Two TrenchesFools, dreading joy ahead
Stammering, backing away
Caught offguard, in disarray
Retreating to the comforting nothing
Hearts clenched in heaviest suspense
Of reaching each abysmal trench
A hideout with the familiar stench
Of self-inflicted lonesomeness
On either side, fists beat from chests
Demanding just one fucking chance
For you, I will close the distance
Of us two who cannot trust this
I will pry apart the nagging fist.
And unclench it.
KnucklesI left my beloved city today,
Painfully painted the drabbest gray
By the overly-affectionate sky
In the vastest sense of overcompensation
Slow, lethargic clouds, unsure but wise
Hugging buildings unaffected by their presence
Stoic structures that peered ahead, simply,
And remained motionless.
I left your locked door today,
A door that was never locked before
The knob turned deceptively in shaking hands
And a fool was hiding elsewhere
As the unexpected he had disrespected
Knocked her knuckles raw and red
Her insomniac's sockets were the saddest blue
And not at all emotionless.
Left hands cannot rest in pockets of contaminants
Infectious wordy delusion and hurried print
Torn from a journal held sacred
A message withdrawn near an end,
Withdrawal driven by rugged wisdom
Knowing it would only prolong it then.
The buildings crumbled
But the clouds remained.
Picu the Old SoulA young teenager, or an old boy as he preferred to be called, swiftly slunk through narrow alleyways between the civic junkyards dressed in grimy hooded garb that had been worn by too many people over too many years. He walked with rigid and mature professionalism, stopping to catch his breath and scoff at the sight that others living any life but his would find marvelous. In the distance, a spectacularly white and vivid orchid palace claimed ownership of the sky and ground with elegant twists and swirls of architectural perfection. It loomed over a large gray and white cityscape and boasted its colors to its colorless underling buildings.
His morning had been spent scavenging and hunting for his comrades and took its toll; it was evident in the sunken appearance of his deep gray eyes that he was beyond tired and ultimately reaching a breaking point. He was mentally and physically depleted, but he was the person that they chose to rely on. The pressure of his duty wrung him completely
Backspace Cycle - PhobiaHe awoke with a sharp jolt of throbbing pain flowing through his neck and trickling down his spine, causing his legs to tingle in protest as they awoke from prolonged pause. Face down on his expensive but worn keyboard, each key boasted a glowing blue underlight into the small apartment, illuminating each cracked wall with a nearly heroic sense of efficiency. It was out of place among the shoddy furniture and humble surroundings, but seemed to receive more attention than any other item in the home. The backspace key in particular was more soaked in blue gleam than any other key, for it was the key most tapped in gentle musings, most hammered in frustration, more than any of its kin. The thin coating of black paint that had once covered it had now completely decayed due to the excessive amount of attention it received from its user.
Even now, while he blinked in groggy, drooling semi-consciousness, his thumb was firmly pressed on backspace, a pale lump of flesh with its nervously chewed
Needle and Thread - BitternessThe void expands again
As feeble stitching shatters
Another unwarranted outburst
Only more thread gone to waste
Bonds ripping at the seams
Apathy creeping, settling
Is it my duty to care about
Someone no longer there?
More crazed nonsense
Roaring through doors
More psychotic logic
Where is my needle and thread?
It won't last past tomorrow
Her memory will fade away
And our phantom ties continue
Haunting and engulfing the house
It never happened
Only one memory exists
Such a useless effort
To sew it back together again
Exhausting all efforts, fingers callused
Greeted by disturbingly blank eyes
Ripped beyond simple dysfunction
Unstable peace is a brief delusion
Needle abandoned, dusts encroach
The thread rests, now a puny string
Unraveled from the spool, I escape
There's nothing left to mend.