The tea is warming, but it’s filling me with worry, and the cherry of my cigarette quakes and is alarmingly beautiful against the night’s backdrop. The concrete against my feet is neither warm or cold, and the lack of a convincing temperature is disturbing me more than it probably should, but I think that’s the tea’s doing. I’m blaming the tea because there’s nothing else other than myself to blame, and I’d rather not tonight. Let’s leave me out of this night’s bout of sadness and just let it be.
Let us doodle in my mind and create a beautiful phrase:
And together we’ll be,
but still alone
I’ll sit and sip
my melancholy tea.
Vows and Whispers
I vowed to never speak to her
nor whisper her name again.
I vowed to never reply
nor admit knowledge of her.
I have kept my vows
and have honored my promise,
but it wouldn’t be so had I
vowed to never think of her again.
I didn’t give her flowers.
I gave her a packet of seeds and told her that she will have a garden for us to plant them in and watch them bloom together.
You Lusted and I Lost
I don’t long for you anymore, but I miss the feeling I had when I did. I felt more alive knowing I wanted someone with the entirety of my being, and now that feeling is gone and I don’t know exactly when it left, and that scares me a little. I didn’t forget what it felt like, nor have I forgot your taste, but one moment I craved for it and the next I knew, it wasn’t there.
I wonder if you remember my skin between your teeth and how it felt pushing back, refusing to break. I wonder if you recall the sensation of your nails raking my back as I made you howl. I wonder if you remember how I looked at you before we first kissed and how I melted into it. Not that it matters at this point, as we both have accepted that we will never see one another again, but another question creeps into my mind:
If I don’t long for you, why am I wondering these foolish things?
It could be that I have pulled the wool over my own eyes and convinced myself that wondering isn’t longing for. Alas, I believe that I’ve done a good job in making myself believe that I no longer care for you in the same way I once did, but I am genuinely convinced that you didn’t see me in the same manner I saw you, and that’s why I’m able to walk tall. If I believed that I had your heart and lost it…
Well, even the gods wouldn’t be so cruel to me, even with all the horrors I’ve committed, so there’s no use speaking of how I could no longer live with knowing that I lost you.
So long as I have blood within me,
I have ink to tell my story.
Do you fault me for finding you enchanting?
Does it hurt to feel for me?
Is it agonizing for you,
that I may just be an idea or worse,
what you’ve dreamed of?
As the days continue,
I find myself needing you more,
but having you less.
You don’t know what I feel,
you may never know,
and that’s the beauty of it all.
My inner most desires
are mine to feel alone.
The day I share them, will end me.
I will cease to be no more,
and the person I am will fade.
Something different will be born.
What will I become if I reveal what I feel?
What magic will be felt that?
What magic indeed…
I feel the empty
more than I felt me full,
It’s all so real,
but how could this be?
Luigi uses his supernatural ability to see beyond human perception to sense an invisible pipe cover and remove it, making it visible.
Anonymous said: Your writing is incredible x
What I write are only words that I’ve managed to put together to barely form complete sentences. What makes them worth reading are the personalities and experiences that the readers have. You, dearest readers, are incredible.
It has continued to beat through everything I’ve been through. My heart never quit on me even when I was ready to.
It never once stopped beating.
The heart is the only thing
that I know of that still works
even while broken.
Try as you might, immortality is an illusion. This life comes with a death sentence but never let it stop you from living the life you want. My death sentence will end with an exclamation point and not a simple period.
Four By Eight
She was the light after darkness.
She was my break of dawn.
She’s the calm in my storm.
Come the night, she was gone.
She could illuminate my darkest fears.
She was the warmth without warning.
I wasn’t worthy of her heart.
I miss her like the morning.
– six-word stories for an eight line series.
She told me that I have an octopus heart. That I’m always flowing, feeling and full of ink and intelligence. She told me that though I’m clearly the coolest fish in the sea, I don’t even care.
I hadn’t realized that octopi aren’t fish until much later when my mind and heart were finally able to sync with one another again and laughed at the thought. I know that she was simply speaking to me and though she sent me aflutter, my first rational thought was that octopi were cephalopods.
What made her gift me with such kind words, I may never know, but I do know one thing: I have an octopus heart.
I flow and feel with it. Hearing what she said made me realize that as long as I have it, I have an everlasting supply of ink to share what I feel with those that may see. I write with its ink to escape but also to let you know that I am here,
and so long as this octopus heart beats, I will always be here.
She doesn’t understand that I hurt when she hurts. Each drag of a cigarette is not some slow-burning suicide, but a means to cope with feelings and emotions that I do not want or can’t seem to handle. When she hurts, I feel it too and cannot understand why I do. It’s never happened to me before her, and all I want is to take her pain away so that if one of us must hurt, it would be me. I’ll take it for both of us and draw in the smoke to asphyxiate the source. I will take the oxygen away until it dies inside of me and carry its carcass until I’m too heavy to move.