FliesFliesMore Like This
One spring day, the Smithsonian Institute, in Washington D.C., received a curious artifact as a donation. Someone had presented the institute with a statue, claiming it was dated to the reign of Ashurbanipal and that it was a representation of the god Baal. The statue was old bronze and showed a humanoid with two pairs of insect-type wings, a fly’s head with pincers, antennae and compounded eyes, and six arms in various poses. The institute needed verification of this strange artifact; so they asked both Clifford Rogers and Puabi to study it. Familiar with Babylonian culture, Puabi gave a believable opinion.
“Superintendent, representations of almost all of the deities of Babylon have varied. I would believe that this is one of Bael. He has been called Lord of the Flies.”
“Madame, that was what the disciples of Jesus called him.”
“In fact, Superintendent,”
PastI rememberMore Like This
Rough loveAm I to say it's rough love,More Like This
When you shudder and scoff when I say I'm beautiful?
But then again, I've never been very pretty.
Am I to say it's rough love,
When you don't even let me touch you?
I guess you've never been very huggable,
But could you at least let me high-five you?
Am I to say it's rough love,
When you say I'm insane, aggressive, crazy?
But then again, we've always fought a bit.
I guess I'm used to it.
Insults, pushing sometimes,
It's all part of the system.
But even the system has its limits.
Too rough isn't good.
Remember that time you said I wasn't creative,
Then I didn't talk to you for the rest of the day,
No matter how you apologised?
I guess rough love is what we've got... But you gotta be careful, too.
White HoodieTrinkets, ink bottles, and fake tattoos;More Like This
I walked pass a stream of people between islands
Of striped tents with smiling shop keepers. The sun’s rays
seeped gently against my then pale skin
enveloped in white sleeves.
I sighed, forcing to busy myself with the same
stuff. My shoulders continued to brush against the arms
of strangers passing in every direction, enamored by the goods
in the striped tents. I feigned ignorance on the internal void
nagging at me to call you to my side. ‘There’d have been no
space for you in this crowd anyway’, I justified.
Then I felt a tap on my shoulder;
I turned around and saw you catching your breath;
In between huffs, I heard you speak:
“I was looking for you.”
I asked you how you found me and you tugged
At my sleeves: “I don’t know anyone else
who would wear that under this pleasant weather.”
I chuckled. That which you found pleasant
was the very same thing I hid from. Stil
Leaving HomeI can hear the laughter of the fewMore Like This
I can see the bright smiles of the weary.
These faces are ones I know well
They are family.
These are the people I know best, the ones with the fake smiles
The depressed and the weary all too familiar.
I bid adieu to the ones I know best
The ones with the dead and lifeless eyes.
I bid adieu to the home I knew, the weariness all too familiar.
Cold I'm unnerved by my lack of emotionMore Like This
She's lying there on the floor
and I feel nothing
Its only a cold…a headache…so why can’t she get up? Is she really as fragile as she is?
Another question nags at my mind as I go through the motions
Following my father's orders as I run through the house
Could she be faking?....
How can I even consider the possibility that she is?
I must dismiss any ludicrous ideas
but as I reject one idea
another immediately takes its place
Could they come together again for the sake of their daughter?
but once again the answer is no
and my hopes vanish again when they walk past each other without a word
I feel nothing, I had briefly worried for her
but it has vanished along with my hopes
But this is what really worries me
when did I become so cold?