Number Eight

A year ago...I wrote this:

As I walk to the edge

I release--the grasp

of my hands.

Bleeding.

Again on the past in

a memory.

Which lives between here

and there.

Have a faltered?

Have I died?

I paint the canvas--

Red--to cover the sin.

I cry--

Tears: a cascade that mars

my face,

and now, I drown.

It's over now, yet

I can't smile a grin--so

I lift my head--up--

towards the

moon, and still

it burns.

Then I find myself again.

--

As I walk to the edge.

Everyone thought it was referring to suicide, which I honestly hadn't realized until someone mentioned it to me.


It was just suppose to be about life and taking chances. Also, I think there was something personal that sparked the idea, but I can't remember what it is now. Humph.


I had forgotten that I had written this, until I decided to ruffle through some paperwork. I stumbled across this and a comment from my Writing 2010 teacher in my "blue book," she wrote (and I quote), "Good work, Nathan you have a really engaging voice and a flair for language. I hope you keep writing."

This year I think more than ever, I realized how much I really do love writing, but I found that the work I produced this year; wasn't as compelling as I think it could have been. 

I'm definitely working on that this next year. 

I can't wait!