just a little prayer. // a one-shot of sorts
May 8, 2018 19:31:01 GMT -5
Maplestone360 and ✨ ιηνєяѕєяєαℓιту like this
Post by eph 💕 on May 8, 2018 19:31:01 GMT -5
*be forewarned: it gets a little gory in places, but it's mostly figurative*
.
.
.
I am restless, impatient, hungry. Wanting burns through me. I am keenly aware of my emptiness. I am lonely, aching, stifled. I want, want, want. Give me companionship. Give me a balm for my wounds. Give me oxygen to put breath back in my lungs. Give me everything. I demand it. Revive this husk of a person I’ve become. I have taken myself hostage. Buried myself deep. This a ransom note. A prayer whispered from a pay phone in an unfamiliar city. Hear me call through the static: Save me. Give me something that will bring me back to myself. Wake up the parts of me that have fallen dormant. Wake up the parts of me that make me feel alive.
I want danger—no, I want power first, and then I want danger. I want to run into the fire with a wild grin on my face. Give me danger, toss it at me. Watch me shred it into ribbons. Let me release the howl that quivers in my throat. Let nothing in the world be more dangerous than me.
I want power because power will give me freedom. I want to be strong enough that no one and nothing can stop me. I’m tired of being small and powerless. I’m tired of being hurt. Give me the universe to wield in my hands. I want to be in control of something. Anything. No—everything. Everything. A fraction of power is not enough. I am insatiable. Just this once, I’d like to be a little cruel. I’d like to give in to the part of me that whispers, “Don’t they deserve it?” Give me a little fire, a little flame flickering between my fingertips. I’ll burn their hearts. And when they are nothing more than ashes, I’ll blaze a path to the future I choose.
I am hungry like a caged tiger who smells the first hint of its dinner being prepared somewhere outside the confines of its world. I know it will come. I know what it will taste like. I know I will soon be satisfied. But I am in stasis, it seems. “Soon” seems impossibly far away. I’m pacing back and forth, tail lashing. I don’t want to wait. Give it to me now.
Please. Just give me a little. A spark. A whisper. A breath. Listen, I’ll take a tablespoon of power at this point. A teaspoon. Like a mouthful of cough medicine, syrupy in my throat. I know it might not taste good, but I need it so badly. Need it to heal me. Bolster me. Give me strength. Let me forget the scars on my heart for a little while. I don’t want to beg, don’t want to rip it from your hands. I will if I have to. But it’d be so much nicer if you’d just give it to me. Give it to me freely. You see how much I want it, how much I need it. How much I deserve it. I just want to be an avatar of retribution for a little while. It doesn’t have to be for keeps. Please. Just give me a little. And while you’re at it, give me everything else, too.
I don’t want to be afraid. I want them to fear me, instead. I want there to be a reason to fear me. I want to hurt them. Let me see the fear in their eyes. Let them see the hate in mine. Oh, just let me be cruel for a little while. A girl can’t be all sugar and spice. There’s a little spite in the mix, too, don’t you know. Spite and thorns. Just a little prick of the finger, a little poison in their bloodstreams, that’s all I want. Let them feel a little pain. A cramp, a pinch, a jab. Or make them really hurt—I won’t say no to that, either. Let them burn, let them bleed out. Strike them with lightning. Chop them up. You don’t have to be neat about it. Carve away at them with a clumsy hand. Bit by bit. Piece by piece. Take the heart while it still beats, dice it up, stomp on the pieces. Hurt them, hurt them. Hurt them like they hurt me.
Just give me something to get me through the coming days. I want to feel awake. I want to feel alive. I don’t want someone to hold my hand. I want to walk on my own. I want to be able to trust myself. Hear me. Heed me. Fill this space inside of me. I’m tired of running. I’m tired of hiding. I want to shed my weakness. Teach me to walk with my shoulders back, my head held high. Help me to be patient. Be the whisper in my heart, telling me that it’ll be alright, that I’m making the right choice. God, I just want to be certain of something. I want to be certain of me. Of my own power. Awake that inside of me. Blow on that spark. Help me be something more. Something a little more than myself. Something a little more than human. Give me your power. Soothe my restlessness. Satisfy my hunger. I want to be like you—no, I want to be you. I want to be a god.
This is all I want: something that’s my own. This body. This life. This world. These are my three wishes. Make me my own. Make me everything. Let me sculpt this life into all it can be. Just a little power, please. I want to be everything. I want to be the unknowable depths of the sea. I want to be the void between stars. I want to be a violet trembling under the weight of a rain drop. I want to be the quivering pulse of a newborn rabbit. The cool early-morning air that slips through an open car window. A single clear note hanging in the air at the touch of a piano key. The scent of spray paint that hovers over a newly-graffitied wall. I want to be everything. Make me everything. Let me into the dark.
I want to be celestial. I want power. I want power so that when another girl lifts her hungry voice, I may press power heavy into her hands and whisper in her ear, “Go.” I want to watch the world burn in her wake. Fill her with the stuff of stars. Give her hope. Promise her it will be okay.
That’s all I want, really. A little comfort, a little courage, a little hope. A spoonful of stars. A spell. A little anger, a little cruelty, a little calmness. A match to set my heart burning again. A song. A little strength, a little spite, a little spark. A clearer mind. A kiss. A little light, a little love, a little loss. Send it in an envelope, in a cardboard box, in the hands of a woman touched by the sun. Send it soon, if you don’t mind.
