Old Writings 7

Broken and torn. Pulled in opposite directions by unseen forces. Both pulling relentlessly. Neither giving reprieve.

Torn between past and future. Past being time whithered and safe. The future gleaming. Unsure and yet so tempting. Sparkling so brightly just out of reach.

Pulled between tradition and the desires of the heart.

Aching and torn. So confused she lays her heart open. Awaiting the press of cold steel as it bites in, leaving its mark against her soul. Open and bleeding she lays there crying. Hide me. Steal me. Keep me. Lock me away forever, she cries. Never let me go. Save my heart.

Broken and bleeding she stays curled upon the hard ground. Her tears mingling with the rain as it splashes against her lifeless form. Love me. Keep me. The wind echoes the cry of her heart... keep me....

Old Writings 4

From a cold dark world, I see a light no more than a pin prick but light nonetheless.

Reaching out, trying to grasp the hope the light brings with it, I cover the light with my hand. And it is gone.

Just that easy. Gone.

Slipping back into the darkness I let my hand slide away from the pin prick of hope.

Sitting in the darkness wishing the light would be tangible. Crying I stay in the darkness, not reaching out for now I understand hope can only be wished for. If I want the pin prick to stay I must live in the darkness.

Someone, please grant me hope.