Sarcasm Central

Blank Page, White and Clean

Blank sheet.  The paper white and clean, without smudge or mark, without thought or emotion.

I want to dirty it.

I want to fuel it with my dark side and then light it on fire.  Watch it burn and flame into a twisting ember that turns to ash.

I want to extinguish it, put out the flames, balm them with my tears, the ones that slide down my cheeks, splashing onto the page, blurring the ink.

Then I want to stab it with a knife, rip it to shreds, destroy it, scream.  I want to dig my pen into the page, black streaks, angry welts, until it bleeds.

And when the blood dries, I want to tape it back together into a mosaic of human pain and suffering.

I want to write out the notes, delicately drawn until they sing, like a stunning song that touches the soul.  I want the notes to pulse, weep, flow and feel, full of love.

I want to crumble the page in my fist, as hard as I can and then pull open the wad and scribble into the crevices as I smooth it, finding secrets.

I want to draw on it, paint vibrant color that glides until images emerge, agony, pleasure and all of it, in your face, tangible, so bright and real you can’t look away.

I want to cut it up, scissors sniping and then glue it back together into a face of that girl and press it into the cover of her journal, the place where she’s exposed.

I want to sew it back together into a page with a throbbing thread of anger woven across the surface.

Then I want to crush it, into smithereens and press it into a pipe and smoke it, inhale the essence of it, feel the high.

I want to throw it away, bury it, let the earth eat it, but then dig it back up and see what remains.

I want to sow it in my garden and see what grows.  Green shoots, creating life.

I want to soak it in water and see the invisible writing, the things that are there in between the words.

I want to store it away, in a dark place with other books and leave it for years, just to see what it becomes.

I want to dice it into slivers and mix it with tea leaves to steep.  I want to drink it in.

I want to taste it, I want to ingest it.  I want to live from it, gain sustenance.

I want to let it live within me…

I want to offer it to you.  To get a reaction.  What will you do?

About Victoria Sawyer (283 Articles)
Victoria Sawyer is a blogger, author, graphic designer, social media enthusiast and mental health advocate. Shocking, honest, sarcastic and humorous, Victoria aims to make readers feel tangible emotions and physical sensations through writing that brings you into the mind and body of someone suffering from panic attacks, anxiety and this strange often darkly hilarious thing we call life. She published her novel Angst in 2013, which realistically and often graphically depicts life with mental illness. Along with crazy blogging, Victoria enjoys reading historical novels, playing with her naughty cats, engaging in rants and metaphysical existential meltdowns and using punctuation to excess in everything she writes.

3 Comments on Blank Page, White and Clean

  1. dulzimordash // April 28, 2013 at 12:39 am // Reply

    Reblogged this on Nature’s Abhorred Vacuum.


  2. I want to write all the trash down, then fold the paper into an airplane and let it fly iaway…


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