Droning electronic noises. Indigestion. Mechanical thoughts. Mechanical meanderings mumbling passively pass puritanical purpose.
Odd sensation. Sparks. Coarse edges of adrenaline. A continuous drip speeding up.
The next page. Blank.
Follow up.
Fiery explosions. Death stare. Moribund snacks on the table. Left stale. Hopelessly romantic.
Gray pieces of paper. Warped designs.
Angry teachers. Angry parents. Constant barrage of voices. Internal. External. Eternal.
Thick clots in a pool. Muscle Tension. Crushed nerves. Endings somewhere on the lake. Speeding highway. Translucent thoughts. City lights. Suburban rights. Lost ways.
Welcome home.
Kitchen. Knife. Darkness. Rustle. Subtle sarcasm. Outrage. Curse.
Voodoo. Prayer. Fingers. Bandage.
Bleakness. A cut here. A cut there. Blood and more blood. Constant stream. Scream. Searing flesh. A thump in the darkness. A whistle in the great beyond.
But the moments gone.
Try again.
Fred Aiken Writing 