Would You Rather? || I wrote a poem

It’s weird that I’m so extremely bad at keeping to posting regularly on here, when I pretty strictly keep to handing in work and assessments on time for school. It’s probably because of the possible consequences if I hand in something late for school, but I know that there aren’t any consequences for not posting anything (besides my own annoyance at myself, and I learnt how to deal with this a while ago).


But I always sort of mean to post things, and I sometimes even plan out a whole post in my head, and then either I don’t like the idea or I forget or I can’t be bothered or I run out of time, and then pledge “I’ll do it later”, but then later never happens, and it’s pretty much a vicious circle of very rarely posting.

Accurate shrug

Accurate shrug

But here I am (only about a month and a half since my last post…), and this time, I’m trying something different. For this post, I’m going to show you guys some of my writing. I have mixed feelings about this: on one hand, I’m freaking out because I very rarely show people my stuff, but on the other hand, my (smaller) more rational side is telling me about how critique and getting my stuff out there is important if I ever want to be published. Please feel free to leave feedback in the comments –

Would You Rather?

Voices trickled through me:
Icy cold water drip-dripping through my veins

Sharp and unpleasant

But unstoppable.

It was an exaggerated story of the devil and the angel:
the devil, the angel and forty-seven others they invited to the party;
each one wanting a bigger bite of the cake.

There is a seven foot purple dragon with 3 inch scales and a barbed tail breathing fire at me.

A suited government man is following me,
sneaking around corners and streetlights;
he wants something.

it’s just my shadow and the voices.

I’ve been locked up, restrained:
I am Harry Houdini, but I can’t escape.

The bars are unrelenting against the soft (now bloodied) flesh of my skin.

“Too crazy”

The view: whitewashed walls, the smell of antiseptic and the wounded cries of pain.
A regular day on the job.

The red pill, the pink pill; here’s six others,
don’t forget to take them.

Would you rather:
a) a head full of voices?
b) A pharmacy of pills to take them away?

I would like to post my writing throughout the year on a semi-regular basis. I’m not going to set a certain time for two reasons: 1. I don’t always have stuff to post, and I don’t always want to post the stuff I write, and 2. we all know even if a schedule is set, I 99.9% won’t follow it.     

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