Give me divinity, humanity. The universe in bite-size pieces. No more will I be hungry. Fill me with myself. That girl with a smile like broken glass and a heart like a storm at sea? She will shape the stars.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I am restless, impatient, hungry. Wanting burns through me. I am keenly aware of my emptiness. I am lonely, aching, stifled. I want, want, want. Give me companionship. Give me a balm for my wounds. Give me oxygen to put breath back in my lungs. Give me everything. I demand it. Revive this husk of a person I’ve become. I have taken myself hostage. Buried myself deep. This a ransom note. A prayer whispered from a pay phone in an unfamiliar city. Hear me call through the static: Save me. Give me something that will bring me back to myself. Wake up the parts of me that have fallen dormant. Wake up the parts of me that make me feel alive.
I want danger—no, I want power first, and then I want danger. I want to run into the fire with a wild grin on my face. Give me danger, toss it at me. Watch me shred it into ribbons. Let me release the howl that quivers in my throat. Let nothing in the world be more dangerous than me.
I want power because power will give me freedom. I want to be strong enough that no one and nothing can stop me. I’m tired of being small and powerless. I’m tired of being hurt. Give me the universe to wield in my hands. I want to be in control of something. Anything. No—everything. Everything. A fraction of power is not enough. I am insatiable. Just this once, I’d like to be a little cruel. I’d like to give in to the part of me that whispers, “Don’t they deserve it?” Give me a little fire, a little flame flickering between my fingertips. I’ll burn their hearts. And when they are nothing more than ashes, I’ll blaze a path to the future I choose.
I am hungry like a caged tiger who smells the first hint of its dinner being prepared somewhere outside the confines of its world. I know it will come. I know what it will taste like. I know I will soon be satisfied. But I am in stasis, it seems. “Soon” seems impossibly far away. I’m pacing back and forth, tail lashing. I don’t want to wait. Give it to me now.
Please. Just give me a little. A spark. A whisper. A breath. Listen, I’ll take a tablespoon of power at this point. A teaspoon. Like a mouthful of cough medicine, syrupy in my throat. I know it might not taste good, but I need it so badly. Need it to heal me. Bolster me. Give me strength. Let me forget the scars on my heart for a little while. I don’t want to beg, don’t want to rip it from your hands. I will if I have to. But it’d be so much nicer if you’d just give it to me. Give it to me freely. You see how much I want it, how much I need it. How much I deserve it. I just want to be an avatar of retribution for a little while. It doesn’t have to be for keeps. Please. Just give me a little. And while you’re at it, give me everything else, too.
I don’t want to be afraid. I want them to fear me, instead. I want there to be a reason to fear me. I want to hurt them. Let me see the fear in their eyes. Let them see the hate in mine. Oh, just let me be cruel for a little while. A girl can’t be all sugar and spice. There’s a little spite in the mix, too, don’t you know. Spite and thorns. Just a little prick of the finger, a little poison in their bloodstreams, that’s all I want. Let them feel a little pain. A cramp, a pinch, a jab. Or make them really hurt—I won’t say no to that, either. Let them burn, let them bleed out. Strike them with lightning. Chop them up. You don’t have to be neat about it. Carve away at them with a clumsy hand. Bit by bit. Piece by piece. Take the heart while it still beats, dice it up, stomp on the pieces. Hurt them, hurt them. Hurt them like they hurt me.
Just give me something to get me through the coming days. I want to feel awake. I want to feel alive. I don’t want someone to hold my hand. I want to walk on my own. I want to be able to trust myself. Hear me. Heed me. Fill this space inside of me. I’m tired of running. I’m tired of hiding. I want to shed my weakness. Teach me to walk with my shoulders back, my head held high. Help me to be patient. Be the whisper in my heart, telling me that it’ll be alright, that I’m making the right choice. God, I just want to be certain of something. I want to be certain of me. Of my own power. Awake that inside of me. Blow on that spark. Help me be something more. Something a little more than myself. Something a little more than human. Give me your power. Soothe my restlessness. Satisfy my hunger. I want to be like you—no, I want to be you. I want to be a god.
This is all I want: something that’s my own. This body. This life. This world. These are my three wishes. Make me my own. Make me everything. Let me sculpt this life into all it can be. Just a little power, please. I want to be everything. I want to be the unknowable depths of the sea. I want to be the void between stars. I want to be a violet trembling under the weight of a rain drop. I want to be the quivering pulse of a newborn rabbit. The cool early-morning air that slips through an open car window. A single clear note hanging in the air at the touch of a piano key. The scent of spray paint that hovers over a newly-graffitied wall. I want to be everything. Make me everything. Let me into the dark.
I want to be celestial. I want power. I want power so that when another girl lifts her hungry voice, I may press power heavy into her hands and whisper in her ear, “Go.” I want to watch the world burn in her wake. Fill her with the stuff of stars. Give her hope. Promise her it will be okay.
That’s all I want, really. A little comfort, a little courage, a little hope. A spoonful of stars. A spell. A little anger, a little cruelty, a little calmness. A match to set my heart burning again. A song. A little strength, a little spite, a little spark. A clearer mind. A kiss. A little light, a little love, a little loss. Send it in an envelope, in a cardboard box, in the hands of a woman touched by the sun. Send it soon, if you don’t mind.
Give me divinity, humanity. The universe in bite-size pieces. No more will I be hungry. Fill me with myself. That girl with a smile like broken glass and a heart like a storm at sea? She will shape the stars.
.
.
.