Moonbeam EpiphaniesYou sit on the windowsill in a stranger's room, gazing out at nameless people, their faces sickly yellow beneath the streetlights. The stranger's breaths are an unfamiliar rhythm, out of sync with everything you once knew. Now you're tuned into all that is off-beat; the wrong radio frequency, and a broken dial. You wish to be outside, but if you left, you'd be wishing you were right back here. Because restlessness, ironically, is attached to you in one steady place, but you can't figure out where. Like a phantom itch, impossible to satisfy. Wanderlust, minus the desire; just because you don't know what the hell else to do. If you're still, it all settles in; everything you can't face will prove that it's here to stay. So you run, because no, no, no, not yet, please just wait... Your hourglass figure ticks, the sand knocking against your ribcage: Can I come in now? If you keep moving, the grains, the seconds, bounce around aimlessly but never fall, never fall into reality. Moonb Moonbeam Epiphanies by minninnewah
LiminalI woke after thirteen hours of sleep and when I looked in the mirror, there were still bruise-purple crescent moons beneath my eyes. tired no longer comes from a lack of sleep—it has reached a state of permanence, engraving itself into my bones. When you ask how I am, I will now answer: cold and tired. It was later that night when I tasted the liquor cabinet to see what all the fuss was about. Whiskey burns as it goes down and settles in the cavity of the heart, encompassing it with a hug that a lover will never reach. I now want to know if I will ever be able to melt. I used to close my eyes beneath the night sky, as everything in the universe was staring me down, and beg that one of the billions of beings out there would make me smaller. If that tiny girl in a big open field, beneath the big open sky, who hadn't ever seen the big open sea, got her wish, would she even be able to see herself in the mirror? Liminal by xthe-eleanorx
Changes Due"See the way the top of the building blinks?" he asks, pausing to breathe some warmth into his stiff fingers. "Steady blue, clear view. Flashing blue, changes due. Steady red, rain ahead. Flashing red, snow instead." We stand beneath Boston's skyline, the February sky spite hard, tiny flakes that don't even feel like snow at us. I begin to wonder if we are trapped inside a snow globe of the city, as if someone bumped the one that I bought for my grandmother when I moved here. "Changes due, what does that mean?" He shrugs back at me, "The guy who wrote it probably just needed something to rhyme with blue." I pull my hands from my coat pockets and press them to his cheeks as I think of all the things that rhyme with blue. Glue. Flu. Queue. Askew. The color returns to his cheeks as he places his hands on top of mine "What would I do without you?" Hue. Screw. Through. Dew. "Do you want to go to Starbucks?" he continues. "I think you need something warm." I nod as he t Changes Due by xthe-eleanorx
...signaling a beginning.It is much too cold for May. Morning, cold iridescence breaking in. He hates the cold now, you see. Although, He thought he'd always dislike heat as he had since six at school. Fond of hugs and of sun, being teased as 'sticky Steve'. I guess deprivation is one key to curing some sorts of incongruities. It was much too cold that day as well. Calendar and watch and lucky compass all set out. Wind serenely flouncing, roads skimpily iced. Mrs. and son and their Tahoe by electric barbwire were mutilated- smokey, sliver served. As he sat there Skewered, eyes feasting forcibly, forcibly surviving. He wrapped a robe around his pajama-clad boody, scouting his bedside for his glasses. Then, rummaging through the porch bushes for the newspaper. May 02, 2012 is today. "The four year anniversary of the taboo tragedy..." "The culmination of 1 year and 8 months and 13 days in mental asylum... sentence out..." "...younger sister and aunt of victims... piercing the tires" "...will deservedly decay in a ...signaling a beginning. by Sammur-amat
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