Writing

Siren’s yell pounds on my brain,

graffiti paints the walls in the letters unknown,

I feel so small beneath the metal mountains above,

the honking brings fear into my peaceful existence,

She walked out into the train station slowly, letting it hit her head on. The bustle---the everything in front of her was overwhelming. And amazing, but mostly overwhelming.

Picture something in your mind. 

Anything.

Then, like water eroding the sand on a cliff,

like a white van coming to take them away,

like a dream,

imagine it different.

imagine it better

or worse,

the crow queen isn't a crow

she is born of crow

and shows the crows mercy

but isn't crow

she is somewhere between the lines of magic and human

a power bestowed upon her unrightfully.

Every July 4th, I wonder why we do this. Why we stand on the sides of the streets, watching little children hold their arms out for candy, gazing at the police cars and fire trucks rolling by in tandem.

This is the worst kind of anticipation

this anticipation isn't just fear of what is to come

it's laced around the edges with knowledge of how it went last time

of how a repeat of last year is most likely inevitable.