Photography, Poetry

Vengeance Dreaming

“Sometimes, in dreams,
I wonder if hell keeps you in its grasp.
But I’ve never wished for it.”

The sound of your rumbling voice still lingers on my tongue like a rotted apple, writhing with maggots. That print of your palm on my reddening face still burns like a nest of fire ants, just as the rest of my body refuses to forget everything else. Scars covered beneath endless scars. Memories submerged in obsidian oil, surfacing only to taunt me. It is here, in this moment, with black roses surrounding your unmarked grave, that I revel in your suffering with a small smile and a gleam in my eye. A faint whisper escapes me. “I win.” Then I wake up and remember once more.

© Sarah Doughty
2016

I won. And that will never change.

In some ways, the anger that I held for you has melted away. Despite the dreams, I would never wish for anyone to receive eternal torment. Yes, even him.

Photo is mine

Poetry

Don’t

“Love me like you’d die without me.
Because I’d die without you.”

Don’t give me something plucked from the earth. Withering and slowly dying. Instead give me something that I can use for years to come. Something that matters. Always give me love. A kiss. An embrace. Make me forget. Take my fears away.

Love me like you’d die without me. Because I’d die without you.

© Sarah Doughty
2015

Always give me love.

Poetry

We Were Infinity

“You were mine, and I was yours.
We were infinity. And we were home.”

Speeding through the cosmos, we were nothing more than streaks through infinity. You were mine, as I was yours, fleeting comets, aimless and lonely. But one day we collided in an explosion that reverberated through time and the vast endlessness surrounding us. Two became one, one that became a star, shining brightly into oblivion. Twinkling in the night sky for others to see. We were there. We were one. We were hope. We were lost. We were found. We were infinity. And we were home.

© Sarah Doughty
2015

We were home.

Originally published in the Crossing Genres Publication at Medium.
Poetry

Look Up

Pixabay

“My darling, you’re never alone.
You need to know you’ll be alright.”

Look up and take a look into the clear night sky. Can you see the twinkling stars billions of miles away? Can you feel the bitter chill of fall on the breeze? Can you feel winter coming in your bones? Can you feel me there?

Look up. I’m right next to you. I’m gazing at the same starlight. I’m feeling the same chill. I’m feeling the same pull of time. I’m right there, and yet you don’t know.

Because I am those things. I am there. In space. In the air. In your bones. Look up. You’re not alone. You’re never alone. Look up. Can you see me? I’m everywhere. You just need to see it. You need to know you’ll be alright.

Look up.

© Sarah Doughty
2015

Even if you can’t see me, know I’m always with you.

Poetry

Fresh Ink

“My lifeblood is in my ink.
And I’ll open the floodgates
until I’m bleeding words.”

The pen’s tip is like a knife slicing onto paper, releasing fresh ink that bleeds into the parchment. It paints a picture of what’s overflowing in my veins. It’s the emotion. The pain. The suffering. All of it. Flowing in fresh ink. It’s my lifeblood. My essence. Pouring out. Screaming into oblivion. Hoping someone — anyone can hear me. Can you? I’m here. I’m bleeding words. And I won’t stop until I’m purged. Spent. And exhausted. But it won’t be long before that ink begins to boil over. Its vehemence overwhelming me again, leaving me itching for that blade to scratch once more.

© Sarah Doughty
2015

The words always come back.

Also, this concept of bleeding isn’t meant to be taken seriously. This isn’t about cutting oneself. It’s about letting everything out onto paper.

Poetry

What We Were

“I remember you.
I remember us.
And all we once stood for.”

I close my eyes, I see your beautiful face, lit from within. I see the brilliance of your eyes, glinting against the dying light of the day. I see memories flash before my eyes. All those moments we ever shared play like movies.

I remember you. I remember us. And what we once stood for. And I hold on to those moments. Because that’s all I have left of us. But sometimes, when no one is looking, a smile will creep into my lips. Because we were real. We were right.

And we were epic.

© Sarah Doughty
2015

We were epic.

Poetry

Forest Of Shadows

“I hold on to all that remains of me
with blood on my hands
and scars in my heart.”

In those darkest of moments, I hold on to all that remains with blood on my hands and scars in my heart. In this infinite forest of shadows and forgotten light, I’ve made my home.

All this time I’ve been trying to find my way through the thicket and bramble, catching my flesh on the thorns and craggy branches that wish to keep me confined.

I rip and tear, and tirelessly fight against those prickly restraints, trying to find the way out. The way to you.

It seems, the more I struggle, the more I lose. There are days I feel close, like maybe I’ll finally reach my destination if I can just push through the last of the ridges ahead. But every time I reach their peaks, I’m met with an infinite number more to follow.

I’m running blind, scared, and alone, but I’m still searching for signs that says, THIS WAY.

For the first time in a long time, I found a clue.

One tiny, little breadcrumb that whispered, “Over here.” I heard it. And it reverberated through my soul like the cries of a carrion bird.

I cried back into the nothingness that surrounded me, “I’m here.” Nothing but the vastness of the forest responded.

But maybe, just maybe, they can hear me. And if I can’t find them, maybe they’ll find me. And together, we can make that dark and dingy place a home.

After all, being together is far better than being alone.

© Sarah Doughty
2015

Being with you is all
I’ve ever wanted.

Poetry

Favorite

“I didn’t know the true meaning of sleep
until I was in his arms.”

It was my favorite place to be. Head resting over his heart. Feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. Hearing the beat of his heart. I didn’t know the true meaning of sleep until I was in his arms.

© Sarah Doughty
2015

This was one of the scenes
from my first novel, Just Breathe.
Though it’s not the final draft version,
the moment was still the same.

Poetry

The Hand That Feeds

“My demons never stop
trying to tear me down.
But I never stop fighting back.”

My demons aren’t just idle creatures lurking in the shadows. They’re alive, well fed, and rabid. They’ll rip the flesh from your bones before you could even blink. They’re just that aggressive. Sometimes I think, maybe if I try to befriend them, ease their hostility, offer them kindness, then maybe they’d show me mercy. But they don’t.

They never do.

They bite my fingers, or remind me of who I really am in his voice, and once again I’m their helpless little victim. And I fear they’re going to eat me alive one of these days.

© Sarah Doughty
2015

And here I am, years later. They don’t give up. But neither do I.

Poetry

Stillness

“When you want nothing more
than to give up, don’t.
Never give up.”

In those dreary moments when you want nothing more than to give up, don’t. If you never read another word, listen to another lyric, or feel another poem, at least know this: don’t give up. Find your solace, that stillness in your heart and your mind, and let it fill you to the brim. Let everything else out. If that means crying harder than you ever did your life, then cry. Laugh. Just be whatever you need to be.  Whatever you need to do. Do it. Be still, be at peace. And let go. Then live again.

© Sarah Doughty
2015

There’s always a reason to keep going.