up! Put the purple metal away and lie. You can't, you won't. Whimper away back into the dark corridor you know so well. Coward. Go! Pray. Pray. Pray. Shaking and pleading so you write. You write away your future and play with your feelings like the symphony on a violin. Dancing among the stars as they look back down on your shaking hands. Playing with an unfamiliar sadness so foreign you know so well. Pounding in your head, flinching at noises so uncomfortable. Tears pricking your eyes - no! Plug in the buds and write. Write until those hands don't shake and pressure no longer presses. You can't. You know you can't. And so you won't.