dreaming013
The crisp leaves crunched under her feet as she stumbled through the forest, running away from her boyfriend.
She loved him so much.
She needed to stop.
She didn't believe in love, so she couldn't believe in loving.
The oil leaked through her veins
as if it were water,
as it it were blood.
The oil leaked through her teeth,
as if it were spit,
as if it were rust.
The oil leak through her bones,
as if it were muscle,
as if it were tissue.
The oil leaked through her mind,
as if it were dreams,
ideas,
or virtues.
This makes no sense.
You swore that you'd stay safe.
You swore that you'd cope and heal your scars.
I know how you feel;
but this is
madness,
that you must live like this.
I thought that you said you were sorry.
I thought that you begged for forgiveness
and swore to God that you didn't mean it.
But this?
How could you do this again?
A dozen doves are flying through the air, just waiting for someone to catch one, shoot one, slit one's throat.
And then a bullet. A bullet through the flock of doves that scatters them, sends them tumbling through a clear blue sky in such a way that works every time and allows no bullet to catch one. This is why they waited; these doves found joy in besting their enemies.
She threw the apron onto the counter. "Ready?"
I shook my head rapidly. "Don't. Please. Don't."
"Why not? I know that you don't want me to, but... I need it."
Tears welled up in my eyes. "No! Please, just... don't!"
She took a knife from the drawer and looked at me with a grimace. "Too bad."
"Please," I pleaded, the tears now flowing steadily down my face. "Please," I said again, although she was already walking past me.
"You don't have to watch if you don't want."
"Stop!" I called to her, but she was up the stairs already.
Well, at least she told me.
I hate these thorns.
This is all that I think as I stumble through the bushes, hot blood streaking through my jeans, my shirt, and even showing trails on my warm, pink cheeks. I'm sweating, panting from running. The thorns were a challenge, but a challenge that I could defeat.
It was dusk. I looked out over the horizon, and jumped when I saw what was lying before the falling sun: the Dangercar. I ran towards it to find no one inside. What was happening? Where were the Four?
Thunder strikes, and children are taken alive. We don't know what's to happen. Torture? The way of the takers was to gag the kids and push them off a cliff; that's what always happened. But.. these kids were different. The takers acted differently toward them. What would happen?
My heart, I wear on my sleeve,
which fails to support my pumping blood
that drips from my arm to the floor
and makes you run away.
My heart, I wear on my sleeve,
but no one tends to love me,
for the gruesome blood flows quickly.
The sleeve was brown and gray, like the sky in the final moments of night when the stars were ebbing away with the moon and the sun wasn't quite out yet, but expecting. The flowers were pink like the rosy cheeks of the children that we saw as we rode our bikes past the school and laughed.
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writing since 2011 · 27 entries · 20 days shown up
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bloodanywherewordgodpresidenthateswaitedskyscrapersforgivenesslovedflowerdeservepleaseoilrememberready