My fight with a flyOkay, I just had an experience that reminded me of a struggle recently displayed on deviantart between some dude and a blue shirt (fuzzydemon made a comic about it) here it goes:Enter a dark bathroom. What startles you the most? Me, a fly that whizzes by my ear. I turn on the light and see a fly that dwarfs any normal fly. It is so fat that I truly believe it was stopping frequently just to catch its breath.Now me being the gentle type refused to just rip off a piece of toilet paper and squish the little bugger (and believe me, it wasn't that hard. An elephant could sneak up on this thing. So me being the ingenious type, I try to find anything that could be a temporary jail. I find my sister's soap-box-whatever and make my move. As I suspected an easy catch.Now if this were just a regular soap box, I probably would have released the fly outside, but it had a transparent top and it oddly attracted the idea of shaking the box to see the fly's reaction. So I give it a little shake and
the trouble isi'd like life to bequiet and lovelylike distant church-bellschiming through snow,muted by the smell ofan old book and thefeel of a fire warmingme into my chair, anda mug of tea, steepingthe moment in hushedgratitude, easily in reach.
Angel LHair black and wildEyes with no sleepDark bags under your eyesLips that taste of sugarWings perking out of your slouching shouldersClean white long sleeve shirtLegs crouching in faded blue jeansNot a posture of an angelBut you are lovelyIn your own wayMy angel L
for unseeing eyesladen with skywe stumbledand painted mockingbirdson loveless branchesfolding in our slender limbsand ducking under our ownvoices, fidgety and frailagainst the wall of night.between the dipping bladesand drawn shoulderswe learned to craft our wordssteady-soft,a drumming rainthat carved canyonsin open hearts anddrew the sunshine toour supping lips.keen-eyed, we watchedremembering the weightof unseeing eyesand scalding remarksand we learned to slipthe noose-knots and slidethrough the soul-cracksand somehowbuild kingdoms underupturned noses.with lyrical uncertaintyand tender determinationwe built a pyre of peacein the shadowsof dissonanceand watched it blazethe truth across ourpliant hearts.as solemnas new leaves still curledand stretching handsunfurled in suppliancewe lifted our headsin broken laughter,for this light is our burden,and even a whispercan shatter silenceand bring the blindto sight.
SuicideWhen I woke up,I expected you to be alive.I expected the end of your letterTo say something like,"I'm right behind you,You moron!"But that never happened.When I woke up,You were still dead.You aren't dead to me.You should be alive,You should be here with me!Where are you?Why did you leave?You didn't have to go!I would've cared for you!I would've rescued you!There are still people who love you!You didn't have to kill yourself!You didn't have to die.I can't believe you're dead.I can't believe you're dead.
i can't promise you anything.i made a mistakewhen i told you that i could love youforever. i know now that the only thingi can know for certain is that nothingwill ever be certain again. we couldwake up tomorrow and feel somethingcompletely different. we could wake uptomorrow and be completely different.that's the exciting part. it's also thepart that makes it hard to even fall asleepin the first place.my heart attacksmy every whim and everyday is this whirlwindof terror and elation and i don't even knowwhere to end or begin or if this makes senseanymore, but the one thing i've come to realizeis the worst kind of lie will always be theones you don't even know you're telling. soi'd say i'm sorry, but i'd like to think youalready know. it's nothing worth repeating.nothing ever is.when i'm tiredi tend to miss you in an overwhelming sort of way just because i'm not strong enough to fightthese feelings full time. i'm more of a halfwaygirl, but there are a few things i fully understan
SleepPerhaps it's the pressing consciousnessthat across the worldpeople are at work and schooland walking sad with worryDid people sleepbefore they had to think of that?Or perhaps it's the dreamsthe ones you hate or hate to wake fromthat don't offer their portentsas long as you are staring at the screenor the printed pageor the windshield.Or maybe there's a part that thinksif you can just push the night clock roundDare yourself not to close your eyeslike the everyday sun-wakersTo walk yourself through morning and beyondthe world will have to change somehow.And the next time you give inyou will wake to something differenta place that's slightly newand rings with intensityPerhaps just a little betterthan the night's rejected dreams.
Coffee Shop MemoirsPhilosophers thinkWe may dream our reality.With earphones attached liked IVsI dream my own melodic universe.Until someone laughs behind meAnd strikes up conversation with a friend.And in that moment they become my anchorAre they spinning through my dreamOr am I spinning through theirs?Sometimes life fits in a coffee cup,Sometimes inspiration pours out slowly like a packet of honey,And sometimes it all mixes togetherLike liquid incandescence that I drink right after brewing.When no one speaks to me for hoursI begin to wonderIs everyone dreaming a reality that includesThe whole café but me?The street outside the windowWith passing strangers, dogs and carsIs a whole new Milky WayWaiting to be discovered.But I am no space explorerAliens are beyond my reach.Whispers of the people aroundReach my ears distinctlyLike waves lapping on the shore.Words on paper go no wayTowards proving that I was ever hereMy identity is slowly condensedNot into the people who kno
on not knowing.this road was ten miles long.i traveled barefoot.
An artist (revised)Staring blankly at a white sheet of paperCan truly be an artist’s worst nightmareAn artist’s duty as its shaperTheir thoughts up in the clouds somewhereLooking for bits of inspirationTheir eyes searching the skiesNothing can break their concentrationNothing can blow out the passion in their eyesBeing an artist does not always mean you are skilledYou do not need to be Picasso or BachIt means you want to see your dream fulfilledAnd that you will never give in to an art block
devious morphsleep is naturalsleep is necessarysleep is wantedsleep is desireddeeep is wierddevep is unnaturaldevap is not sleepdevart is devious