To put it lightly, she got away
To be fair, I showed her the way
I wanted her to stay, yes
She had a soundproof stare
I was not the best
She needed me
I loved her
Ghastly
Late
About the Creator
Zak ONeill
Me attempting to entertain, and hopefully, tell a good tale every now and then.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Keep reading
More stories from Zak ONeill and writers in Poets and other communities.
Where there's Art there's Heart
Here's a stupid thing: I adore art, but I start to panic whenever I step into a gallery. In the one place I should be at my contented best - surrounded by walls teeming with creative expression - I fall apart. What ought to be an enriching experience, tacitly designed to facilitate the exploration of human empathy and perspective, is for me an overwhelming purgatory of anxiety that compresses me to the point I cannot breathe. At the same time, I experience a sense of extraction, as though my head is being prized open to create a hole so big my sanity could evaporate. Somewhere between these two opposing forces of vice and vortex, I feel myself dissolving in a stream of panic that makes me want to cry; and I feel so daft feeling this way, that all I want to do is run for the hills.
By Caroline Jane7 days ago in Humans
Comments (3)
Love this
Absolutely love this nonet. The regret is a tangible thing.
I can sense the heartache.