Sweetest Silent SongHe sits in the window that shows the view most like Heaven with an empty book in his lap, stroking it like an inconsolable child. Silent.
I have never had the words to comfort or express. My language has always been that of clashing spears and cold hard coordinates; I can mimic the masters of pathos when it serves me well, but when it comes to speaking my own true emotions I am as dumb as the butt of a spear. Any elegance I may have, I learned from him.
Once I had the honor of belonging to the sweetest song in Hell.
And now that voice is silenced, perhaps forever. The gash across his throat boasts itself like a second mouth mocking the uselessness of the first. The memory of seeing him take it will forever drown out the rest of the battle; the blood of the one who inflicted it has long been washed from my hands into oblivion, but the consequences remain.
His pen is just as silent now. He no longer writes, for with no ability to reproduce the music or narrate he composes all j
show me the meaning.staple my eyes closed and promise me that's the best way to see.show me the meaning.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
press your mouth to mine and breathe poison down my throat, bite my tongue until the blood is dripdripdripping a steady path down to my waiting lungs. backhand me when i choke, call me ungrateful when i try to cough it up again. rip reality from behind my lungs and tell me not to bother with it, tell me i'm mistaken and the world is a lie and the only map i'll ever be able to trust is the rotting directions spewing forth from your gilded tongue.
ignore me when i question. get angry when i keep pushing. shove me into the wall and pull the moral fibers from my heart until i forget what right tasted like and am left with the feeling of wrong tattooed between my molars. let me stumble into tar pits of mistakes. don't stop when my hand draws the blade across her breast, don't blink when i continue to hack, when i'm sobbing between blows. turn your cheek when i'm sobbing, when i'm breaking her down, when each lash across her ba
the sun thief.this is the point i'd like to tell you how i really feel about you:the sun thief.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
this is the point you sit down and shut up and keep your wandering fingers to yourself. put them in your pocket, in your lap, shove them in your mouth, down your throat, in the fire, under the knife. frankly, it doesn't matter to me -- just keep them to yourself. you have a nasty habit of trying to pickpocket emotions that aren't yours to have and trying them on for size when no one is looking. you have nervous fingers that pluck at loose strings to see if you can unravel the tapestry. you have a terrible way of picking at the chipped paint as if you have the power to erase the beauty spread across the sistine chapel. let me clue you in: you don't.
so be quiet, swallow your tongue, understand the forever trapped between the glow of his words isn't for you to capture. you had your chance when the world was new and the passions were leaking out of his pores and you turned away. you had the moment for the span of a breath
one more step.it's nights like this that make me wish i could gnash mountains between my teeth and drain the stars from the sky. it's nights like this that leave my limbs cold and my hands crackling so i'm on the floor trying to pick up all the pieces littered in the corners. theoretically, if i decompose, i'll find a way to compose myself before morning, but such a composition would never be music to the bleeding composite tongue binding around me.one more step.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
[i'm wailing on the airwaves, trying find the right frequency, but it's hard to hear my thoughts around all the static.]
the wind is too cold for june and my heart is too frosted for the heat of this love charring all my bones. they say distance makes the heart grow fonder, but they forgot to mention that it also makes the heart cramp and ache and swell. they forgot to mention that distance maims and time cripples and you'll be dead-exhausted swimming against the tide of wants and desires building up the shorelines around you. you'll collapse on the sand
sheep-wool covered lies.i ate your heart and reveled in the way it smashed between my molars like ripe grapes, the way i could feel the pulse beating between my clenched jaw, the life squirming in and out to stain my lips. i swallowed it whole and felt it beating like a drummer boy in the pit of my belly, your sorrow the beat i danced my day to. your misery was a lullaby i sang to myself at night, the sheep i counted when my eyes were closed. i could feel it in the way it seeped into my veins and tangled around my bones like weeds growing too fast to contain. i gloried in the power it gave me, the way i could pull your strings and make you dance, the way i could bloody your soles and your soul and at the end of the day when i slept in my bed, it was made of the gnashed bones and entrails you left behind.sheep-wool covered lies.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
is that what you want me to say?
