the trees surround and scratch you
poke into the whites of your eyes
suspicious and accusing
will you be the next to
use our flesh as kindling?
are you the girl who peeled the
thin skin from the white birch?
day 17she dreams of the pink swing set under a canopy
of leaves, shoes brushing colours of autumn
of mud slicked steps, rusted spoons and clear
plastic forks turned opaque from grimy hands
of lard-filled jars and broken glass,
glittering teeth hidden beneath tree shadows
of scratchy hay poking ankles and, below, sharp
metal just peeking through faded itchy yellow:
day 3you said: there is just
something about myths.
i thought there's just
something about your lips.
tell me the myths of
your sleepy hometown
and the truths of hands
held proud in public.
i'd like to learn the
stories of your skin,
the loud silence of
heartbeats and bed sheets.
you don't sit beside me in class anymoreyou look like oversized sweaters waiting for
mr darcy vapid vanilla shows up late to
class with coffee cheeks flushed from cold
(but there's more than meets the eye. i like
the flush of your cheeks and last week i
wondered if you bite lips or lick them; if
you'd change my mind on holding hands)
gone is your floral perfume soft breathing
arm brushing mine proximity pulsing legs
crossing blurry profile in peripheral
(but now i almost like it better this way. it's
easier to follow concentration as it moves
along your features and i have always been
more comfortable with distance anyway)
lost in space1
there were words once, listen:
quiet, soft, like fingers brushing over the fabric of a sweater, tickling your ear, warming, small gusts of heat that spread to your toes, a glinting eye, a curved mouth, a promise.
there were words once, listen:
hard, rough, like metal scraping over concrete, bruising, marking your arms, legs, ribs, even your spine, purple and black blossoming on dark skin, yellowing until silence, an apology.
there were words once, listen:
now there are no words, only the deafening roar of silence.
there are words now, listen:
the old stars whisper to each other. they have discovered the secret of patience, a conversation lasting the ages. a single word may take years upon years to travel and you have to know which way to send it. careful, precise, or you may tell a stranger you miss them.
you can hear the sound of these words, like fast cars on a track, restless and enduring. the faster they travel, the slower time moves, slowing rapidly until it sto
sharp nailsthere is a pattern of
veins on my right thigh
that looks like the long,
blue bones of a hand
sometimes these thin,
spindly fingers crawl
up my veins and
arteries to clasp around
my heart, tug on the
back of my eyes,
dotting and blacking
they scrape the nervous
system and i think i
used to pray to settle
from 3429 ft.two years ago from paris, saskatoon looked like a small solar system, hazy with rain and cold. three days ago from toronto, it is midday and foggy, a thick blanket of grey masking tiny grey buildings cut by a tiny grey river. but the feeling is the same and i want to reach across the aisle to hold my sister's hand much the same as two years ago, russell reaching for my hand, any hand, two changed souls unprepared to face the sameness of home.
but the feeling is not the same. we are not two changed souls: we are just happy ones, 'satisfied with the trip' ones, and i do not hold hands when i am happy.
may 3i press tissue paper to the skin
above my ankle, apply pressure,
try not to think about the red and
searing and the itch in my hand.
i decide i want to cover my body in
ink, beautiful and expensive.
my grandmother asks me why i
want a tattoo.
i tell her, "i think they're
five years of thinking pass.
birds fly across my wrist and i trap
beautiful and expensive.
reverberationshey skinny boy, you walk like you know where you're going
and when you kiss me, i don't know what to say
( and it sort of
reverberates between us, doesn't it? )
parenting 101when our children wake up screaming in the middle of the night
or crawl into our beds, we have a list of reassurances:
"it was just a nightmare" and
"it was just the shadows" and
"it was just your imagination"
until they, too, are desensitized and locked in a cage,
condition themselves to be blind and sane like the rest of us
And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.
There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.
It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.
Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway .
"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it si
after the explosion
are these suns,
a faint projection
from an unreachable darkness,
And then everything is simultaneous;
the entangled mess,
And maybe it's all about editing and being edited-
The pilot painted across a desert,
A desert painted across the pilot.
Or the holographic drift, a surface reflection-
The expanse outside echoed inward,
Jagged orange treelines over the firefly black like someone holding onto a woman
(or the memory of a woman).
Or maybe just the T.V. relay
as I struggle to sleep,
from both dimensions
glowing and whispering:
The horses of your apocalypse/the apocalypse of your horses.
Fixing the damageYou feel damamged
Just like me
We can change that
We can fix each other
So don't give up
We need each other
Mary x Male!Reader
"D-don't you dare look at me!"
I jumped, scared. This ball of fluff----she was talking to me? With a shaky breath, I smiled uneasily at her. "Hey, now...I'm not gonna make fun of ya, or anything."
She blinked, and looked up at me, her eyes shining a bright red. "Y-you won't?" "Nope."
The girl's name was Mary Kozakura.
And she was like a puffball, ever so innocent.
"___! There you are!" Mary looked down at me, smiling sweetly. She was holding a tray, with various yummy-looking food treats on there.
"I-I made these for you, actually..." She was blushing. Wow, she's actually blushing!
"Thank you, Mary." I went to grab a small treat, when suddenly, Mary accidentally slipped on her own two feet, making the treats and tray fall and break in a quick, rumbling earthquake.
We were quiet for a moment, Mary covered in sweets, me looking at her from the couch, gaping.
"I'm so sorry, ___! I didn't mean to do that!" Mary began to stand back up, but fell
glass in the throatthere's something about that
hollow quiet in the night
that bite of air
beneath the clouded moon:
something like calm words,
falling through the gaps
between stained teeth
something like a dull thud,
a stumbling fawn
bruised by a wheel.
something about that
clinging crowding darkness
a sweet invitation:
prey on us sinners,
at the hour of our death.
All Hallows EveThey say that on this night the witches ride,
that spirits walk and churchyards spew their dead.
It isn’t true.
It’s said the stench of hell infects the earth
and healths of heated blood are downed.
But Hamlet lied.
The dead know nothing, the living less.
There are only poets with blood-nibbed pens;
souls hung between high heaven and deep hell.
Visions of Snow FallingVisions of Snow Falling 10/22/01
I recall, I remember
this cold, bitter December.
The world was frozen, so were you.
Our kiss lasted moments
as the snow fell softly on your
shoulders, so burdened and heavy.
Our embrace was endless and
our feet never touched the ground.
The crisp wind swirled all around
as we floated over the ice of
memories made... of memories forgotten.
I recollect a warmth that
emanated from you? From me?
Nothing melted that day as she walked away.
I never saw her again as my past
comes and goes, and this vision
consumes me every time it snows.