Umasabirah - These Are The Things That Keep Me Up At Night...

From Inside the Room

She awoke, her mind in a fog, trying to remember where she was and how she’d gotten here. Her head was pounding and she was nauseated. Had she been drinking? The last thing she remembered was the café, and the man, and the smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and the chill that smile made her feel. She tried to move, and couldn’t determine if she was having difficulty because of whatever she’d had to drink, or for some other reason she wasn’t willing to accept yet. The room was small and dark, but clean. The walls were white and windowless. There was a closed door. She was laying on something fluffy and comfortable, but she needed to pee and could tell she’d been here too long by the ache in her muscles. Struggling to get up again and finding she could not, she slowly craned her head up. It was exactly as she’d feared. Her wrists were tied to the elaborate metal headboard, and her ankles secured to the footboard. She felt her heart rate increase.

Calm

The grey-white clouds caress the sky, casting a diffuse light over the comparatively-violent, bright green foliage. The birds are quiet and the bees seem to scramble over the flowers while they still can. There’s a feeling of preparation, an inhale of breath, a calm. A sharp pain in the side of my head speaks to a low pressure spiral. The leaves shiver and dance. It is almost time.

Blue-Grey

I am Blue-Grey

Cool on the outside, yet

Stormy on the inside,

It's hard to see, at sea

What lies beneath, but

There is something always churning,

Yearning for more

Than what's on the shore;

What's in store

For the future

No one can tell,

Well,

I, for one,

Am no longer satisfied

With the status-quo

I'm using my

Gift of Time

To find

Something more.

New story on Vocal:

Art

Words & Pictures

A Queer Comic Story

Inspired by a crazy dream I had last night:

Poets

Gunshots Under Golden Arches

And a Woman in Red

Make a Wish

I grip at your base,

Twist and pull

Displace

Your happy yellow blooms,

Beloved of bees.

I rip out your roots,

Stuff you into a bag.

Beneficial, nutritional, medicinal,

Hated by humans

Because you can't be

Marked, marketed, bought or sold;

You are a Survivor.

You thrive despite

Constant disruption.

You'll still be there,

Poking through the cracks

Your head turning fluffy white

To alight on the passing wind

Or the breath of a child

Who hasn't learned your sin.

Me whilst writing: This is a masterpiece…I am a literary genius

Me whilst editing my writing: I am an abomination to the writing community