if you want, i'll tell you about how i thrilled at the tears in your eyes. i'll tell you i manipulated the map to pull reality apart and create a fantasy for us to get lost in
the redefinition of right.this is the kind of mistake you always hoped might happen.the redefinition of right.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
it's the sequel backtracking and breathing life into the clay-lungs of your favorite character, the news reporter glancing back at the teleprompter and ten thousand more souls clawing out from the mushroom cloud. it's the kind of mistake that fixes the imperfections and calluses of reality, the kind that smoothes over the ordered lashes.
it's not getting what you deserve, but rather, what you wanted. it's feeding you honey when you were prescribed bitter root, slipping you into satin when burlap was folded at the foot of your bed. it's the kind that scares you, because you know better than to think it can last, your fingertips brushing over the edges and expecting it to dissolve like a glorious dream, your tongue savoring the sweetness because you know any second the illusion might evaporate off every taste bud.
it's waking up and swallowing the sun. it's letting the burn settle into your belly and smolder, your very flesh expa
we are eternity.Tell me, darling, how do we best count time?we are eternity.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
If you wish, I can reboot my system so we might run through the system and backed up files until we come up with the hard answer. We can have it in Eastern, Central, Pacific or Neverland and still be left with empty numbers. We can cross-divide and carry over our hearts, add the sum of our parts until we're nothing but decimal points flashing on the ambiguous screen. We can disconnect and rewire, throw our cyber-smiles against the wall until it's been reduced to springs and forlorn beeps of the dying machine.
Still, we'll have our answer: thirty days.
Or, if you prefer, I can break my poet's tongue in two and bleed words all over the hungry sheet of paper. I can write sonnets of the wind winding across the continent and limericks of the wolves howling for our distance. I can write songs to make stars weep in the clichéd sky of diamonds. I can compose you poems with phrases strung so daintily together that your nerves will bind and your
born in flames.if we don't start fires, then we'll breathe forth floods.born in flames.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
beneath our poetic simplicity is a raging monster with gnashing teeth and complications snarled all around its bloodied tongue. we're earthquake-palms hovering over the equator, sending continents careening into one another, their haphazard edges crumpling like damp paper. we're gaping ocean mouths gasping as life and death and the mess in between is sucked dry with a terrifyingly efficient gulp.
we're emaciated and starving and clawing at the lock to get to the feast on the other side. we're clumsy and awkward and knocking knees trying to finish a race on four feet and two hearts and no breath because we left it at the county line. we're practiced and naïve and reading the instruction manual in gaelic before tossing it to the wayside to learn with hands on experience instead, because --
class is in session:
professor, teach me the geography of twisting torsos and tangled limbs. professor, teach my the science of exploding
second-chance renewal.i can't guarantee i'll be what you want.second-chance renewal.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
you see, i can only offer you the remaining fractures of a weathered, storm-bruised heart in trembling palms; can only pour the relics into the crevices of your chest. i can only offer you the ruins: tangled and mismatched and soggy from salt-rain. can only give you the junk drawer, the elbows and broken bits no one wanted: the jealousy and anxiety and selfishness and impatience and insecurity. i can only give you these, wrapped in newspaper-covered cardboard boxes, no satin ribbon dressing them up as something they're not.
oh, and you deserve so much more! what i have left rotting isn't enough and it never will be, but, oh, i would give it to you if you asked. i would reach lacerated hands towards my marrow-locks and tear them apart. i'd give you the right combination of numbers and twists and turns so you might undo the not-so-treasure-chest. i'd let you take the choking corpse of my trust and let you try to reanimate it. i'd sell m
irreplaceable.Some things in life cannot be replaced.irreplaceable.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
This is the hymn beating within the pulses of those who mourn the shooting stars who have come and gone, who cling to the stardust of comets too hot to tie to this earth of dust and soil. This is the song lilies hum when dusk falls and the ground moves from the thrumming of a hundred pleading hearts in unison; what wheat fields cry out when absences are apparent and desperate mouths are praying into pillows late at night. This is the truth that is realized when mornings shot golden with sunlight do not pluck the beauty of dreams back into reality, but rather face the hollow space once occupied with life overflowing.
Some things in life cannot be replaced.
