SKAndrade

Your voice cracked in my ear like that old wicked tree in my front yard that was struck by lightening last year. It fell on my Mom's car at four in the morning which was such an odd time for all of my family to be awake and crammed into the living room which was illuminated by the flickering blue lights from the television. Even after eighteen years the thunder could still shake me. You shook my nerves and my heart skipped a beat the way it would when the flashes of painfully white light would cut through the night sky between the loud booms. I gripped the telephone in my hand and said "Hello" like the little girl that I was inside. My level

I felt as though I needed the fresh air to fill my lungs or I'd drop dead into a lifeless corpse. I needed the calm sounds outside that together, could be louder than anything I'd ever heard but were all natural sounds made of something real around me. I tried to handle the music but I couldn't put up with the use of technology pouring out of the stereo. I needed the darkness. I needed a certain kind of darkness that is darker than your heart which is so full of sin that even after being forgiven it is still cloaked in black. The patio. I grabbed the weed and bowl and fled down the stairs quicker than chasing your own thoughts on a sleepless

I had just finished smoking a butt when I got the text to come indoors and I was reluctantly making my way inside now. To be honest, I just hadn't felt like being indoors. I knew I only had to make a short journey up the perfectly cut cement mountain, but the human-sized hamster ball worked well enough. This trip was to be made in solitude seeing as how I pressed "Door Close" and "6" as fast as I could. As the door shut it trigged a yawn to escape from within me and I slumped against the wall as if every molecule within me was pouring out in a giant puddle on the floor, put there so that someone would slip and fall into my existence. My eyes

The meadow surrounds me, cold air and bare trees create a dark canopy which stares down at me. The sky is bright, I know this, but no light has been able to penetrate the green awning of leaves. There's music in these woods; music which is being hidden or muffled like a canary, destined to live in a cage. I can barely hear it although I know that it is waiting to be found, almost trying hard to tempt me to find it. Everything seems so melancholy but the plant life is incredibly green. Am I the only one here? Am I the only one who ponders further existence in these woods? I refuse to accept such thoughts. Thoughts; they're racing through my m