How wicked of a thought must you have to jostle a mind already organically filled with evil?
What is your terrible longing?
Piercing butterflies to save and study beauty you will never possess?
Plucking feathers from wee birds because you will never fly?
The truth is no matter how much you ply yourself with alcohol and other forms of courage I will always call your bluff.
You hit me in the face with your fistful of bad words but just what do you think you shall inflict on me with your vulgarity?
You are as threatening as a damp sweatshirt.
I am not afraid of you.
my pain multiplies
memories divide me
is my innateness a welcome addition?
does my otherness subtract from my intrinsic value?
my family was f*ucked up to the 9th power
is my father the square root?
do you know, what is the sum of me?
Another murdered midnight
under a starless sky
The words between us hang heavy
like the weight of the secrets we keep
Love is a cruel deception
for creatures such as we,
living in perpetual drought
If I could only tell you the toll it takes
being one of your lost causes
I hate it, though neither of us is innocent
The truth echoes among us
When I close my eyes the red rope tightens
I think of all the things we do in the dark
the silence sings as the rain starts
today i wondered
if joy tastes like a peach…
would it tickle my tongue with it’s fuzzy skin?
would it dribble happiness down my chin?
“I am an atheist and that’s it. I believe there’s nothing we can know except that we should be kind to each other and do what we can for other people.”
— Katharine Hepburn
“To judge from the notions expounded by theologians, one must conclude that God created most men simply with a view to crowding hell.”
— Marquis de Sade
She was dying so slowly from the poison that she never even felt ill. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that she had never felt well but she just didn’t have a point of reference.
If one is always in the darkness do they miss the light? Even if they’ve never experienced it?
Yes, yes they do. She had dreams and fantasies of course but never the energy to even attempt them. Her imagination was the only part of her that was truly alive and reading fueled her.
She at the moment was living a stationary life, too weak and limp to even get herself out of bed. But in her mind she was hiking up mountain trails, riding wild horses and visiting big cities with immense skyscrapers she only ever read about.
She heard the comings and goings in the rest of the house and wanted to know what was happening, maybe even be included for once and she tried to call out but found herself too hoarse to manage more than a whisper. A voice fades from lack of use.
She once again found comfort by carefully unfolding the tattered and yellowed piece of stationery that she always kept on her. Within its creases she spied the tiny pill, its presence reassuring. She still had some control and when she was ready she would go on her own terms.