Izzy's Words, prose like posies. Options

[Izzems]

I write things.
Silly short things, spaced weirdly because I write weirdly.
I'm not that creative. :D

yeah. Enjoy, I guess?
concrit would be lovely, if you can spare it.

Sometimes I am afraid.

Fear, like fire, scorches my insides
a forest fire in my mouth, in my throat, in my stomach;
consuming everything, leaving nothing but black, charred memories.
pieces to pick up after everything is over.

The funny thing about it is that when the fire dies down,
and we go barefoot through the ashes to find things to glue together
to fasten down
to keep dear
there are only fragments, with fraying edges to rebuild with.
The first time, we are eager. Eager to save,
eager to learn.
But we never do.

Patchwork does good enough, the first few times-
little things that we've borrowed from others, trying to make it our own.
But the thing we end up piecing together is always misshapen,
no matter how much thread and fabric and love go into it.

Who would want patchwork love, anyways?

^--A rejected monologue idea for last year's drama final.