turning tables and clicking clocks

It felt like everything had moved elsewhere like thin paper at the first contact of water. Shrunk away.

Soon, the anguish was gone, his ashy arguments narrated once in sounds that twirled like swirling gusts of air, now enclosed in bubbles that would shatter violently at everyones sighs. He was left neglected.

Silence conquered the territories that once kept him proud, emptied his heart, flooded his mind with infesting taints of agony, of a hollow eyed longing. He lost himself.

Regret started to crawl in old photographs, and behind each mirror was a blackening memory, necrotic and wilting, like petals curling up in their final hours. Time began a changing image, infected by habits, a running movie in which he chased himself away, into rivers of tragic returns.

His hands would gnaw at pages, his lips would recite promises of the past, dreams that vanished into what seemed like another life. A head full of compelxteies that was mingling with blood and seeping into his shuttered mouth, flowing into fingers mounted atop static legs, body ungiving.

And he tried, and he cried, he broke loose into shards that blanketed the floor that made troubles bleed into its fractures.

Published by

Watt

It's all a matter of rust and shine, to serve a distinction between to have and to have not.

40 thoughts on “turning tables and clicking clocks”

  1. The biggest compliment I’m going to give you is this.

    When I read your work…I imagine your voice narrating a feature film.
    Have you thought about reciting these works of yours in soundcloud? and linking the file into this blog of yours?
    Your words always takes my breath away and the way you put hard work into your writing, I sense your soul and heart is telling us the readers, there is hope and that hope itself is our inner self and our inner poetry.

    I love this one so much. And another masterpiece of poetic craft. 🙂

    Liked by 3 people

    Reply

    1. Thank you immensely for your kind words.
      It’s a huge compliment coming from someone I greatly admire. It’s been almost a year since I discovered your discotheque creativity. Am so looking forward to keeping up with your work.
      Umm, maybe someday I’ll record ’em.

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

      1. You are welcome Watt.

        You are such a kind and wonderful human.
        It has been a year now since we both have been supporting and admiring each others work. 🙂

        Record them as in audio recital recording? If so, that would be awesome. 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

  2. This, is, simply stunning. The despair you describe is the darkest kind, the kind that lays on the floor with you, catatonic. You take it and transform it into words in a way no one else can. I love the ending. But for me, this has a very personal resonance:

    “Regret started to crawl in old photographs, and behind each mirror was a blackening memory, necrotic and wilting, like petals curling up in their final hours.”

    The bleakness is infectious and magnificent. Beautiful in its dark shades.

    Wow

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

  9. Ah, you’ve eloquently described my moribund mood. It’s long past time that I’ve been able to get lost in another world, even if that world mirrors my own. I wish that I could sometimes chase myself away, just not “… into rivers of tragic returns.” Well done and well read with great appreciation.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  14. Beautiful and heartbreaking depiction of depression. Love that wistful tribute to vanished childhood dreams – how we wish we could turn back time. You always sprinkle such brilliant vivid imagery throughout.

    Liked by 1 person

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