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[bruisednbroken-blog]

And When The Last Snowflake Falls

She sits by the warmth of the fire, in her window sill chair, watching the flame she dare not touch. She turns her head to see the snowflakes fall, one by one into the white-frosted world outside. Finding her feet, she stands and walks to the door. A harsh gust of wind greets her as it opens, almost like a slap to the face. She walks barefoot into the snow, too numb to feel her body temperature drop like a rock. A few more steps, she’s almost frozen, but still she does not flinch. And then there were footsteps, creeping up behind her. She turns to see nothing, nothing but footprints, footprints without a body, ever-growing gradually closer. She runs through the forest, lost in a daze, but somehow still conscious. Then suddenly, she stops. A cold shiver runs up her spine, creeping along her shoulders, all the way to the tips of her fingers. The cold spreads up her neck, and seeps into her head. And then comes the darkness. For the smallest moment, the world is black, the world is silent. But not for long. Soon, the voices start, the screams, the taunts, the cruel, unforgiving laughter. But still, she runs, the world slowly spinning back into sight. As she stumbles to the lake, she falls to her knees, and catches her snow-covered reflection in the ice. Her face is screwed up but smiling, her eyes broken but beautiful. The voices start up again, and this time, the words make sense. They tear her down, they rip her apart, and the more she listens, the more she starts to realise that these are the voices she knows so well, the ones she thought she could trust, the ones that used to sing songs of love. Now all they do is scream out of tune, with a tone full of hate. One of the voices, she recognises as her own. It was quieter than the others, it sounded more scared, but the bullets that came out of her mouth were the harshest of all. She wipes the storm from her eyes, the ocean from her cheeks, almost frozen over from the cold, and stares into the glass. Her reflection stares back at her, the pain in her face concealed. More white droplets land scattered in her hair, only enhancing the beauty that she fails to see. Slowly, she stands. She takes one step onto the ice, then two. It starts to crack underneath what’s left of her weight. The last thing she’s aware of, is her skin hitting the ice cold water. Then the last snowflake fell, and that’s when she knew. When the last snowflake falls, your time, is due.

[bruisednbroken-blog]

Fuck I miss you. I miss when you told me I was beautiful. I miss feeling like I was special to someone. I miss the feeling of butterflies every time you touched me. I miss the sound of your voice and our late night texts. I miss you more than you could ever know. Heartbreaks hurt. Maybe I just miss that beautiful feeling of being loved. 💔

[bruisednbroken-blog]

Nobody notices, nobody cares. shes breaking inside, her real life nightmare.

My broken soul

[bruisednbroken-blog]

The poem of multiple meanings

The atmosphere is a musty old space station, planted on mars long ago. Nothing and nobody stirs, as the silence continues through the minutes. I can feel myself almost floating across the classroom in my moonboots, trying to get where I'm going, but the anti-gravitational force pulls me up further into my own clouds of imagination and confusion. A small chatter breaks out around me, but slowly drones into a series of beeping buttons, and I remember what I am supposed to be doing… Those beeping buttons start to form words on my screen. As they light up one by one, I see the work that I have done. The room heats up and the heavy suit they call clothing sticks to my skin. And all of a sudden I freeze, a cold sweat running down my forehead. The voices and beeping buttons are gone. I look around to see empty space for miles around. A bell starts going off in my head. Or maybe it’s not in my head. I pack up my work space, put away the no longer beeping buttons. Slowly I float out of the room, just to find more voices outside. Lots more. I breeze through the crowds, emotionless yet confused, locked up but free, free of what. I start to disappear. Time passes. One minute, then two. Five minutes, then ten. I begin to burn up, as I make my way into re-entry, but into the classroom? Or into space? Bruised and broken, she is the mystery, and you’ll never find out.

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I wrote this as part of my homework. It sounds like a piece about the ways in which mars is like a classroom. But if you look a little deeper, you’ll find there is a second meaning. There is ALWAYS, a second meaning.