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wet

His hair was wet, clothes hung in rags around him Blue eyes flashing There was a knife in his hand. It split the raindrops into a thousand slivers That reflected the light from her cold eyes She did not scream She knew Her knife was bigger

A million stories Blended On a black page with Double yellow lines A thousand colors And beautiful words Flowing and interlocking Leaving their families and Stories and Walking Forever

He wasn't looking where he was going. His eyes were closed. He couldn't hear my warning, his headphones were too good. And that's why. Just that. No other reason, no matter what anyone tells you. That's the real truth. The real fault lies with me.

In the space of one breath A choice is made In three words, his fate is decided Who? Who? Who? Who? Anyone Someone No one You

to continue is always a losing game because Eventually even forever comes to an end

He is no longer covered by the sheet, it has been kicked off and balled in the corner of his big boy bed. his curly blond hair is matted to his face and his feet are tucked up under him. His mother bends over and tenderly pulls the sheet back into place.

The side of the couch is rough, like stone. I can't see your face but I know your sitting there, in the dark. I can see the glowing end of your cigarette. I reach out my hand and touch your cheek. Your face is warn and bumpy. You haven't shaved in weeks.

cracked lips running over a dry tongue bending folding drifting caught somewhere between reality and a night mare shapes jumping and feathers floating and still more sun on your back and suddenly nothing

the word is passed from pink lip to ear a coffee stained promise to be known forever as dear and the songs they are sung and the words they are spoken but no matter how sad to me you'll never be broken

It was my salvation, on that hot steamy day, to find an ice cold bottle of lemonade. It was glass, like they used to make all bottles, and it had drips of ice rolling down the side. I sat in the shade and sipped it. For once not caring that I only had seven days to live.

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writing since 2012 · 22 entries · 20 days shown up

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on this day 14 years ago

alias wrote about dysfunctional
“Dysfunctional Daughters Unite Sorry Mom Sorry Dad But I didn't get like this alone.”

the words alias reaches for

facewordseyessorryhairfarforeverstorieshatedsadcoverplasticgirlslipsfilledpage