ChimesA bird,Chimes by ~a-secret-key
and the edge of winter. There are no
signs. I'm tired of this, the searing and the splitting,
metal on metal. I'm tired of myths. Won't you just be beside me,
be still? Let me picture you, just for a moment. Divine
concentration, that's all you take. Don't ask.
Living never felt natural.
But here we are, trying-
All for this one second,
this one flash of perfection. It's tricky
to be a person. I can never get the balance right, and
the seasons are a quilt,
heavy like a sand, damp
faces. Where is your voice, is it
beneath the soft song of the quiet? Your words,
did I make them?
untitled1.untitled by ~a-secret-key
and goodbye: i never thought, i never,
it was a performance. i watched myself and the world
sped up, and i stroked
schrodinger's cat. it's funny now, because
nobody knows when- not really. we never will.
i ought to,
i should. and so
i did, and with steady hands too. that's faith.
i'll remember everything in too much detail- but not
my own words. they fade like thoughts do.
i knew this would happen, and i considered the moment because it finally
Full hands, not steady,
Full house? As if the presence swoll when it left.
We all listen
to the same words
and again, and
again- maybe we'll hear something
no sleep, we wake. things to do.
i make food? that sits on trays,
we put on a real spread-
very carefully, i tell you and this
is family. sugar? i say, you must eat something, i say,
have a seat.
i have fast hands, too afraid to be slow.
i navigate hellos,
it's all hellos today- we forget about goodbye, for a moment, because
HeatherThe world was changingHeather by ~a-secret-key
except for me. You tore through it,
on a map. The paper moor, the
trees- still stuck in shock
and the heather, purple like a bruise
or the lips
of a greedy child-
and stained red. Feasting
but somehow still
all that is left: the ringing in
my ears, that grey sheeted sky lifted miraculous
by your flock: their flashing brights
suddenly hid from view: not changing
themselves but rather changing
letter to a suit of armourWe have both been here before,letter to a suit of armour by ~a-secret-key
Paused, stood, and stared before. And
I have to ask- Is it
the light that keeps you so still?
I've watched it pleading,
its yellow yolk weeping
on the shoulders of
impassive you. It finds no features to cling to.
You look seamless. So tell me,
how did you empty? Was
your person plucked away by a sharp beak? Or did
they wither and decay? Are your bones still
inside? Did you creak
shut like an oyster?
What I mean to ask is
where did your details go? Did you trade
them for a legend, quid pro quo?
And last of all, would you
describe yourself as an elephant skulled accident or
something a little more Faustian?
You're a success, that's for sure:
there's a real crowd here to recieve
your address. You know
what they're looking for:
a scattered palm of bones,
a battle scar,
a nameless quiet they can't remember,
a balmy unknown.
They all look for it. They'll
always look for it. They're in your thrall.
But they'll never find that
sense of an ending. No. Not here.
babylonlike chlorine on skinbabylon by ~HelzCullen
awkward dialogue printed
between our headlights
it clings to my throat like limescale
like babylonia, we will fall
hundred years of magnificence.
it tastes like coconut milk,
this savage betrayal of
like the sweat behind my knees:
stick fast leave slow carry on home
no-one ever gets home on
nights like this
balloon man'tell me a story.'balloon man by ~Squirrel-23
'whatever you want. what do you see?'
'i see an old man.'
'tell me a story about him.'
'see how he's hunched over?'
'well, he used to walk a lot straighter than that, you know.'
'is that so?'
'well, what happened?'
'well, he used to push his wife around.'
'that doesn't sound very nice.'
'well, she was in a wheelchair.'
'then it sounds very nice.'
'well, he used to push her around in her wheelchair.'
'well, what happened?'
'well, when he pushed her, he felt full. not like food-full. but full-full. like a balloon.'
'filled all the way up?'
'filled all the way up.'
'well, her wheelchair's empty now. i think he is, too.'