asterisksceptor

I can smell your golden core, the earthless wings, white-washed and torn, you've taken mine, those hands are worn, they lack to care for your bloodless sore. a bath of red, no taste to tell, but iron bars and melted rail, a molten theme of lusted sails, rippled seams, no land but hell. your gleaming teeth in diamond white, hunger for life in short supply, the sharpened axe along my thigh, with promises of land maintaining bright. I can hear your battered breaths, my wilted head against your chest, you carry me across lines recessed, so pure and simple, even in death.

but in my head you're dying, you're screaming for me to run; there's men who stand above you, not always holding a gun. sometimes they take me captive, tight fingers around my arm, thoughts wander to my destination, will anyone know where i've gone? there's pain in my back and blood on my hands, I don't want to turn around, I know you're there, no longer breathing, your last face shouldn't be that frown. sometimes I look up and you're not there, and I can no longer distinguish reality, I run through shopping centers and into your arms, you always ask to see, but there's no way to show you. I feel you warm beside me, tracing

There is a sound to silence. A crashing, shrieking ambiguity; a whining and high-pitched screech. It is as if every molecule on the planet is humming, vibrating as violently as it can, if only to be noticed for a moment. This is what we hear when Amrha listens. We wait, for a motion, for a sound, for any sign that she is back with us; for she knows what we cannot touch and has been to the realm which we cannot conceive. We wait for hours, for days, for years. Stories tell of our people waiting centuries for an answer, for now, we use the most valuable virtue of our schooling: patience. And when she opens her eyes to us, there come words. L

            STOP Bare feet on cold tile, Red face in burnt hands..    Tell me the truth,    I need to hear it.    I'm ready to run.       I'm braced.    I'm ready to fail.        Is it time?              GO

You dug the world from my eyes, saved me from that dreaming state, took mirrors to my soul, taught me to see even the most reclusive of fates; you wanted me to become your shining star, do everything you couldn't, climb mountains, race tracks, ace school, jump from tiered diving boards, but you made me broken and I can't be fixed; you think I'm going to always keep your hopes high, never let you down, write you novels, take care of your fragile, aged body, but I'm running... and I don't plan on ever looking back.

It's your eyes, watching what I say, searching for the answers to questions you refuse to ask, and your fingers, laced within each other, listening to the way I move, the beats of my breath, and your ears, feeling the things I show you, the pictures I paint, waiting for a dark secret, a vibrant splash of song. It's your mouth, forming thoughts I can't see, sounds I can't feel, images I can't hear, pouring icing over hollow spaces, layers to an empty soul; and I am drowning in your disbelief, the inability to understand, smothered by your attempts to see words I haven't spoken, suffocating beneath the existence you never claim.

Do you believe in heaven? It doesn't matter what I believe. Do you believe in such a place? On the best days of my life. But your life isn't over, how can you distinguish the days? Precisely. -- Do you believe in god? Emily, I've told you, it doesn't matter what I believe. But it does. No, I am here to help you. What matters is you. That doesn't make any sense. It makes perfect sense. There's no such thing as perfection. It was a figure of speech. So was the first. -- Do you believe in existence? I'm afraid I don't understand the question. Care to explain? Sometimes, I forget I'm alive. I feel like I'm the main character of

You told me the pebble was a fortune stone, worth it's weight in life (lies). You said is would bring you closer, swore you'd never again deceive. But three months later all that's changed is the size of the rock I hide for you, all else stayed the same. So tell me, my cleverly veiled friend, have you changed at all? Or are you still that boy I promised I would wait for, the one who never could be honest about the way he feels?

I am running. bare feet on mossy ground, soft with winter's dew. I am caged. fences rise to fourteen feet, no one ever grows that tall. I escape. after a year of devious plans, one does not fail. I am free. I am scared. I am a wolf. chasing that idiot child of the village for a meal. I am a creature of speed, a clever contraption of darkness and death, never afraid. I see a light in the clearing. I am scared. I am a hero, the creator. illuminated by the unseen source, I am protected, I shield my naive daughter, save her from the fangs. I am angry. held by a falsified paladin, who thinks himself a god. I am placed. back in t

put pressure, there, right between the ribs, drain the blood from my soul, whisper dying tips, correct the way I sit and heave, fix the way I breathe, wouldn't want heaven's gates forced to make me leave. but what is god and what is love? who are these magic kings? why did they see the stars align, while I miss everything? put pressure there, on rightfoot's palm, the unwillingly tightened band; I'll tell you where his name comes from, if you swear to hold my hand. for what is god and who are we? such fragile little things, when feelings define all our world, we cease to know what they mean.