LUCY ŞiiENiZ

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The storm is raging outside and it sounds like a heart beat. Hold on tight, the ropes are swinging and fraying at the seams, your split ends in view as you clutch the rim of the toilet bowl. Dizzy, I forget which tense I am supposed to be writing in. It’s funny I know I’m not supposed to switch the tenses as I write because its not ‘gramatically correct’ and ‘disorientates the reader’ but this life is not linear and the past runs alongside me like a dog panting for breath. This ship is spacious and my bunk has dark walls. Washing machine, floral scents from the washing basket mother used. Holding the laundry in my arms like the child I once was.

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Pebbles slip under my feet,

the smooth surface that my heels wish to be.

 

Soft pink. Dark stormy blues under you and your headache will stop when the clouds depart. Rain opens the wounds again. A lone crow in the distance. All to do is to wait this one out. Gulls squawking; rupturing the silence where intuition speaks. Try to decipher your own handwriting when you’ve been scribbling in the dark. Small sounds:zippers, paper touching, sliding against eachother and the crunching of plastic as you drink water; deafening.

Like I was going mad just obsessed with the sound of nothing, please just give me nothing and bless my fingers nimble enough to curve around this pen i’m holding. Things are changing and the lanterns of new year are just learning the safety of the ground.

 

That kind of feeling when you’re more than 45 degrees the wrong side up, steep incline of an amusement park ride and you breathe out just before the cart leans over the breaking point.