Vannah

United States

Y'know, I really hope I can pull off the cool mysterious deep writer persona. That'd be sick.

Message from Writer

When I write, I can shake off all my cares. - Anne Frank

The Missing Sun

April 12, 2017

Ugly stories are told.
Pretty songs are sung.
Silly jokes are made.
Yet, I find myself in despair.
Every time I reach out to reach the finish line, it escapes me.
What did I do?
What do I do?
What am I doing?
 Can someone answer my questions?
Can someone hang the sun in the sky, I'm blinded by the darkness. 
When I'm gone, please send flowers to my grave.
Can I fight this?
I'll get out.
I can do it, right?
Not all alone.
You'll be there, won't you?
Don't leave me!
Hold my hand.
I won't drop you.
You have my word.
I know I'm no good, but we've been a team for a long time.
I want to be remembered. 
I want to feel the sun on my face again,
the feeling of flower petals on my hand,
rain in my hair.
No more tears,
shouting, and blood curdling cries.
Smiles,
smiles,
smiles.
Save me.
Save me.
Save me.
We were a team.
Me and you.
Don't drop me.
I never dropped you.
Stop!
Stop letting go!
I'm slipping further, and further away.
I'm drowning. 
Help me!
Please!
I can't fight this alone...
Who will replace you?
 Maybe I can do this myself.
I don't know anymore.
Goodbye. 
Goodbye.
Goodbye.
You're gone.
I'm gone.
We stop.
Time stops.
My grave looks pretty.
But a hand grabs my shoulder, and stops me.
I can't escape yet.
Maybe they have a new path. 
They have the sun in their eyes.
Help me.


 

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  • April 12, 2017 - 6:52pm (Now Viewing)

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