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Literature Text
there are several shades of blind
and the one our window wears
blocks slightly less light
than death's,
for we live out a soft dark
in the unlit, north facing side
of a house neighboring his
our property lines drafted
in indistinct blur
strings of steam, pulled taught
between theoretical points
of what we misperceive as intersection
we never truly own anything
we're more witness than victim
more human than being,
more content
to waste in a circular wish
for merely more wishes
it's here, we stopped
where the people we were, somehow drifted
onto the same starless side of the road,
insides speaking through our skins
outsides yielding to anything
alive enough
to find its way through
it's here, a baby tethered to you
expertly ties a second line to the moon
before its hands are even formed
before our dream can rasp a name
into the plank wooden tongue
in my coffin of a mouth
and before either of us
can swallow splinters
the muscle memory of night
swallows us both into dream,
dreaming that moon lower, closer
our paper ladder, taller
these scissors sharp enough
to free that rock
and sink it forever skyward
and the one our window wears
blocks slightly less light
than death's,
for we live out a soft dark
in the unlit, north facing side
of a house neighboring his
our property lines drafted
in indistinct blur
strings of steam, pulled taught
between theoretical points
of what we misperceive as intersection
we never truly own anything
we're more witness than victim
more human than being,
more content
to waste in a circular wish
for merely more wishes
it's here, we stopped
where the people we were, somehow drifted
onto the same starless side of the road,
insides speaking through our skins
outsides yielding to anything
alive enough
to find its way through
it's here, a baby tethered to you
expertly ties a second line to the moon
before its hands are even formed
before our dream can rasp a name
into the plank wooden tongue
in my coffin of a mouth
and before either of us
can swallow splinters
the muscle memory of night
swallows us both into dream,
dreaming that moon lower, closer
our paper ladder, taller
these scissors sharp enough
to free that rock
and sink it forever skyward
Literature
Sleepless Fires
I’m ready for your Vampires, my heart is smoking blood and my veins are running dry; got cursed with Insomnia and Time is burning out the lights. So take what you will, you might as well, no need to pry or ply – but I’ll hold fast the Ghosts, these Monsters and Memories lately waxing in their powers – not my friends, they are my constancy. Their presence keeps me company in the cruelty of Night, it’s lonely in the Witching Hours. The Curse consumes me in Sleepless Fires.
Literature
Mistborne
I remember
Standing
On that cold bridge
As the snow fell
Gazing down
Over the precipice
Watching
The roiling surge
Of the silent currents below
Where the brume
Of dark impulses
Rose before me
Taunting phantasms
Skittering slowly
Across the churning
Surface
That misty bridge
Was a crossroads
Where the currents
Of life and death
Intersected
It is whispered
That if you are
A melancholy soul
It is at such
Unsanctified junctions
That one often meets
Their devil
And feels its ghostly breath
Trailing across
The nape of their neck
I shuddered, chilled
By the ominous prescience
Of dark compulsions
Tempting me
That slithering
Hideous curre
Literature
October short story
It was staring at me, from the window. Its eyes never wavering from meeting mine. Its mouth was just a wide jagged line of sharp teeth frozen into a lip-less smile. Its long claws curved and filthy with something awful. There was something staining the window, the street light outside illuminating chunks and making the dripping lines glow. The creature was unmoving from its spot.
The terrifying part is that it’s on the inside of the window.
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It's been a while, so..... greetings, lovely readers.
This is a pretty personal piece, hits close to home these days. Funny how things can just hover in the middle- not good news, not bad news, just a quiet hope and an unspoken maybe that things will go better this time.
Any dontations of luck, well-wishing or prayer/mediation will be gladly accepted.
Peace, dearlies!
Scott
This is a pretty personal piece, hits close to home these days. Funny how things can just hover in the middle- not good news, not bad news, just a quiet hope and an unspoken maybe that things will go better this time.
Any dontations of luck, well-wishing or prayer/mediation will be gladly accepted.
Peace, dearlies!
Scott
© 2017 - 2024 BlackBowfin
Comments4
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it's here, we stopped
where the people we were, somehow drifted
onto the same starless side of the road,
insides speaking through our skins
outsides yielding to anything
alive enough
to find its way through
The whole thing but particularly this verse, a stuck blade in my sweet spot.
where the people we were, somehow drifted
onto the same starless side of the road,
insides speaking through our skins
outsides yielding to anything
alive enough
to find its way through
The whole thing but particularly this verse, a stuck blade in my sweet spot.