Some things are too precious to be created twice, but rather, are meant to be celebrated for the beauty so uniquely theirs. Some laughs cannot be recreated or mimicked or impersonated by even the silver throat of the mockingbird. Some souls are the Halley's comet of our generation, too wild to b
the sun isn't a candle.you never did learn that beauty can't be painted on rotting ship hulls. decaying wood will always smell like the ocean's betrayal and the salted funeral salute of gilded words. swirling acrylics will only mask the bleak gray and bled-dry sinkhole of your chest. so, you can sit there and call yourself the queen of your world, the mistress of mystery and empress of lust, but you're taking on water and sinking fast and the imploding sea around you is the last grave your cat-eyes will ever witness. you're sinking like a stone in your hate and deception and the one hand that would have pulled you back is the one you gnawed off at the wrist.the sun isn't a candle.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
you see, you had the sun in the palm of your greased talons, the whole reason for expanding lungs stitched between your pores and you discarded it like secondhand news. you never did realize: he's the cause of the spinning axel and the foundation of rome and the song the stars sing to dusk-covered fields. oh, you were just too blind to absorb his light!
less than a dream.i can't be the sun if i'm only a candle.less than a dream.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i can't be the myths of greece and the legends of troy if i'm only beginning to write my story. i'm not diamonds spread across the skyscape or dreams saturated with salty rain, i'm just a girl. i'm trembling fingertips and insecurities buckling down on my intercostal muscles until breathing becomes a labor of love instead of a hum of habit. i'm tearing apart diary paper because i can't stop moving and regretting; i'm curling my toes to withdraw when the stakes seem too high.
i'm not everything you're hoping for and i'm not worthy of poems getting scrawled in wet midnight sand; i don't deserve sunshine serenades pouring from your lips. i'm not made of piano-chord veins and i'm not spitting up beauty i've [never] kept hidden behind my molars. i'm just me.
i'm just a girl with wide eyes and a habit for losing chapstick, pens, shoes and the people i care most about. i'm not special or extraordinary or anything you wouldn't expect to find
bleeding confessions.dear boy-with-a-solar-heart,bleeding confessions.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
love songs are never enough, poems are empty carcasses of emotion when it comes to you. i've spent entire evenings rummaging through the backlit crevices of my thief's mind, trying to drag the proper words from the shadows, but they all flee. the words all hiss and spit and claw: words that describe emotions that have never once been exposed to daylight. words that have slumbered for decades in the hope they would never be touched. words with seeping wounds and open bruises and complications a mile-wide. words that lived in little fear until your warmth shone through the slats of my reality-prison. words that are fighting me tooth and nail and slipping the bare minimum onto my desperate tongue so i might scarcely taste what it would feel like to properly describe you.
do not consider this a love poem. think of this as yet another rambling of a nonsensical tongue and a dreamer mouth, but certainly not pretty words strung together to talk about moss-covered s
intercontinental.when the world is quiet and the dawn is breaking, it's your hands that i'm taking. the world is caught in the moment our lips part, a dreamcatcher hung from the eyelashes resting like moons on our cheeks. we are capturing the globe in the spaces between our teeth and exchanging it on twisting tongues, tasting the continents on individual tastebuds. when we kiss, european flavors are mingling with asian accents and south american highlights; our mouths together are a world market of billowing fabric and exotic flavor that we could spend all afternoon exploring.intercontinental.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
we are breathing in spice and the heady scent of bazaars and when we close our eyes, i imagine the trail down your ribbed torso is the journey to jerusalem. i taste the desert in the curls of your hair and the heat of your mouth is a sauna baking passion into smoldering fires. your fingers are an oasis painting the red sea along my throat, drawing the treacherous coastline across the flesh of my hips.
i can feel the w
no more sailing_cThe sun is setting and something in the way the light is haloing the horizon makes me think of the forest green rimming the caramel of your eyes. I sit and pluck beach grass as I watch the tips of the sails in the distance flare moments before the darkness claims them. I imagine the same night coming to steal and curl in your lungs. I imagine it bringing restful peace as you breathe in the tiny golden dust particles that swirled around my palms earlier today while at market. I imagine the light that brushed your cheekbones yesterday is slipping under my tongue as I stretch awake. I imagine we're tied together at the spinal cord and expanded over the globe. I know we're not side-by-side, but I feel you in the air. I can't see you, but my heart can hear you in the trembling earth as saltwater rides up the shore. I can't miss you any more than I already do -- my soul is crippled with wanting. So, come home soon, darling; ride the tide back to my waiting arms.no more sailing_c6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The waters here are
flame of the fear.if you wanted to know the truth, you would know that i am hardly ever truthful.flame of the fear.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i am a master of deceit, a fiend of dishonesty. my tongue silver and my teeth poison, and the ugly truth of the matter is that i spend so much time swallowing my own tales that i fear i am rotting with disease from the inside out. i can't stand to look in the mirror because it's looking into the face of my greatest enemy and the reflection is ugly and cracked like the worn sole of the nomad. the truth hurts like the exactness of a blade through dead flesh around a gaping wound. i am a liar and i am lying to myself. i cannot find my pulse and when i can, it's only to still the pounding that is keeping me awake late at night.
