Heedless
don’t stick your nose
where it doesn’t belong
don’t search for answers
to questions you shouldn’t ask
keep your head down
close your eyes
and follow
blindly
keep your hands
to yourself
and your heart
in your chest
don’t touch the stars
never drink the moon
curiosity killed the cat
the sun stole Icarus’ wings
and yet the sea accepted him
with open arms
The Favourite
The boy watches the sun set, dreading the darkness that follows. He begins to glance periodically at the old clock on the wall, its hands edging towards the night so threateningly. He plays with his dinner, a catch in his throat, as his mother watches him in worry. She does not know why her son is paler and more withdrawn with each passing day. He hasn’t told her or his father. He wants to be brave, not the silly little coward his friends had made him out to be when he told them two days ago, when it began. Still, as bedtime prowls, his heart beats faster and his knees grow weaker.
That night, he feels heavy. He shivers under the sheets and watches the shadows of trees against the streetlights dance on his walls. He thinks he sees glowering eyes. He thinks he hears someone. He stays in bed until he feels suffocated, like he may die if he spends another moment in the room- if there is really a sixth sense, it is screaming now. He jumps out of bed and stumbles into the neighbouring room, into the arms of his sleeping parents. His father doesn’t stir, but his mother wakes when she feels her trembling son crawl into bed next to her. Tears well in her eyes and she hugs him close, wondering if he’s being bullied, and whether he needs to see a school counsellor or a therapist. There isn’t enough room on the bed, she waits until his breathing calms to a regular rhythm. When she feels sure he’s asleep, she slips out of the bed into his room.
She is pale the next morning, and quieter than usual. She isn’t sure why. The next night is the same. Her son crawls in. She tries to wake her husband up this time, to see if he will move instead, but he grunts and rolls over. The following morning, they watch her clutch her steaming coffee mug until it turns cold. She stays at the dining table for the better part of the day. Meanwhile, her son hasn’t told her what bothers him, and she toys with the idea of therapy and dealing with bullies, an unconnected yet unsettling feeling lingering in the back of her mind. Two pairs of eyes shoot worried glances at the clock when the sun sets that evening. When her son crawls into their bed once more, she decides to sleep on the couch downstairs. She can’t say why, the instinct doesn’t reveal a reason she understands. When the sun rises, her husband walks downstairs to find her on the couch and asks her why. She shrugs. She isn’t as pale as she was the previous morning, though she’s stiff from an uncomfortable night of sleep.
The irritated father, sympathetic of his wife, has stern words with his son. He forbids him from disturbing his mother henceforth. The parents are undisturbed for a longer while that night, but that ends when the boy nudges his father awake, tears streaming down his cheeks. His father sighs in lethargic defeat and trudges to sleep in his son’s room that night. The mother and son don’t notice a change in him the next morning. He’s only a little more tired than usual. He silences some inexplicable nagging in the back of his mind with ease. He grumbles on the way to his son’s room when he’s disturbed yet again that night, and the night after that. After a lengthy discussion with his wife, they decide to explore options for therapy. He decides to exchange rooms with the boy until he’s better again. On the fourth night, he chuckles and wonders out loud why he seems to be the only one who can manage to catch a good night’s sleep in his son’s little room. His face falls when he hears a reply in a grating whisper. “You’re my favourite.”
#horror
Like a good neighbor
I know death. I know it well. He comes to my door unannounced and walks in without knocking. He wears all black and colors even darker that he invented himself. His lips are always set in a straight line but the few times they aren't- well you don't want to know. He drinks his coffee black like his soul, although he claims he feels sympathy for the people of this world. When he has his free time he likes to sit by the fire and watch it burn up the innocent wood he had just cut up for no reason at all. Death has no friends. He's all alone in a world of his own. He kills and takes lives away for a living, but luckily for us, he still considers himself the good guy. What would happen if he considered himself the bad guy?
forget me nots
I know it's silly
You probably don't remember me
Or at least that what's your trying to say
Your face seems confused yet shocked underneath
You've gotten better at acting
but you still wear it like a loose mask
that easily falls off with a simple tug
You say you don't know me
but I know you do
You,
who forced yourself to forget me
must have finally discovered
that people can never be intentionally forgotten
If anything,
that only makes you remember them more
Reminder
Making a difference is difficult.
You think you've gotten it,
the milky door.
The limit goes farther,
further more.
I suffer the discipline,
sub-mini gods.
Plotting the winnings
from a glowing bulb.
They choose unwisely,
it makes me burn.
The gates of my boundaries
is ruined with rocks.
When time arrives,
deceptive boss.
Sends the news
with smiles that hurts.
I breakdown,
much more than thought.
Crying dry seasons,
not rain, but dust.
No disaster can hold me,
I'm oversized for these locks.
Do better than sorry,
I see deeper than those keys.
The odds corodes me,
my words are not glowing.
No matter the number
I pick and water.
The game is rigged,
I'm loosing more than I keep.
What must I do
to change my luck?
My limit is under,
diminishing to null.
I know I'm a winner.
No boundaries!
No shackles!
Can hold me much longer.
The reality of this finger
meddling with my servers.
No network!
No connection!
Must wither to extinction.
The capacity of my dreams
is larger than all dreams.
Tortured less to sleep,
my limitless boundaries takes the wheel
I feel I must stop.
Seeds sown, no crops
realise that I'm lost
no map
Penury vibe goes hot
exceeding the sun
I'm loosing my mind
all for what?
I know they exist
Somewhere in my thoughts
I must search and move on
This boundaries are wrong
My limits might not be understood
my english is bad, more red than blue
I refuse to confine
my defenseless work of art
to please anyone
but I.
Mistakes
to learn from my mistakes
I must endure
the pain
the torment
the scars
I must take
the pain
the torment
the scars
and build armor from it
I must use the armor
make it
my protection
my reminder
my fortress
so that I may be able
to grow
to learn
to thrive
as I go forward
to learn from my mistakes
I must use my struggles
to make me
smarter
stronger
better
Strangers
do you wish we were strangers
never lovers nor friends?
would trading all the memories
be worth being happy again?
would not knowing your touch
keep us out of this rut?
or were we destined to be
and destroy the peace?
if we were strangers
would you wish to start anew?
without the scars we have now
would it we be a dream come true?
or was our destiny always laid out
no way out but through pain?
do you wish we were strangers?
because sometimes I do
Darkness
I pick the blade up
Slide it through my skin
I watch the ruby rise
A grin forms as the misery fades
The demons are screaming
My soul is aflame
My mind is a madhouse
In me the darkness reigns
I swish the water in my mouth
My stomach groans for more
I take my hand and count my ribs
No, it's not enough
The demons are screaming
My soul is aflame
My mind is a madhouse
In me the darkness reigns
