Run, child, run.
There is nowhere to go.
No sanctuary. No home.
It's a target for a raid.
No choice but to flee.
But there is no place safe
for a child not more than nine.
Too poor for school.
Too poor for health care.
Too poor to eat.
Too poor to dream of a better tomorrow.
They are coming, dear child. Run.
The rich can only wait
Until headlines show
Your blurred face, lying
face flat on the ground,
Lifeless.
And for a second exclaim their
Useless pity, sitting and drinking
their expensive tea and eating away
Without a care. Proud of their money.
Feeling lucky they're child is
Studying among the elite,
Safe and sound.
Run as far as your little legs
can carry you. They would come
And find you anyways. No one
can escape the prized force
Of a delusional president.
Martial Law at repeat,
It's target; children.
You'll soon be a statistic.
Just run even when there is
No hope. God bless you.
God bless this country
Where children are branded
As criminals. And not the
Plunderers, and thieves
T

Mother always told me that “Nobody ever looks good dead.”
And for the most part I agree with that sentiment.
There is only so much good man can do with
with their open casket and straight-faced
motionless REM of the damned; jaded to the polyester fibers
and wood varnished abodes they could have called home
if not for the dismaying reality that they aren’t actually sleeping.
Although try telling that to the young who still full well believe that
jolly ol’ Saint Nick visits these unaware junior mourners.
Mother always told me she’d prefer cremation;
go out in a blaze of glory despite the fact that her remaining single
carcass chain would join the rest of her dime a dozen dead brethren.
Just only many a degree hotter than the formaldehyde friends will
ever experience. With a small urn to leave me with.
A sad sack sacrilege spittoon slapped and slopped on my psyche.
“Thanks for living and expanding the gene pool! Here’s your…
   

Icy spheres like stars are spattered
Through ruins of the golden days
Where the memories lie shattered
In white-clad tombs from sky’s cold grace.
Between the brittle, time-shred stones,
Marks left behind by bare men’s feet
Lay tracks towards two broken souls:
Two seekers who shall never meet.
In longing for the past they miss
They stray through well-known tides abroad
Each striving towards their own bliss:
One found himself, one found his god.
Two seekers have exiled their mind,
Stunned by a newfound kind of frost,
Since both are thinkers of one kind
But ever lone; for both are lost.

Verse 1 –
Reach out and touch someone,
or so mother used to say.
Now chain-links and chicken wire
keep your neighbors at bay.
Each time the sun goes down
a shade pulls over your eyes;
Lock the doors and say your prayers,
and wait for the chips to fly.
Chorus –
Another dark night in the city;
another day in no-man's land.
She never sleeps or offers pity
She'll cut you down right where
you stand.
Verse 2 –
Reach up and touch the stars,
or so mother used to sing.
Now smog swallows the streetlights
as you greet a silent spring.
Each night a boy lies down,
a sheet pulled over his face;
Only have one shot to blow up
before you get blown away.
Chorus –
Another dark night in the city;
another day in no-man's land.
She never sleeps or offers pity
She'll cut you down right where
you stand.

     Surrounding the Orcish Kingdom are the Seven Goblin Tribes. The Orcs first made contact with the Goblins thousands of years ago when the humans drove them from eastern Auvropa. At first, there was hostility between both sides. The Orcs wanted to establish a new kingdom and subjugate the goblins who they saw as inferior and needed to be conquered. The goblins, who never trusted outsiders, immediately went to war with them.
     After a terrible war, the Orcs were victorious. Numerous tribes were systematically destroyed- either from the war or were absorbed into other goblin tribes. Only fourteen tribes were left standing- those who were deemed worthy by the Orcs. They were forced to settle in the mountains surrounding the newly-christened Orc Valley.
     After the war, a pact was made between the two races. The Goblins would be used as the first line of defense against any incursion from the outside and they would be pro

“Don't give up just yet. Tell yourself they're lilies, victims of the fall.”
    Even then, the boy without a home lost his supper in the presence of their wilt.
“You are the farmer; dig them down and move on.”
The chilling air whirs and whips around the way.
With it came signs of winter's day.
Snow clumps the field, begging ground to lay.
Lovely, but the stench meant he could no longer stay.
“To keep up harvest,” said a man on-route to Koba, “count your seeds, pace them right, and soon, you'll have a garden.”
   Mosin-naught was its name: the bearer of the seeds.  The boy got good at using it, handle popping out a shell to clash against buried grassland – pushing down with the slightest thud. Not a sound in a city full of hungry men.
    Cart in.
    Pop.
    Click.
    Ready to go.
    Off to make

Perhaps you don't even know, but each day, somewhere in a forest a pair of poised, proud warriors meet in a grove: they are clad in a vibrant, colourful armor that gleams like a beetle's caparace in the sun, and they have come there in order to settle a feud.
The exact reasons behind the quarrel change with each passing day, but they always boil down to matters of pride and property, for both knights have a claim over the same patch of land.
These fair knights follow a code, a set of old laws that have hold sway over forests and other green places since time inmemorial; and these laws call for a duel in order to solve grievances of this kind.
Soon, the clearing is lighted up by flashes of dazzling colours and rings to the sounds of heated, pitched battle as the adversaries twirl and twist around one another.
Their coveted prize, lies on the very center of the clearing: a vermillion cup filled to the brink with liquid, syrupy gold.

A/N: Click for trigger warnings at the bottom of the page.
    Let’s talk about Abraham Maslow. I’m sure you remember this from our time at university, but I think it bears repeating. It’s a nice frame, you know. Easier to point out what went wrong when you know what would have been right. Why else study anything?
    So: Maslow. At the bottom of his hierarchy, there lie our basic needs. Food, sleep, air. Sex. Animal needs that inform everything loftier we aspire to. We’re not any better than chimps. You can’t really blame us. It’s basic biology.
    What do you think the best way to neutralize a threat would be? Not through anything as extreme as death, of course. But the best way to distract someone from what they might want to do to you. I’ll tell you, though we both know already. Attack them at their most basic, cut away their foundation. Make sure they can’t

i
You always said the grass was greener
On the other side of the ground
As you sawed her heart in half
Like she was your own magical assistant
And if pain is the new beautiful
Then death must be so damn glamorous
ii
She never broke quite the way
You wanted her to
But even in pieces
She'd rather fight you
Than try dying
iii
The weather makes no difference to funerals.
iv
There are rainbows on my wall made from beer bottle prisms and shards of shattered dreams. Lately it seems the storm clouds in my eyes just won't evaporate and the lightly dusted bruises fade slower than they usually do.
v
She had smiles like revelations
And heaven knows
I could do with a revelation