Fiction

A thing. A thing in which I write some poetry. I've never really written much poetry, so... yeah. Exciting. It can get spooky sometimes. (By spooky, I mean that it can get dark. Trigger warning in advance, just in case.) Tread lightly. I'm obviously horrible about summarizing things. So just go ahead and read on. Cover made by the wonderful @ParadoxicalWhim.

We know that we have souls buried deep within our flesh. Why? Because the pain of longing explodes from deep inside our frail bodies with the force of a thousand storms, ripping and tearing and possessing our flesh and bones with a demonic spell. Clutching and sucking the breath and life from those elusive souls. Yes, I have proof that I have a soul. Yearnings can be so demanding, so consuming, and when we are powerless to fill our souls with solutions, with even a infinitesimal bit of balm to anoint and begin to heal the deep wounds that seem to rend our bodies into a thousand bits, then we know that we have a soul. When every fiber of our being, our presence on this sadistic earth burning and feeling so alone, so solitary, despair washing over our very being, then we know we have a soul. Sometimes our soul seems more real than our actual flesh and blood bodies.

Round Three of @Kay_Cupcakes competition. Cover made by @ParadoxicalWhim. Guy meets girl. You know the rest.