sanguinethe hay is sticking to my fingers.sanguine in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"oh god, what have i done?"
i am greeted with silence, a river of red dancing at my boots. i see the pitchfork, stained crimson at its tines, and my stomach convulses.
her dress is torn, animalistic claws shredding the length of its blue skirt, and her legs scraped raw. i see her face, see what i have done to its beauty, and sink to the floor of the barn until the scent of moist earth fills my nose.
"i'm sorry, i'm so, so sorry." my voice sounds strangled and far away. "elisabeth, forgive me. i'm so, so sorry. i will be a better man, i swear, i will be good to you."
my hands stumble to her wet shoulder, up her reddened neck, and rest on the ruins of her face. "oh god, what have i done?"
she is a ghost, and i am a ghost of my self. i am empty as my stomach heaves its malevolent contents into a mound of hay, and i cry as my fingers stumble over the barn phone, leavin
skinless boy pt. 2on thursdays i go to therapy. i talk about symptoms instead of sources, i talk about numbers instead of names. id call it a defense mechanism, and id rather talk about maslows hierarchy of needs than my own.skinless boy pt. 2 in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
you have never come up.
her name is nicole. ill tell her that i dont care if my doctor is considering locking me in the hospital, i still want to be skinny, but telling her about you is an uncrossable line. youre a figment of my imagination and you just so happen to break my heart with every pill you swallow.
the doldrums to the progressions.
where is your fucking soul.
you get me bleeding without blood. if i had known where you were headed, i wouldve stolen the road right out from under you. it burns my belly how i call no one beautiful - it feels like your name, turning pirouettes in the tangles of my stomach. i cringe at its every re
a waste of love"you can't care about me?"a waste of love in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
you asked, an upstream tilt
like a curl of smoke trailing the end of your sentence -
hear me, please:
i have loved, i have lost
i have hated both and hated the interstitial space more;
i have bled over you, i have bled over virgin lilies,
and ruined them for all this world is worth -
it wasn't what you said that bloodied me up,
it wasn't even how you said it;
just your face was the blankest ream of pale paper,
paler than bone
and cleaner than my pastor's history.
you were blanched of any emotion,
utterly void of dark or light,
but your eyes held every feeling worn on the heart
i watched them swim and drown and become reborn,
flickering like the fire in a diamond below the sun.
it took every stitch of skin,
every pore and spine-straight scar,
not to let myself crawl into you,
my abandoned seashell;
not to take in every ounce of your bones
with my lips or fingers,
not to let you live in my heart
just to ruin it
morning thoughtsi woke up and suddenly you weremorning thoughts in Free Verse More Like This
not real anymore.
it felt like invisibility, it felt like alone
it was the world taking away
my sense of colour, an empty friday night.
you were only a shadow because
that's all that unrequited memories are.
it's the week after the death of
your pet bird but you still keep the
copper wire cage because you
just can't bear to stow it away so
instead you expect to hear his
goodnight, baby boy`goodnight, baby boy in Short Stories More Like This
when you lay in bed tonight and decide, with tears in your eyes that you're better off without me, just know that i was laying, trying to remember that breathing does help the numb ache that keeps me awake through the night.
just know that i feel hollow and sick without knowing i can run to you.
and when i close my eyes, all i will be able to see is you. and when you curl into a ball and hug your knees, to try and make yourself feel safe, just know that i was alone, trying to steady my breathing, longing to be able to lay beside you.
and it'll all be okay, in the end;
that's what i used to tell myself.
it will all be okay
in the end.
mornings on suburban trainsdearest, you have thunder in your eyesmornings on suburban trains in Teen More Like This
and lacing your fingertips
the mornings that you sit across from me on suburban trains; they are the brightest mornings of all. i could spend the whole trip admiring each curl in your hair and the shape of each fingernail if only i had the time. sometimes our legs brush when we sit across from each other, and my heart skips, but i don't think you even notice. your gaze lingers on the scenery outside the window; as if you wished you were outside too. as if the train was a cage.
if only you would let me, i could brighten your mornings too.
the afternoons that we exit the train at the same stop, they are the warmest afternoons of all. we split ways at the end of the station; i go left and you go right, but listening to your heels tap against the concrete even for thirty seconds makes me want to hold you in my arms and never, ever let you go.
the morning you smiled at me, i think my heart stopped momentarily. you had off-white teeth and dimples
when i was young: one.when i was young i wanted to fall in love. in real, uncontrollable, can't live without each other kind of love. the kind of love that makes you so happy it hurts, and the kind of love that never, ever ends. i wanted to be the girl who was always smiling, the girl who was wise beyond her years.when i was young: one. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
now, i realise that kind of love doesn't exist. that kind of love is a fraction of a fairy tale, it's a part of the sky, it's the colour in your irises. it's everything we can't be. it's the only thing that will tear you apart from the inside out.
and now, i realise that to be wise, you have to be hurt - you have to hurt over and over and over again, and you have to learn how to put yourself back together.
you have to watch your entire world fall apart, and you have to watch the people that have always been there walk away. you have to have ached, cried, screamed, and given up, only to get back up and try again.
he taught her -happiness does not consist in getting something -he taught her - in Free Verse More Like This
it consists in becoming something.
when spring comes - one.his bedroom is dimly lit, with a musty smell that reminds me of my grandparents old house. the curtains are dark and thick; allowing only small, fragmented beams of light through the dust-coated window. he has mattresses on his floor, slathered in thick, patterned blankets and old pillows. in the corner he has an old stereo system, with two large speakers sitting on top of it. from it plays a quiet, scratchy 1920s band - a jaunty and jazzy tune that scares away the silence that usually hangs gloomily over his bedroom.when spring comes - one. in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
the paint on the right hand wall was cracked and peeling in places but for the most it was covered with old photos that stretched from the floor to the roof. some of them made me smile as i ran my eyes over them, still trying to remain conscious of his movements behind me. i turned to face him and saw that hanging on either side of the windows were large, cracked mirrors in dark wood frames. i told him it was probably dangerous to have them there, and he smiled and told m
maybe in the morning,-maybe in the morning, in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
she remembers watching the sunset from her father shoulders and thinking that it was as if the sun was dying. as if its long life was slowly falling away behind the skyline and that it sprayed colors across the ever-darkening sky to remind people that death is a beautiful thing. that in the morning, a new sun would rise and everything will be bright.
when she dies, she wants to go out like a sunrise. she wants people to watch in awe as she changes everything just one last time and makes death beautiful.
she's older now, and she imagines that death is like being awake at night; the comforting silence and the dark that accompanies it. feeling like you're nowhere, that nothing exists. on the outside, everything will be like a sunset but on the inside of death you'll be alone, but you'll be safe and nothing will hurt you.
then a new sun will rise in your place as you watch the colors of the sunrise that you ever so often forgot about. this new sun will warm the hearts of your mourners
puzzle pieceswhen i close my eyes, i go back.puzzle pieces in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
sometimes, if i try hard enough, i can even convince myself it's real.
the sky is empty. it's like an endless blue abyss of nothingness, dotted only by the sun, hanging effortlessly above us - perfection in its simplest form.
it's warm, and our hands are intertwined between us as we lay in the grass watch the silhouettes of birds cut through the blue canvas of the sky. i hear the air stir through the tall trees in my yard, and suddenly there is a refreshing breeze that skims our exposed skin and brings us back, reminds us of the reality around us.
i turn to face you, and in your eyes i can see the sun's reflection tangled with the brown flecks of your irises. we don't speak, but you lift yourself from the grass and press your lips gently to mine, and i can feel your lips slowly upturn to a smile, and i realise you make me happier than i've ever been before.
you were an ethereal epitome of everything i've ever wanted.
and i miss you.
the new yearwhen you were just a boy, did you imaginethe new year in Free Verse More Like This
that you would bring down the sky?
i bet you didn't think you'd ever make anyone cry
now look at you -
your mother cries every night, and your father cries
when he drives home from work
in the car
and me, well
i don't cry.
instead, i burn incense and choke on the smoke,
and i plant flowers just to watch them die
every man i've ever been with, after you
their hands have run themselves over my ribcage,
their lips over mine
a mess of heavy breathing
and quiet, stifled moans
but i close my eyes
and i don't imagine you,
but i imagine that maybe they might
the way you did
i heard your voice the other day
in my mind
it made my skin crawl
and i hid under my covers
but i didn't cry
i didn't cry
do i cry.
acceptanceyou wake up shaking, but you're not cold.acceptance in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
you throw up everything you eat, but you're not sick.
you cry every night, but you've got everything to be happy for.
you scream in pain, but nothings happening.
you take pills, but you can't feel anything,
and you say you live for love.
life isn't about what you live for,
it's who you live for.
james.i stare at an empty page for hours on end, trying to think of what you mean to me. it's the hardest thing i've ever had to write - a letter explaining how much you've changed my life, shaped my mind, and how much you've taught me.james. in Letters More Like This
my whole life, i've let myself grow attached to the people who hurt me the most, the people that would eventually leave. a year ago, i felt like the sun had no reason to rise - that life was just a lonely road with no destination. when you sat with me that night, in the pre-dawn, mid-winter air, i jumped into the unknown with my eyes closed tight - hoping for the best. we sat, and watched the sun rise over my back fence, and i felt like, that morning, the sun rose for us.
now i feel like, each day, as long as i know that i can fall asleep thinking of you, the sun rises for a reason. you give my life purpose.
it would take me months to write down everything i remember about the past year, but i want you to know that i cherish every moment i spend with you, and
the play on words: act iact ithe play on words: act i in Free Verse More Like This
opening scene, or opening of your
legs. either way something is happening.
curtains spreading, this is no walt disney
dream, this is a tim burton nightmare.
mickey mouse is holding an axe, edward
hearthands is in the making.
car enters stage. mission:
call shot gun.
call a shotgun.
kill. kill. kill.
this is a shot gun
i got shunned,
death is in order.
oh no not in the first scene,
anne frank found us, is that
irony at the least.
so the setting is world war two.
what else is new, this is a constant
world war, rejuvenation of the 1940s,
the great depression, what a joke.
this is the great ending.
the final beginning.
a nuclear explosion of
this is the era of
you're a two faced penny
worthless in price. shiny
at the touch, and dull underneath.
call cleopatra, she is going to want
to see this.