the truth is i am afraid of the truth, and afraid of the light, and if we could keep the lights out every time you touch my hips, i would never have to confront the burning sun. you would never need to see the concealed scars around my inner thighs or the white-out confessions bleeding t
skewed perceptions.it sounds poetic.skewed perceptions.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
sitting here with the window open and my hair knotted at the nape of my neck and cotton twisted around my torso, it's easy to think i'm pouring cool wine from my lips and plucking ambrosia from clouds. it's easy to think that when i'm speaking of love, i'm whispering in voices of the riverbank and looking at the not-yet-visible stars with a glazed over wonder that can only stem from a deep-rooted and profound love of soil and earth. from far away, i might look a dream. i might look soft and sweet with cherry-lips and, even perhaps, diamond-eyes that click clichés off like the tearing of dog-eared books that you bought from the secondhand store to look well-read.
i might appear hazy or vintage with a sepia overtone that seeps from beneath my fingertips and turns the bloodied edges of my life into something manageable and cinematic. you might touch the rippling corners of my mirror and wonder, think, dream, imagine. you might imagine hearts thumping ben
almost goodbye.they say the saddest word in the world is almost.almost goodbye.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
(almost happy, almost healthy, almost alive, almost in love.)
it stretches across the world and highlights the disappointment in a sigh; murmurs the sound of breaking so that it's almost bearable. it leaves you with a dissolving spine instead of a snapping one; gentle tears instead of a torrent.
(almost. nearly. close. just about.)
it's the words without the meaning, the action without the spirit. it's crossing my heart with crossed fingers and hoping to die with a crossed tongue. it's wrestling the truth on my lips and almost winning. almost convincing myself i don't love you, almost convincing myself life will still be beautiful when i rip you out of it.
(almost sleeping dreamless nights, almost waking with steady palms)
it's almost reclaiming my spine from your almost loving hands and almost not crying when my memory trips on your
silent screams.taste the venom between the smackingsilent screams.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of twin lips as they break their joint spine
and revel in the sound of death drilling
behind your eyelids until alone is a sound
you think you might want to rest in.
close your heart and button up the shutters
and board up the doors until the wind howls
and the chain is beating against the wood
with a hollow sound like a fist knocking,
but you know better, because no one has
knocked on this door since thirteen hundred
days ago when time was starting and you
had fresh pain[t] and a bright smile.
music hurts in the way of your skin peeling
and love is too bright to even look at and
the voice you want to wrap up to swallow
your breath is strangely missing and no
matter how hard you try, this absence
is just the lack of anything and you can't
drown in nothing no matter how
damn much you want to.
your back is in knots and your head is in
pretzels and you're screaming without making
a sound and crying without dropping a tear
and your flesh is melting all
fractured clocks.Anxiety is a hummingbird in the throat of those who wait.fractured clocks.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Palms wring oceans and pulses flood plains until time chokes on itself to leave the minutes battling on the brink of insanity. Each second is an entity that stands on its own, a demon to be fought and conquered. Each breath is a challenge, the air tangled in lungs before clacking teeth drag it forward to throw it shuddering into the wind. Heavy footprints echo fears on the walls, possibilities birthing and maturing and turning from fledgling shadows into heavy-handed fiends.
The door remains closed. Time ticks on.
