Note: This short story is heavily focused around grief and mortality. Please be advised.
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The gentle breeze sings through wind chimes as I nest in my bed of golden leaves and broken dreams, the night sky caressed with moon beams.
Another year fades away. At the end of a hall that no longer exists, stepping into a room that's nothing but a fleeting glimpse of a memory.
The gold falls outside her window and I take her hand, reality fades and the world turns gray.
Wonder and whimsy skitter away like children searching for a better pastime, and years later fine wine and fruits of my awful labor do not exist.
I chase the gray with doses of pleasure that are only washed away by pain.
The wind chimes ground me yet again, but the gray in my mind still derails me.
In this palace of shit in which I wrap in silver and wear a crown of dirt, I realize nothing will truly ever quell the hurt that forever festers from my wound.
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Poems From The Peephole
PoetryBasically a place to throw away miscellaneous stories and poetry that would otherwise sit in my notes app forever - I hope you get enjoyment out of these :)
