Tales of a Lunatic
A story that begins with a young woman's journal entries:

The music playing on the overhead system at the Burger King elevated my mood of happiness but then it fell into a well of nostalgia invoking a sense of loss or time captured then lost stripping the part of me that molds my skin and holds me upright (identifiable stature), laying bare my heart which tossed about(as if) into the tarred street, its membraneous muscly moisture picking up dirt, grime, twigs, and bits of dried up leaves stirred up from last winters thaw. (Incidentally), I own my fear, happiness eludes me in a deep slipped moment of apprehension. I swallow the fly, unwittingly. She stings me and flits away with glee. Unbuttoned faith dips and lows. And I own fear, she is mine like an ugly dog I groom and tend to.

I'm convinced of my fame like a virgin at the bonfire, awakening to the truth of her untasted beauty widening within like an inverted funnel, connecting to a glistening stream.

How could I convince you that I am the innocent victim? When in reality, I am the perpetrator?

On the subway platform I hear the beat of Africa. It brings me to my roots.

I am the definition of myself. But is the manifestation of my internal universe acceptable?

To be continued....

Messages In This Thread
Tales of a Lunatic - by poe - 07-24-2014, 03:48 AM
RE: Tales of a Lunatic - by tectak - 07-25-2014, 11:28 PM
RE: Tales of a Lunatic - by poe - 07-26-2014, 03:44 AM
RE: Tales of a Lunatic - by tectak - 07-26-2014, 07:13 AM
RE: Tales of a Lunatic - by Erthona - 07-26-2014, 11:47 AM

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