There is a color red, so dark, sanguine and things they don't remember or understand. It is layers, moments in time folded over on themselves. It is the memory of some moment of belief, a flaw in the black hole of the abyss the exact color of a rose and a hope, a love that I'd have died without forever ago. Something looked upon in the darkness and words never spoken but locked like a catch in the throat and heart, as I sat there alone in the dark. Someone listened. Someone cared. Do not let go of my hand.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Today, I just realized, is also the two year anniversary of the existence of my web page, Winsome Vein. The first post was a poem about a woman scorned by other women, that she really thought were her friends, who were jealous of her and ruined her birthday but she kind of knew they were going to and lets them get caught in their own trap as they realize their mistake and that her man doesn't think its funny either, he loves her and he paid for the party they ruined, among other things. He sees what they've done to her, stays true and helps her out with the gift of a knife, a Ginsu. The poem wasn't to be taken seriously as a piece of work or anything else, only a poem that was meant to be kind of macabre and funny and that they shouldn't have messed with Cinderella and her Prince. You'd think that something like that wouldn't want for explaining. What can I say, I remain a romantic and I like the idea of a guy who's there for his gal when she needs him, though I have since gotten over prince and princess stories, those only seem to work out in the movies and fairy tales.
The page is named Winsome Vein after a collection of poems that I wrote over the course of a couple of years that were darker than anything I'd ever written. I had a very definite goal in mind with all of this, my writing, something that I wanted to do and a specific genre that I wanted to write, scary stories, suspense, horror, because of something that I began to understand about the dark when I wrote those poems, or something that I remembered that I already knew. I can say that I have become sidetracked more than once in the past two years. In just the last week I've probably changed the color of this webpage and the background on it a dozen times, I don't really know why. I mean there's a lot of reasons but there's no real reason why. This page started out being black and white and red. If you happened to stop by here and read a piece or two in the last two years, thank-you.
I'm not quite sure how I feel about this poem
these days but, there it is, the first post on Winsome Vein was about a knife.
Posted by Terasa Skultety at 11:48 PM