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When the Fire Falls Fire falls when the night is brightest. That’s how we know it’s coming: lightning paints the blackness an angry sort of orange, and the sky begins to hiss. Well, I say “blackness”, but the night sky has always been sort of…purple-y. That never changes, whether it’s daytime or not. The sun never shines here; things just get a little less indigo. Our sky is a sullen one, hidden from sight by big ugly clouds that have always just sort of been there. Maybe that’s why it spits brimstone at us. We shut it out so very long ago.
The night turns orange and hisses like a cornered cat. We run and hide so we don’t get burned.
Keep your head down, and don’t touch the door. These are old words for nights of fire. Silly words, for days when pe
Picture This: Iwe were Linked
Youthful Days Snatched at the clouds and
We flew to Wonderland.
play my song in this
autumn-colored spring, because<
petrified on pin-boardsi wish i could put to paper and ink
how an overdose of overcast sensations
pins my bones to the board like
brittle butterfly wings, under scrutiny
for being dead.
rest in peace, my fanciful nightmares of
you wrote me away,
and i am tired of shriveling in my skin
thinking i should peel and shed this sickness.
sickness is safety, because i've never been well
and it frightens me.
teardrops and molassesi served tea with pomegranates and prose,
then licked my fingers with a tongue
made of porcelain. boy, did you think
you could sneak sugar into my
veins with a kiss?
my heart might whisper poetic verse,
but my head pens proverbs in
teardrops and molasses.
don't think this smile is for you;
we've got a long way to go,
and plenty of teatimes to take.
but i look forward to every sip of
sugar-sweet memories we might make.
Splinter (2,623w) Planet Earth split in half, and humanity spilled from her bleeding oceans like insects from a broken hive. It was the 29th of February. By their standards, the day didn’t even exist. They must have been screaming, but space is a silent hunting ground. My people were waiting for the battered Earthling shuttles beyond the cratered edge of their moon. The fleeing creatures weren’t even armed; log entries from the squadron commanders rank their catch per slave vessel to be in the hundreds of thousands, but millions of humans still died that day at the hands of our advanced battalions. We the Kix’t pride ourselves on ruthlessness.
I was a child then. Now, it is five decades passed and humans are still a rare commodity. I hadn’t even seen one until a year or so into my service at the legion, for my parents had raised me below the Rim for a ma
I Took a Walk with Time Today I took a walk with Time today and imagined he was a forever-child. Time is not a toddler, and is certainly past that sad stage of hugs-are-taboo and tickle-me-not. No, I envision Time as a little boy, tousled and tenacious, but still tender when he wants to be. He skips too quickly down the Path and we, the care-burdened keepers, amble stiffly behind. As we feel the weight of Time's wake in our bones, he fidgets forever and beyond our reach. I bet he wonders why we can't move just a little faster.
Time doesn't understand humanity's yearning to take life slowly; after all, he's never seen a "the end" before.
Time is just a child.
I took a walk with Time today, and tried to hold his hand as we crossed the street. If I press my palm against the scarred brick skin of Main Street's oldest shops, I can envision my forever-little boy brazenly scraping his boredom into them with a stick.
Unable to loveMy love was pure
I only wanted
But my heart
Because my love
Like a piece of garbage
And now I'm unable
Because the shreds
Of my shattered soul
MathematicsI am but the sum of my
F L A W S;
a network of
S C A R S
a disaster of
D R E A M S
a shield of
B O N E S
C A L C U L A T I O N
a void of
to the girl i lose my words aroundi have been meaning to tell you for years:
i think you’re beautiful. i have
seen nothing on earth that holds a candle
to the ocean you carry inside your body.
it spills over your edges sometimes, like
a rain shower around you, blurring your penciled-in
lines until there is nothing left of you but your natural
cliffs, valleys, and deserts.
i like that.
i have never met someone who is, somehow,
a sea and a storm at the same time.
maybe i never will again.
maybe you are the only one
who gathers clouds on her forehead
like a promise, or feels the push and pull of the tide
with her every step.
you are beautiful, honestly.
you are honest, beautifully.
it is in the way you talk, the way you hold ice
on your tongue but forget to use it—
you always forget to use it, i don’t think
you know how.
to be truthful, i’m afraid of your smile
and how it breaks over me, how it pulls
me like a whirlpool down, how it pushes me
like a current back to the surface. i’m afraid of
Abuse Is Sometimes NecessaryPush and pull at her long hair, topple her to the solid ground,
elbow her sharply in the raw gut, shove her harshly around.
