Dorset Road

Reads: 144  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Religion and Spirituality  |  House: Booksie Classic
A story of questioning emotional and mental states whilst also sharing views and philosophical self truths.

Submitted: July 09, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 09, 2017








Tears falling down my face, slowly revealing the emotion of blankness. Conscious enough to understand the consequences of my tears, and those who’m would bare the weight of the sorrows i’ve conjured so long. sometimes questions haunt my mind that i can’t find the answer for - mostly questions bigger then life itself which leave me dazzled and cornered without conviction. I try to find remnants of the passed, almost to mould them into the future me, without realising the damage this could most certainly cause.


Bruises have become tattoos and scars have become canvases. Time is no longer limited because time is no longer valid. thoughts that plague my mind have made me close to insane. the reason i don’t speak is because my mouth was once the home to curses and wicked spirits. religion has always been the backbone to my existence and the reason my morality has finely played hide and seek with the audience of my flesh. 


The ideals in my reality are almost depicted from dreams and wishes of a lustful heart. Creations formed through failure and trials, pain and hurts. Depression has wrapped itself like a serpent around my torso leaving me almost breathless with eyes bulging out of my head leaving me almost a mirror of madness. The imagery i project into my reality is almost that which is described as hell on earth. The wicked may live like kings on earth but undoubtedly live like pigeons caged without feed nor water. 


The true meaning to life is already in writing, but the purpose is no where to be found. finding the purpose is almost as hard as visualising images in the dark background our eyes produce when closed.


For I the writer, have lost thy words. I’ll finish now with a poem. 



“When the thieves of night return, hide in shadows tight and firm.

for when the eve of man return, the thieves will fall like leaves of ferns.

sons will rise and sons will fall, left with scars from bolted doors. 

i will live like this no more, the time has come - O’ take me lord.” 



© Copyright 2018 Oshu.MT. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

More Religion and Spirituality Short Stories