ROUGH DRAFTS

HAIKU:

I'm falling apart.
You, a weathered skeleton

Continue onwards.




STANZA:

He was a monotonous tragedy of wasted potential.
Every morning, snapping his bones out of bed, 

Pealing tendons and loose limbs from his place of slumber.

He must crawl out of his blanket of loneliness and sheet of despair.

Stumble over to the drawers of anguish and closets of rage.

Tear his skin from the hanger and step into it.

Zip up the flesh he must continually wear.

This skin is so uncomfortable.



Lately was worse than usual.
His best friends abandoned him at the first sign of vulnerability.
He had been slowly fading into obscurity,
and was now fully enveloped by the dark thoughts in his mind.
His jovial personality had dilapidated.
He struggled for the will to graduate.
He could not comprehend why the sky, which is an inanimate being had more will to wake up in the morning than he did. 

But he emerged victorious.
He graduated high school.
He found love.
He found peace and fulfillment.
A world of possibilities opened up for him when he realized that embracing his life was going to be the biggest favor he ever did for himself.
He let death find him alive.






FREE WRITE:

The blades of grass didn't feel like blades at all.
They felt like tranquility.
They felt like the most beautiful bed.

The sun's rays didn't sting the way you'd imagine.
They warmed your face.
They reminded you that the brighter times are coming.

The snow fell blanky on the ground.
A cold, barren landscape.
It made you question if you'd ever see the fields again.