A Most Unworthy Poet

Chapter 0 (Taster)

"Cry, 

Try and care,

Feel only darkness,

Fall through red,

Then you may fly.

You say no,

What a selfish fiend,

Or maybe 'tis I who is selfish,

Is that what you see?

Do you not deserve to feel as I did?

Has the time of us passed?

For when you pass me you do not look,

As if I am made of glass.

Not a tear was shed for you,

Maybe that's where I went wrong,

Pain does not exist,

Unless you learn to pour out salt and whale songs.

Or perhaps you cared too much,

Was I the great loss?

Were you simply hiding feel from me?

Have you already felt lost?

You're right, I should let this go,

I reopen the wound,

But every time I regret,

Exhaust,

Smile,

Anger,

Laugh,

Know I think of you." I read to the class proud of my work, I receive crinkled faces and yawns in return, broken by a cough. My hands tremble slowly lowering the paper away from my face, the crinkling sound creating an even more dignity-slicing scene. I sit down as the teacher tries to form a thought, and he sighs.

"Is this the best you have?" The blood rushes to my face and I scramble to get my writing pad out.

"No, no, I have lots of other material." My voice trembles. Whispers from my peers flood my head, what I once thought was peak poetry now turned to mud in my mind.

"Do not worry yourself." The grey-haired man dismissed. "Next please." I sit down defeated and embarrassed as the rest of the class continues. After an agonising amount of time, we finally reach our recess time, and I decide to find a quiet spot to master my craft. I walk to the other side of the campus and enter the empty level. Making my way down the corridor, I see a room that sparks some inspiration. Glass tubes and flame holders on each table, remnants of spilt substances stick to the wood, and white coats are toppled onto each other lazily on racks. There is an empty corner of the room, I decide to go and sit down there and scribble my life, at this moment, away.