Mar 15

Do You Like The Dark?

The dark is a discomforting place.
It's filled with mystery
and you can feel it clasp around you,
clinging to your clothes,
your hair,
your tongue,
and you breathe it in,
let it infect your lungs,
and let it go.
Do you ever wonder
where it came from?
What is it?
What's its purpose?
There are things,
good things,
tucked within it
like children under blankets,
poking their faces from its folds,
letting it envelop them,
but they're shivering.
It's like an endless cave
and we don't know why it's there,
it just is.
That's what it is.
It's just it.
That's the fear of it.
Do you ever just sit down
and admire darkness?
Is it terrifying or beautiful?
Does it ever shine?
Do you see little faces
and memories dancing
in its careful waves?
Does the blackness hurt?
If you remember it well,
it shouldn't.

Mar 12
fiction 0 comments challenge: Pal

Ghosts of The Mind

Have you ever had an imaginary friend? Chances are, you probably have at least once in your life, but there was no friend like Madeline. This is the story of a little lady, seven years old, who had a best friend that lived in her head. Mind you, this friend was as real as night and day. Sometimes, the best kind of friends are the ones that are dead. Before you think I’m a psychopath, let’s talk about Little Lady. She had a friend outside of her head once, Emma was her name, but their friendship was cut loose when death came to gather what it had claimed. Her heart was weak and stopped, but Little Lady was a believer in ghosts. That was, at least, for a few years and during those few years, Madeline had developed similar traits to Little Lady’s late friend. Her imaginary friend wasn’t as imaginary as she had thought.
Mar 12

Come Little Fairy

Little fairies like candy.
Their wings flutter at the sound of their crunch.
They swoon at their taste.
Their eyes grow wide when they are offered.
In this excitement,
a little fairy weaved from window to window.
She found a chocolate square,
half of a mint,
a piece of chewing gum,
and a few grains of sugar.
The little fairy was not delighted.
She had expected more from the village.
Their offerings were growing small.
It seemed they didn't care to feed the fairies.
She cradled her candy,
taking small helpings at a time,
and fluttered towards the dark wood to nibble,
but there came the candyman.
His top hat was black,
his suit was black,
his shoes were black,
and even his socks were black.
He had a green expression
like that of a ghastly cabbage,
but the sweetness he carried
was more or less, burst with color.
Feb 25

Give Me Noise

There's too much noise.
It clumps around my retinas,
keeps me blind,
but this is inhibition.
I don't want to hear you.
There's nothing worse
than the sound of incomplete
and silent aching,
so give me noise.
I want a calamity.
I want to breathe in the universe,
the fear,
the longing,
the heartbreak,
the anger,
the sadness,
and the misfortune
and toughen my lip,
squeeze my chest,
allow my energy to rise,
before parting my lips in a scream.
Screaming is a release,
so why not break the silence?
There's too much noise,
but there's also too little,
so give me a voice.
Grant me the strength
to scream.
Give me noise.
Feb 17

Honey, The Kids Are Robots

I am not a robot.
You would believe the opposite,
but I devour the humanity you leave behind.
The world outside of our cages is cruel
and condescending.
Mom and Dad don't know how to tell their kids
that we won't live forever,
so they make us feel as though we are invincible
even though our fragile minds are defeated with repetition
again and again
and again...and again...
Ah, tell me about it.
They tell us that one day,
we’ll become just as great,
but we don’t want to become great,
we just want to become something.
Many want to become anything other than Mom and Dad
and that’s the sad truth.
They’re supposed to set a prime example,
But their artificial minds have been permanently wired.
There’s no change in circuit.
It’s just the same old dialogue.
Our brains are being ground by the media
and the program is forced down our throats.
We are given half-truths
Feb 08

Hiding From Fire

A fear swept over the land
when the shadow crossed the fields
and soared toward the East.
There was a monster in the sky
and we were powerless.
We quaked in our boots and hid
beneath the sheets,
beneath the table,
beneath the rug,
bundles of children in our arms,
but we couldn't hide from the fire.
Perhaps hiding was what brought death
just a little closer than before.
Feb 08

The Person Who Waits

The sun is low on the horizon
and I'm standing at a crossroad.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
The bars come down and I wait.
You're on the other side.
Hooooot! Hooooot!
The train spews smoke and we wait.
I try to look at you.
It's too fast and you disappear.
I look back down.
The station's nearby and it slows.
It feels like forever.
It slows a little more as it passes.
The bar lifts.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
The lights turn off and you're there.
I step onto the tracks.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
The bars come down around me.
Another train whistles close.
Hooooot! Hooooot!
I stop and watch it approach.
You make no move.
It slows just a little, but it's quick.
I'm pinned beneath it.
Feb 08

Everything Is Better

Everything is better when you're here,
Our faces close enough,
 To feel each other's breath,
To sense a warmth unheard of,
Unspoken by everyone else.
Nothing is sweeter,
Than the touch of your hand,
Against the sewing of my limbs.
You pull it apart,
And I am in pieces,
But you love every part of me,
So you kiss my lips,
And hold my hand.
Everything is better now,
That you're here.
So much better.
Sweeter than sugar,
Drowning sadness in starlight.
Feb 07

Hive of Ice

Every bell,
there's a bustling of shoulders
touching and brushing one another
as legs move promptly
in autopilot.
There's a choir of low voices
and louder ones crying above them
that hums around you-
the swarm.
You get that feeling that maybe
you should be active in its hive,
but it's also an ambience
that dies.
You can't remember how,
so you try to remain invisible,
but this cloak you wear,
is not.
It's colder around these drones
that carry on in their miserable lives,
but where there is honey
is abnormality.
We are intricate hives of ice,
pieces of chipped and delicate art,
but if you melt a little
like the feeling you get
when a drop of honey hits your tongue,
you shine.
Feb 06
fiction 1 comment challenge: Alert

They're Here

Pluto was sitting next to me on the couch with her head on her paws.
She seemed to be sleeping soundly despite the light from the lamp.
It was one in the morning and I was finishing a paper for my writing class.
The light from my laptop was harsh on my eyes and I was sure that I was going to have bags under them in the morning, but I was nearly finished and decided to power through.
I had the TV on so I could have a bit of background noise.
Without it, the room would be quiet aside from the ticking of the clock,
begging me to slip into bed soon.
I had the news on, but I wasn’t paying any attention to it.
There was really nothing to watch at this time of night,
but sometimes I would find a golden treasure of movies running on various channels.
There was nothing on tonight though, so it was going to have to be the news.
I never worked without background noise. It blocked my concentration with thoughts of the silence.