Nektopoole

Mar 18, 2008 - 23:24 PM PST

so, back in december 2007 i decided to throw all my creative energy into a graphic short story; a category that obviously I invented myself. The first 2 pages i wrote and illustrated were published in a local university journal and I'm now working on a second one. This one will be four pages and these are the first two..when i get around to illustrating them beyond sketches, i will definitely be posting that up for all you fine people. enjoy.

first Page : "I am "

I am Early Morning Dew

I am your hand on the cold side of the pillow
the fresh duvet on a summer's day.

I am the bawl that follows confusion
the words you never meant to say.

I am the guilty passer-by
i think to give but look away.

I am the dream you can't remember
the one you marry but didn't date.

I am the last leaf of autumn
the one that lingers in the moment.

I am the love of your life.
You are helplessly petrified of me.

I am the desperate vacation
the orgasmic relief

I am Christmas morning and New Year's night
the last dance, the anticipation, the fright.

I am the work of art that keeps you dazed
the different, the one thats gone a-stray

I am the very moment your world crumbles
the fate that keeps you there among the rubble

I am the emotion that held you close
and the one you drove away

I am you, I am Me, I am he, I am she

I am the insomniac.
I know, I know that I don't.
*in case you're wondering, this wasn't meant to rhyme*

Page two ; untitled -so far

The window is open too much for my liking.

The cold early morning air seeps through her curtains and with it, waves of melancholic sensitivity.
She lay there, naked, under covers wrapped tight but still very much exposed to the air that would eventually intoxicate her.
She wonders what does this to her. Who it is that made their way into her so credulously at this hour.
How does she rid herself of this excitement? She cries; one solid hour of sleep; so simple a need...unsatisfied once again. She's never felt so lucky to be awake for this long but can't figure out why.
Her legs and arms wrapped in covers, she imagines the other creatures allowing themselves to wander in this dead of night. are they like her?
Do they feel their heart beating outside their ribs? Do they hear it pound through their pillow, louder and louder with every beat?
She clasps the covers harder in realization that they will never be like her...she is completely alone. It doesn't matter what she does or who's she's with; she can't walk into a room full of people .alone.
She knows. She knows who it is and why. She would never admit it to the night.
I will keep to my covers and look to only the moon for comfort.
Hopefully, there will be no dream so beautiful as to confirm his victory tonight.

thank you all for taking the time to read.
id appreciate your feedback but even just reading it would satisfy me greatly.

peace,
Sandra