My middle name, if I had one, might be Glum, Morose, or Depressed. If I had my choice though, I’d make it Maudlin. It sounds more like a name rather than a state of mind. I could even change my entire name to something like, Dolorous Maudlin Lacherymose.
I told my psychiatrist that I wanted to change my name but she thought I would only be feeding into the monsters that lived in my head.
I like to feed the monsters. They are my only companions.
Jocund Ebullient Bright could have been my mother’s name. We aren’t sure what happened when she gave birth to me, but it was like night was born from day.
Mother is gone now. Father? I never knew. No sisters. No brothers. My cousins are too afraid of me to come around.
I like the room they gave me. White.
No. Beige trying to be white.
Crazy Cook likes to point the carving knife at us. I like to imagine it across my wrist.
My name is Dolorous Maudlin Lacherymose.
I”m never going home.
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This was my first attempt at this style of writing. The subject is a bit black but it fit the choppiness of what I was going for. I wouldn’t call it poetry. It’s not quite flash fiction nor a short story. What would you call it? Thoughts?
Today’s post was inspired by:
