Northern english translationNorthern English translationMore Like This
For times untold, the sacred forest of Baalhiam has seen bitter strife between humans and the Elf people. A high magic place, foremost sanctuary of druids and mages, the forest is home to the Elves of Nür. They are the guardians of a powerful magic taking its source at the heart of the old forest.
As human mages came to steal this magic, war broke out. The Elves closed down their borders. They concealed the pathways through Baalhiam with magical spells, driving humans away from their territory. From then on, Baalhiam became a forbidden place for foreigners. Cendre and her family are among the banned people, who soon discover what tragic curse has befallen them. While the immemorial forest is a mighty source of magic, those who are expelled after being born and raised there stand condemned. After several years spent far from the forest, they fall inexplicably ill. Try as she might to fight against it, Cendre loses mother and
sometimes i forget how to breatheAn overwhelming need to shut myselfMore Like This
underwater and drink in my inevitable
death. Crawl out to shore and gasp
out apologies while tending to cut knees,
but leave the internal damage. Find something
to tether me to the ground, clutch it
between pruned and shaking hands.
Water drips off my nose, down my arms,
plinks into the puddle in my lungs.
I am drowning on dry land, choking
on the irresistible thought of you.
Shadow PuppetI worshiped you,More Like This
madly thrumming against the walls,
and you were unaffected by my
Darkness surrounded me in my naivete,
strangling the light
to mock my vain attempts at earning your attention.
My flailing limbs drummed out
desperation against your cold stone.
You did not move.
Dance with me--
the repetition of my futility.
You wouldn't even do me the honor
of holding me at arm's length.
mesmerized by my disjointed movements,
as random nerve endings fired.
They saw only my self-destructing.
You were the constant--
you quickly became the scenery,
unflinching at my every turn.
They couldn't fathom the reason
for my dissonant beating against the concrete;
I was their circus of breath
as I tried to bend what is certain.
unwilling to quiet the
thud, thud, thudding;
and so, I danced.
A Study in Mathematicsi am a collection of ideas,More Like This
an incondite mass of ianthine
synapses, veins, nerves;
this is my invisible ichnogram.
i am iamb and ictus,
i am idolum.
if someone could see me
in every facet
each incompossible part
perhaps i could be real
misunderstandings left.More Like This
when we finally felt right, turns out, we were wrong.
Lying in WaitHear me read itMore Like This
To my surprise there was a corpse inside me,
folded up flat pack in my belly,
waiting for the day I died
when it would rise to the surface
and take control of entropied limbs greying.
It was a shock to find it
curled up beneath the intercostals.
Just beneath the blush and bruise it bides its time
Occasionally stretching and pushing
up through my plastic to try and take control
But as I live and breathe,
it sulks in the archives of my pancreas
And dreams sullenly
of the many ways I may be overthrown
To my surprise there is a dead girl inside me,
peel back my flesh and see,
waiting for the grave day
when it will rule imperical over a six by six by three.
But it is a comfort to know that when I am gone
her cyan lips will kiss mothers again,
they will print goodbyes on cheeks again
without my knowledge.
So when I die
and she seamlessly takes my place and posture
I will finally rest my conscience easy.
FragmentsI call them fragments, the parts of me that were too exhausted to stay. He calls them flecks because I am a flake. I wish I was a flake. It sounds prettier than being a fragment. Flakes are like snow. Soothing, falling from the sky on the tip of his tongue that melt and disappear. Fragments are archeological findings of a scarred past we really should not remember.More Like This
I want to remember my scars. So I am a fragment.
I draw on my legs. When my skin dries out, I use my index finger as a pencil and draw what the clouds are trying to tell me. Sometimes it’s a dog, and sometimes it’s a bear and sometimes it is his face looking at me disapprovingly.
That is when I stop drawing.
At night, when the rain falls, I sit at the bay window and pretend to write stories whilst he pretends to sleep. “What are you writing?” he will ask in his asleep voice. “A funny story.” It is not. It is a pale, scary story, and it looks like my skin. “Were you dreamin
19 Years OldI was just nineteen years oldMore Like This
When I cut myself in two
The boy I wanted them to see
And the boy they never knew
Hid my hollow bones away
I've been hiding ever since
Yes, you may see the odd smile
But only ever a glimpse
But my heart was never broken
It was born in several pieces
And with every passing year
The size of the segments decreases
I was just nineteen years old
When I died for the first time
I did not cope so well
With leaving my childhood behind
I didn't want to face up
To these wretched bent back blues
But will I give in to the struggle?
No, with respect I refuse
See my grandfather gave me
The stubborn heart of an ox
I will die before I collapse
A coward I am not