My doctor diagnosed me with an incurable illness.
The happy sky starts to rain melancholy.
Another day finished is another step closer to demise.
I have escaped into fantasy stories,
Hoping to find a happy ending;
Thus, my death will be a chance to spread my wings and fly.
The years slowly fly.
The pain never dies from my illness.
My mind tries to rejoice me that I am not close to my ending;
However, I still sing melancholy.
I can visualize the stories
Written in painful ink of my own demise.
Should I even think of demise?
I walk onto the balcony, close my eyes, and fly.
Suffering in conflict makes the plot grow in stories.
My suffering is my illness.
I need to find solace from my melancholy ,
A chance to have a buoyant ending.
Then, dark swirling clouds corrupt my ending.
I scream and cry during a nightmare of an anguish demise.
The remaining colors drift into a grey melancholy.
The tenacious chains, I cannot fly.
A black monstrous abyss feeds on my illness.
I’ve prayed it was just one of those horror stories.
Next year, I’ve read ten burden stories
With none of them obtaining a bright ending.
My being slowly fading because of my illness.
I can hear the other side warning me of an emerging demise.
It’s not the right time to fly.
It’s also not the time to bury myself in melancholy.
The silence in my house sings a choir of melancholy.
In the pages, they tell the poesy in my mind of stories.
I can feel my angelic wings spreading; I’m about to fly.
My symptoms vanished in my happy ending
While the fear never plagues my demise.
If medicine didn’t save me, my death will cure my illness.
My demise has bloomed into a colorful ending.
The illness eradicated, my melancholy vanished.
I fly away to the heavens without a fantasy from the magical stories.
About the Creator
Ace Melee
-Mainly a horror and fantasy writer.
-I post stories, poetry, and scripts on Vocal. My preferred audience is older teens and adults, but I can adjust for younger teens.
Comments (1)
That was exceptionally well written.