Trauma and Drink and Religion, Oh My!
(Blame the rum). God damn, I dreamed that I swallowed a pin. And the point took my throat and my voice all at once. And I lay in my bed as my own brother hammered out my brains. And the blood made the walls the sweet colour of Autumn, and abuse, and aliveness.
(Blame it good). God damn, I dreamed that I died too young. And the noose was burned up by my soft, sacred soul. And he savaged my preacher-father, set about my matron-mother. 'Till their blood blended to make these Bible pages so much softer; so much more forgiving.
But God damn it was all a dream.
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
Comments (3 so far!)
Average reader rating 5.00/5
That was dark. A nightmare. Great juxtaposition of the horrible abuses and the 'good' religious things! ou can edit it when you figure out how you want it spaced. If you put a space and the program doesn't recognize it after you publish, use a period between the lines.
- #2847 Posted 2 years ago
Thank you! I kind of like the way that it looks at the moment. It was originally spaced with each sentence as a new line but I think I'll leave it for now.
- #2850 Posted 2 years ago
This too very nearly had a song cadence. I'd love a dark song that blames the rum and talks about nightmares.
- #2872 Posted 2 years ago
- Published 2 years ago and featured 2 years ago.
- Story viewed 14 times and rated 1 times.
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