Scratch him in the pale face, punch him in the broken jaw,
do anything necessary to him that's considered breaking the law.
And when she cries because you've punched her, let her be,
and observe her when she returns to her habitual smoking.
When she passes out next day, because she's drunken too much booze,
slap her in the face once more, though many would consider it abuse.
When he can hardly walk because he thinks he's high in the clouds,
rip the needle out of his arm, and with your nails, slash him across the sweaty brow.
Grab them and shake them till their battered and bruised,
tear at their heart, scream in their ears until you've reached the point of verbal abuse.
And when she falls into your chest, and he collapses to the ground,
pull them closely, and whisper, “We can turn this all around.”
And rehab is a necessity for all of you, because you'v
Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)
I hope the title caught your eye,
because this is about you.
Many of us speak in superlatives
and ambiguous language.
In imagery-laden text masquerading
underneath double entendres
keeping us from a part of the truth.
But purple streaks and red bands,
harp strings and soft hands
don't begin to explain
the love I have for you.
So I lay these words down
simple in its vulnerability,
blemished and raw in its purity.
The term lissome fits you in many ways,
but not necessarily it its textbook form.
I speak on the part that is not readily seen
but what is easily most cogent.
Your consciousness' cognizance
is graceful in the way
you fold one syllable over
another, supple in its meaning
that can take many forms
going from idle lies
to how we idolize hollow eyes
and uncovered hip bones.
Elegance is an understatement,
but I refuse to speak in cliche superlatives.
I speak honestly
but not with exaggerated grandeur.
Because your immediate app
i am made of nights like theseativan boy, you cannot empty out this skull -
not with a pen nor with a bullet. you can
be my hallowed head(case) for spitting out
words like teeth; oh, but i will only love you
when you're weary. i will keep crows caged
between your lungs like veins, like palpitations.
i will rot you through bones & car radios,
but i will never get (you) out of your skin.
ScienceI am more than my
F L A W S;
a masterpiece of
S C A R S
a delicacy of
D R E A M S
a sculpture of
B O N E S
R E A C T I O N
a well of
A broken heartI promised myself I'll never fall in love
Whenever I fall in love I feel renewed and happy
But like a drug
Once everything finishes
I'm crying, depressed and the wreckage of my heart
I always end up feeling worse
I want to find someone that is special
But I'm afraid to suffer again
I'm afraid of losing another person
Do not want to suffer
Do not make me suffer, do not lie to me
Do not hurt me, no more
I will not hold on to people who only sink me
I'll be free and live with have left
A cold and lonely spirit.
Why Do You Still Believe?I used to wonder how one could believe in a God who oppresses?
Who controls you, who uses you, whose unbreakable laws can lead to serious depression.
I wondered this because I know what it's like to be failed,
to be “abandoned” by God, and to be thrown in a personal hell.
But than I grew older and learned how to cope,
I learned that believing in God was like holding a tethered rope.
So I looked to the world and was surprised by what I had seen.
Together the believers were holding onto a broken string.
On the top of the rope God holds on tightly,
and towards the bottom, the believers cling to the Almighty.
Through oppression, through injustice bestowed upon them by God,
they refuse to release their grip, as their faith is stronger than their distrust of God.
Because God does not oppress, nor does He use or impose ridiculous laws,
it is humans who do this, never has it been God.
So they still believe in Him when they're murdered for their faith,
when they're bombed beca
The Boy Who Never Knockedhe found her alone that night
the boy who never knocked.
she lay curled up on her side
in a web of fabric and feathers
and twisted threads of restless sleep.
tears adorned her lowered lashes
but went on to stain her sunken cheeks.
even when she was at rest
it seemed that fear pursued her
causing her to catch her breath
a cruel and unfair hunter.
when her unseen guest knelt down
to whisper in her ear
she did not hear a single sound
but his words still dried her tears:
"through better or worse, i promise
that what you once held dear
will once again be precious
the smile you've had to make a lie
will shine strong and pure and true
that weakness helps you find strength
in the hearts of those you never knew you had
and finally, that good will always come
no matter how long you're sad."
he bent to her he loved so much
to kiss her tears away
though she felt not a single touch
to verify his stay
with a sigh not ever made
by any who drew breath
he went back to his watchful grave
the boy who lov
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