charcola
the slope is long, arduous and slipping. my legs wander, scraping down the rock. at the bottom, something awaits.... it rests, but every crumbling rock creeps closer to waking the beast. Still, i creep on. Suddenly, a misstep. A slip....
the aftermath leaves the ground still glowing. firey fibres glistening where we made marshmallows, and toasted to toasty nights in poly tents, hoping bears don't choose us as dessert. i liked those nights. even if i'm leaving now, i'm still glowing.
sandwiches and fingerprints
imagination coiling around silly memories
i want to erase everything and restart
and not be so bad at all of this.
he flips the top of his hat. crosses his legs and reclines. today is e e easy. today is just fine. today is to enough to do nothing at all.
Disaster is precise. Problems have flavours. Sanity is a bright, white sun. It blinds most of us with how perfect it is. We get to watch and stare and flinch away, while whole, glowing people look down and say, well, why not just turn on the light?
she's walking through the desert nice and slow. can see disaster ahead, wobbling in the heat. it'll happen.
He's been sung to sleep. They keep bringing up all that he's done, and he's tired of that now. He's in the books you know. By name, you'd know him well. But we're done with that now, alright? Stop bringing it up. We've all learnt, let's move on.
He's very tired now. We're very tired now. Stop singing.
The mess between us only grows with time. We're bruising, bleeding messes, waiting to heal. But why wait? Why wait at all? We can still move, run, breathe. Let's get more mashed up than ever before. Let's keep moving and keep going. Let's carry on, even if we're too tired. I'm not going to wait for the ending. I'm going to run.
You are no one. I'm going to go. Going to pick up the trash on my way out. The car's leaking oil, so it's time for us to light a match. I'm going to go. I buckle up the seatbelt. You are no one. The car's leaking fuel. You are the match.
He steps aside to avoid disaster. He's going to watch her walk into the puddle instead. Delights in it, almost. He knows that at the end of the day, being kind does nothing. He doesn't get his favourite weapon wet, and she doesn't even batt an eyelid. Chivalry is dead.
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writing since 2012 · 142 entries · 142 days shown up
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