Mask"I'm fine," I say andfake-smile at the world as thescream rattles my bones.
ForgetForget meForget herForget himForget youForget the whole world if you think you want toThenOh ThenThe moment of blissWhere nothing wasor will beor is-But only for a secondMaybe less than thatAnd thenIt hitsThatOh thatThat sound That feelingThat touchThat sightAnd it formsAnd swirls And begins to biteIt is meAnd herAnd him And youAnd the whole world rages with horrible truthAll the pain floods backAnd the memories tooAnd we rememberWe can never forget
Distraction (28/30)FocusF o c u sThe cosmos is unmeasurableAnd I'm stuck to a ten-by-twenty inch screenOkayF o c u sWhat are deadlines?What are grades?(They're what rule the world of school!)Silly.It'll all be over soon.Don't look at your cat.(But she's playing in a box!)Don't play with that pen.(But *click click click*)Don't look at photos.(But I love those memories...)Don't browse for art.(But for gracious sakes, ART!)Don't write a poem.(Ah, but it's too late.)Stop it!Now!FocusF o c u s
Secret Garden of a Serial KillerThe screen door slammed closed behind me, rattling the entire kitchen. My mother hollered something at me as I walked off into the woods. I didn't respond, I was tired of reporting to her before I made any decision. I threw my bag over my shoulder, confidence shining like the midday sun. This was going to be exactly like a crime drama, I could feel it in my bones. I was next to obsessed with all things mystery, and I planned on being a chief detective one day.I borrowed book after book from the public library. I wanted to be the next girl crime solver extraordinaire. Like the Nancy Drew books from when I was in elementary school. Books about daredevil car thieves, geniuses with a nack for getting into trouble, and bank robbers littered my desk and occupied my thoughts at all hours of the day. Sticking with my crime solver fashion, I set out to find some intriguing mysteries. "Perhaps I'll find a secret locket that belongs to a dead prince, or a toy doll that lead
xviaftermath angellook inside yourselfyou are a swiftnessin tongues and in lettersdetachedswirling calculatedin hexidecimatedscatters(and when you trip over ruinsdo you ever wonderif they were a partof the selfyou renderedrubble)aftermath astridlook inside yourselfabsence is an addiction tooyou knowyou cultivate mine(fields)and never stick aroundto watch the firebloom
you can't go back through the door you leftthese little legs dig deep into everypore, leave their footprints scattered onmy cheeks and chin, my warfieldskin - and god oh god now i rememberwhat marches through my veins[raise your weapons, thisis what you're born for, you arenothing withoutwanderlust]they say i create this terror though ican't be hurt - i amstrong, rebel-boned, fever-furred,but even i succumbto this heart, this skittering pulsethat won't stop roaring in my earsbeneath fragment tessellationslike stars, like stars, likestars![and you will drown anddrown and drown to the symphonyof bird calls - the button's gliitchedagain and here comes another sleeplessnight with this throbbing like awaterfall]i can feel the scissor-bladewedged into the hingesand i know i'm bound to break apart,[keep gluing yourself backtogether, you're the only onewho has to know. remember whatyou chanted - sacrifice, sacrifice,that's allthat's whole and hol
shorteningsslender headrest, earthytaste of chromiumflighty eyelids lose faceseeking a spindliereuphemismfuck these metaphors.these ribbed, corrosive organismsuntended.shattered totality, unchastetranscendentrest assured, i love youin this illegal headwindin this rushed desertwe are surrealistssurround ourselves withthis dali landscapeand weep
Ash and Cressida meet~Cressida perched herself on the edge of an abandoned building, peering down at the demon lumbering along below. She glanced to the streets, as people walked by, unaware of the impending danger that stood only a few feet away. That was how demon's did it, after-all. They hid themselves, using a glamour to conceal their form from humans. Cressida drew a blade-less hilt, holding it by her side. She furrowed her eyebrows at the demon; what was it even doing? From this distance it was almost like a dance. Amused, she whipped the hilt out directly in front of her, and slowly let out her breath. As she did, a flurry of particles began to form a rose pink shimmering blade from the hilt. Once it had formed, without hesitation, Cressida stepped off the edge, letting gravity take her to her target. She pulled her blade back, prepared to stab the enormous demon directly through the neck, giving it a swift and clean kill. In an instant, the demon's head seemed to rotate, revealing its g
Monday MorningThe office smells of warm paper,heat from the printerpermeating the air,fluorescent lights abovegifting me with apounding headache.Fleetwood Macis on the radio, competingwithout success againstthe scanner’s rumble.A song ends, a page jams,the phone rings, and I think,“Only six hours until fiveand four days until Friday.”
Deadly Games (poem)War drums pound loudly in my headThe battle is onI accept your challengeThe arrogance and rage fill the airEyes on the prizeWeapon in graspI regret nothingMy emotions highMy heart pounding violentlyI taste the fearHear the screamsThe screams of those before my arrivalAt the endI will tell my storyAfter all the blood is shedFreedom will ring its victorious songsMy shackles are brokenYou played the gameYou didn’t winYour battle cries only a memoryThis game of which you seekIs overThe axe it swingsI hold your headA trophyA trophy to a gameChilds playNever mess with the bestDeath will only greet thoseWho challenge the best
DimensionsA photo of you was like a mapwith streets and parksand sites of schools,and when, one day, we consummatedour growing bond, I almost swoonedas you saw right through me,feeling vindicated when youfell in love before we'd met.I too had always felt the same.And so, between us, we wrote our bookfor all time, to turn page after pageof beloved words, like all the spellsused to conjure renewal of our oathevery year, each day,with every breath we take.
Chameleon(kəˈmēlyən)/noun/I decided beinglike you was easierthan being myself.