Stories (162)
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I’m so fucking tired
I'm so fucking tired of the internet and staring at the same four walls. I wake up way before my alarm yet I still never change it. I always grab my phone first mindlessly checking my socials and stats, scrolling through the same old bullshit. I'm sick of living in what feels like Groundhog Day. I watch the sunrise, I see the sunset. I watch the fog disappear in the morning and the darkness that settles in for the night. Every day I take note of the Willow tree directly outside our home. I've watched in bloom in the summer, transform in the autumn, die in the winter, and be reborn again in the spring. Yet I remain the same - always.
By Rosie J. Sargent3 years ago in Confessions
To See You Again
If walls could talk what would they say? I am always here night and day - I live in a land frozen in time underground in an abandoned mine. These tunnels have been empty for years the quiet stays in the canals of the tinniest ears. I have never seen the sunlight, and have never felt the rain. Oh, what I would do to see peoples’ faces again. I miss the small lamps, the hard work and chipping, the horses pulling carts full of yellow stone to make a living. Occasionally a spider might come along that I may befriend, I’d let it decorate me with webs but sadly, it moves on and I am alone again.
By Rosie J. Sargent3 years ago in Poets
Mr Prime Minister
Mr Prime Minster, how can you sleep, when the old are cold and children can't eat? Did your party really do their best, or was it the plan all along to ruin the NHS? Where's the money from Brexit is it spent? While nurses work double shifts but can't pay their rent. Waves of spikes have caused ripples of strikes, so don't get ill, because there's no point calling 999. The beds are full the train lines shut, how many more times will we say enough is enough? Brags about profits, but doesn't cough up, slash the funding and call it cuts.
By Rosie J. Sargent3 years ago in Poets
Small Victories
The house is a mess god where do I begin? I let it happen again, I let it creep and slip in. There are no plates in the cupboards, there are spread across the sides, and the kitchen is the new landlord to the fruit flies. The cutlery has vanished and all the cups are gone, and the bins are full, but hey at least I managed to put a wash on.
By Rosie J. Sargent3 years ago in Poets
The Shitty Table . Top Story - December 2022.
Bah humbug, it's that time of year, when we spend more than we can afford and get pissed on cheap beer. Although I don't doubt it is merry for some, I myself find Christmas all too glum. I am the Grinch with a beating heart, a character at the table who plays their part.
By Rosie J. Sargent3 years ago in Poets
