flightyou mentioned vulnerability but that's myflight by a-secret-key
weakness. i can wash anything off, no lady
macbeth. i'm all copper and silver and
anything that conducts. the current is my currency,
soon as it's vintage, and i'm always fast.
free will is real so you
can't touch me, and
i'm a gambler
(don't remind me tomorrow if i'm grey)
but i'm invincible. someday,
i'll withdraw it all in words,
when it's sluggish and slighty off. like shifting
gears, i can skip a few on my way back
down, and i barely feel it. that's the truth.
19/05/14a sort of forcefield and the edges buzz,19/05/14 by a-secret-key
lap at my eyes like a camera lens. and that's such a dead
simile, i know, but sometimes it just
fits and besides, i'm too lazy to think of another.
did you see that? the blackbird moves across the lawn, a clot.
it picks its way through the blockages, digested flame
and burnt-up blossom, noise on my green. i watch
for a while and then i just
close my eyes.
i never knew what this meant,
still don't. the world is swollen. got a word for that?
Sea poem, Maysuch a sleek thing, the sky,Sea poem, May by a-secret-key
inside your mouth like a mist. your throat--
i concentrated the best i could.
my shoes clattered the rock-- it felt good to climb,
like i'd been somewhere.
i shut my eyes and tried noticing
--thought i'd see a glimpse, an eye-stain or a
linger, but you'd been there long enough for your skin to peel back, so
why was i wanting a handshake?
the sea was one thing, the cave another. a smooth
belly of rock, not much else. it dribbled stones out
onto the beach, a bodied white noise that bothered me. i looked so hard,
kept my face to the light and my eyes
shut against it. that's glory, i suppose,
once you boil the whole thing down and look at the bones of it,
which i did. that's what i'm trying to tell you.
sometimesi used to think this was the easy part:sometimes by a-secret-key
having something, keeping it. turns out
i'm no good with keeping--
just taking, just moving on. it's not all
bad, though, and
in the end i guess i like that so much of this
is down to me. effects
don't always have causes. sometimes
we just get tired-- tea stained
lantern sunlight. do you ever get
home is tiny in the distance. its lights?
i can barely see them--
corner of the eye,
they burst with tiny needles.
a nice thought, i guess, but maybe that's just me-- sometimes i wish
all light was firelight. it's silly, yeah,
but i'm young enough to still get why it's good
to be tangible.
sometimes my head is cotton-stuffed
and somewhere far away from caring. but then
sometimes it's just my head. i'm beginning
to get used to that--
sometimes i even fall asleep.
See WithinA beautiful cliché for the world to see.See Within by Chemical-Shrimp
The world that revolves within only me.
encephalitis.she asks, "is it weird to have one day where you really intensely, for no good reason, think of a dead person?"encephalitis. by estallidos
the intercom was the one to announce that his body had finally given up. i don't remember what i was wearing that day, or how my hair looked, or what noises fell out of my mouth. death has dulled the sharp edges within me. this is what i do know: some people burst into tears and some people sat frozen and pale and some people simply got up and left the room.
"are you okay?" someone asked me, and i found that i was lying on the floor, though i couldn't understand how i'd gotten there. the overhead lights were buzzing and humming, or maybe it was just my heart. confused, i sat up quickly and let the blood rush to my head in one glorious fell swoop.
"are you okay?" they asked again, and i said yes, yes, i am okay. i am alive. i have to be okay. the linoleum is still cold against my cheek and i can still see i am alive i am okay i am okay i am okay.
but sometimes i wish i had t
This summerThis summer we'll sit on the porchThis summer by ejectionletter
hands locked around a cup
while rhododendron blossoms
with open throats
climb across the porch rail
to say good morning.
And those afternoons,
my nose sprinkled
with rye-bread freckles
and you smelling of the deep tang
of dandelions -
we'll slice strawberries in the kitchen
until our fingers
turn red and the pink half hearts
watch us with quiet faces.
When the strawberries meet
the deep maroon
of our mouths,
like moths they'll light
upon our tongues,
their brown sugar hats
So this summer we'll
hide taffy wrappers under the porch
wind our fingers around the sea air
and hold on,
as if the season's sliding by
without even a whisper
home.i press my cheek to the window and for a moment, all i am able to focus on is the pattern my breath plays along the glass. it is a simple emotion and a simple thought and the way my lungs collapse to force the air from between my pursed lips is enough to soak in the rest of my thoughts like a dry and waiting sponge. the voice of the person to my left is butter and velvet, sifting through the air - each and every syllable seeking through the space between us as if to find a resting place, as if with each moment suspended in the air they might be able to find a place to call home.home. by thefireflyliberation
it is with reluctance that i turn my cheek, drawing myself back from the cool windowpane and i turn to them, my eyes blurred and disoriented. they are naught but colors; they are sea-foam and gravel, their eyes coming into focus to deepen into indigo. lovely, i remember myself thinking. the color of lovely. it is a game that i have always played; finding the colors of words as if i could paint a canvas with dri