Thunder coughs in comparison to the heart roaring across the deserted field of ribcages. Earthquakes are naught but a shrug to the desperate thrashing of imagination in the back of bruised skulls. Waiting expands, billows, an etching in a sapling blossomed into a mural on the bark of the oak. Terror of conclusions slips into the bloodsteam of unrealized futures. Imagined details swell into grotesque likelihoods, the mi
the art of waiting.goodnight moon, sing sweetly to me tonight. the curtains are drawn and your light is spilling under heavy cotton. i am lying with the windows open, and the shutters are drawn. the world is revolving around me and i am not moving an inch. i am still. i am the pinnacle upon which everything turns. with every breath i fear avalanches of mountains upon unsuspecting villages. you are too far away. i can't feel you, but i see you illuminating wooden floors. sleep hides from me in the back corner of abandoned closets. i am a statue and my heart is breaking down the concrete in my palms. i am fearless, yet i am carved from fear itself.the art of waiting.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i am asleep in my wakefulness and my feet swing to touch cool floorboards, i am walking the blueprint of my house in limbo. i touch the reality of granite counter and leather couch and leave nothing behind but the oil of my fingers. i reach the door and slide it. i reach the lawn and sink sole into dew-licked blades. you are not here, yet you are everywhere. the
chronophobia_c.the sky is dark and the ground is falling and you're holding my hand and asking me why my nerves are trembling in the middle of my palms. you're wondering at the quakes in my lips and the tsunamis breaking on the edges of my fingernails as they rack against your skeleton. you're pressing the curling edges of my pages together, straightening the spine of my molting book as i do my best to unravel at your feet. you're holding me close and whispering into my neck, asking me why i am afraid. asking me why i tremble and jerk like a bass caught on a line. asking me why the sun is reflected and lost in the whites of my anxious eyes. and my answer will come like the end of the world, whimpered into the sharp blades of your shoulder, rising and crashing as i tell you that which i fear most: time.chronophobia_c.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I can tell by the way your hackles rise and you dig your toes into the sands as the hands on the clock begin to close in on another midnight separation, that just a little is just too much and
as i cry sanctuary.the world is ending; i am borne in the bloodshed. i am stretching awake from the locked arms of the corpses, the froth of the raging sea dripping from the ends of my hair. i am naming myself death and sleeping in graves, molding sprawling metropolitan dreams from the loose sand behind the tombstones. the timeline of my hourglass is a snake swallowing its own tail. i am infinite; in this finite world, i am nothing. i watch the maddeningly swirling chaos of human destruction below the soles of my feet without a shudder. i touch the mirror and see wormholes in space. i press frayed emotion against the base of my skull and pray to science in the name of osmosis. i am whole and beautiful. i see everything; i feel nothing.as i cry sanctuary.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i am the night sky thief. i burglarize the heavens and paint them on my bones. during the day, i feel the morningstar dripping down to splatter on my pelvis, drawing forth warmth with a liquid pull from the sprawling roots in my belly. i am a statue caught forever in a m
guiding me home.you found me bleeding on the side of the road.guiding me home.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
you found me spitting up death and choking on life and letting reality throw bruising fingers around my throat to squeeze the remnants of belief. you found me quaking on the tile and shaking the entire building, my spine cracking like a weathered book. you found me as a victim of my own sense of fantasy, my own desires manipulating my nerves like a finely tuned violin playing nothing but funeral sobs. i was half-awake and half-aware and half-of-something-i-couldn't-even-label; you were in over your head.
three days later and i was stitched up with chapped-lips but swallowing whole foods and keeping it down for the first time in months. i was tasting the milk of your healing hope and the honey of your patience. i was soothed by your cool lips against my feverish forehead, but, i was still scared. i was waking up in cold sweats and breaking out to race down the corridors. i was lashing out when you tried to calm me and exploding at the bares
x marks my heart.i am lying in the field of wheat, dappled with sunlight, drunk with acceptance.x marks my heart.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i am holding my fishnet-fingers wide to catch the dreams leaking out my pores. all my wishes are exploding from behind the rib-dams too archaic and tired to stand any longer. i am smiling for the first time in months and digging my hipbones and angelblades in the soil like seeds. i am a sunflower, i am an orchid, i am pushing the petals away to reveal myself to the waiting world. i am wrapped in the warmth, gently coaxing the tangles from my thoughts, my vulnerabilities uncurling slowly to reveal their belly to the persuasion of the heat.
i am blind, but with eyes shut, i can finally see who i am.
[i'm writing you letters in braille: i wish you were here.]
i am swimming in the belly of the ocean, crusted with salt, saturated with silence.
i am breathing coral in deep to paint my insides the color of magic. i am shrugging off the weight of the past and letting it disperse with the pulse of the tide. i am f