As the month of February comes to its untimely end, I would like to post a little update:
I (hopefully) will be graduating from my undergraduate course this year. I have many things to accomplish before I can go through with that, but so far, I'm on the right track. Or I think I am, which is still a good start.
This means, I will be a part of the workforce very soon. Another implication is that...
Friday, 27 February 2015
Wednesday, 4 February 2015
To Anyone
Posted on 23:39 by Anonymous
I hear it again,
the throbbing ache of a hand
thrust into the air,
out of the landfill,
solitary.
I have seen it more than once
in the little time I have grown:
Small bones a-mask
in the pallid, stretchy skin of a ghost.
They tell me the same things -
if I recall well -
"One small, white pellet
before she retires;
(And a fourth of this kind
just to be sure.)
Make sure she takes it."
The first of...
Saturday, 4 October 2014
You know you should have said something.
Posted on 01:01 by Anonymous
The coming day pulls flesh over eyes
like sheep skin.
The strobes mock us,
"What of the night
disapppoints you?"
But my mouth disappoints me too.
It falls prey to its own ministrations,
Child to its own lies.
I have heard a dozen or so
voices tonight; they tell me
the same condolences.
If our mouths had lives of their own,
would their offsprings be as coward...
Sunday, 25 May 2014
Definitions, or something akin to them
Posted on 17:49 by Anonymous
I do not open these boxes anymore;
My heart has nothing left to see.
Feel the enclosure of my hand
That is colder than the phrase
"You and me," the pronoun "us"
A far call to the gods.
In this earth, we are forced into words.
The entirety of ourselves - existent, breathing,
Tangible - packaged into letters
That spell nonsense. Most of the time.
"You" pron., resident of the memory;
"Me" pron.,...
Friday, 16 May 2014
Phone Calls at 9 PM
Posted on 15:10 by Anonymous
These are the people who write about death:
the red-eyed waif with a cut on her cheek,
the old lady reading today's paper,
the man laughing amid the crowd.
How can a phone call change anything?
The tendrils of your head are in waves now.
I know you'd hate it if we put "Angel"
on your tombstone in bold, tactless letters,
Like how I hated it when you borrowed my dolls.
Will you sit beside me tonight
and...
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