Submissions by Writing2express

To the men that raised me, thank you.
I was blessed with three fathers and three sets of life experiences to guide me.
The years have been tough and one of you has gone, but that doesn’t mean the mark you left on my heart although brief is no longer strong.
Who would I be if not for you three? Guided by a father, a grandfather and a step father all just for me.
Some of you lived better and some of you not. But each of you taught me through this how to survive and be stronger when faced in the toughest of spots.
There’s so much I could say but there isn’t enough room,...

History is in the making, a new disease is raging.
Leaving a deadly trail.
Completely life changing.
But as I sit upon my window sill watching the world go by, or sitting on the sofa with the news volume up high.
I have to ask myself "they feel and look so different why don't I?"

I don't feel different, for me nothing's changed.
I'm locked in again but this time it's a different cage.
Of course I'm worried, I am aware, also a key worker I've been out there.
I've seen the fear, the sadness the rage, I've felt it all but my life hasn't changed. ...

Falling in love is no easy feat,
My heart recently broken strained to beat.
A heart as cold as ice, missing pure loves heat.

The scattered shards brashly sewn together with a whisper of loves last thread,
With no clear path for romance ahead.
My walls brick by brick went up stopping hope dead.

In a blink of an eye you were suddenly there,
Not looking for love it was almost unfair.
But there you stayed stripping me bare.

Months past and still you stayed,
A flutter of heat from my heart suddenly strayed.
In fear, I pushed,...

Mummy are you there?
The beast has her again, the familiar bitter smell tingles my nose.

I linger over the unmoving shadowy figure which metamorphosis's into my mother.

No need to fear, no need to hide, the beast is a slumber running through mothers veins.

The last drop of the beast teases, dancing menacingly around the base of the upturned glass.

"Mummy?"

Hunger growls in the pit of my stomach, fear twists my insides like a feral animal into knots. I am afraid, afraid to wake the beast. Afraid to ask to eat.

Mummy isn't bad....

Grief is a pit,
a knife slash.
In its wake a dark slither of pain seared into memory.
The threads of happiness are cut, unfixable, imperfect, staining my heart.

The Sharp blades dulled by the ticking of time.
With every tick the blade dulls and memories fade.
Tick
Your Smile, forgotten.
Tick
Your laugh, forgotten.
Tick
Your features, forgotten.
Tick
Your love, your ways, your habits, forgotten.

I am left with numb emptiness and the whisper of your smell to memory.
Tick
I mourn the once was and what never will be....