Amanda Westbrook. 19. West Palm Beach, FL. All I want is the sea.

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The water roared over the deck, tugging at all that wasn’t tied down. “You’re mine,” the sailor heard it whisper as it swiped him off his feet and into it’s clutches. The sailor’s deafening scream was muted by the water’s victory cry. The boat swirled into more turmoil each second it remained. “Break, break. I will break you.” It hissed as another wave smothered it. Within an hour the boat was obliterated, bits of it’s planks and packages were strewn about in the clammy hands of the water, waiting to be overcome as well. The water would take care of it, but for now, it was tired. It calmed.

I answered him in cold blood. I just want coffee.

My appetite has drastically decreased. I catch my fingers shaking, horrible tremors slowly working their way through my body when you cross my mind. Dry mouth. Dizziness. It’s like I’ve been taking a pill and all of a sudden, I had none left. They sold out at the store; you were taken by the last customer. And then I shut down.

Eyelids foaming and lips glued shut, the world was a scary place.

Her fingers were weeds, her heart bled grace.

Several hours had passed when she finally glanced at the sun.

It was only a matter of time that everything she loved became undone.

He rises with mama to stretch his little kitty legs.

She’s scrubbed her nose raw it seems. Each press of tissue against flesh reveals more slime and further irritation to the skin. She sat knees firmly against her chest, bundled together, nose down in prayer to her Royal English Breakfast tea, the steam opening up her sinuses. She sipped lightly, burning her tongue more and more each time. Every sneeze, every cough, every moan she felt in her bones. Several shivers pervaded up her spine and throughout her body, hurling her knees further into her chest and her nose practically touching the scalding water of her tea. She closed her eyes slowly. She could feel the fever singe her eyeballs as they shut. She rocked slowly back and forth, fighting back another violent sneeze. Everything hurt.

Only when intelligence shines, sex drives.

I wish time would be kind to my fragile mind.

The moon was sliced and slanted right toward my upturned face. I could feel your small tugs on my belt but I refused to look you in the eyes. I was mesmerized by my new friend. He had been there my whole life but I never stopped and looked at him, truly looked. Tears played along my eyelashes as I continued to see my moon friend. His tugs became more impatient. I grabbed his hand from my belt loop and held it in mine. I dropped my wine glass to the grassy turf below and I could feel his stare. It was different than my moon friend’s. His was cold and I could feel his temper searing me. My moon was warm and cooling me with it’s glow. I let go of his fleshy hand and started walking towards my moon. My bare feet felt wonderful against the dew. I could hear my lover’s cries and protests as he saw me go into another lover’s arms. He didn’t understand and I’m not quite sure I did, either. I called out over my shoulder, “I shall miss you as the sun misses the moon, my dear.”

Some joke that even if you’re going to Hell, you have to change planes in Atlanta first.

The sun shone warmly on her freckly face and she grinned up at it. She waited and waited and waited that day for the chase of the sun behind the clouds to make way for the rain that was expected. She flipped stones while she waited, digging her toes in the cool, itchy grass. “I’m not going to try to change your mind,” she said up to the sun, “but I would really appreciate some rain.”

Prisms refract light through their polished surfaces, and like those prisms, I refract light when happiness warms my veins and plants me on this earth firmly, reality swimming back into my view.

I awoke so drunk and full of rage, that I could hardly speak. Well, the night is dark and the night is deep, but my dream was too real.

Writer seeking job. Go figure, yeah?

There’s a fifth floor, but no one ever ventures that far. It’s not restricted or forbidden, it’s just no one cares enough to climb all five stories. The stairs are too narrow and there’s almost always a draft, some who have gone up say. Many of us are simply too fatigued to travel, so we don’t. Those who’s curiosity got the better of them comes back down a tad off. Dusty, too. They don’t talk about what’s up there, nor do they have desire to return. All of our minds are gone, deteriorated over time.