I keep trying to hide my poetry in prose you cut away.
You were the only checkpoint I ever wanted to save my life at.
“The truth of the matter is that there are only four things the dead can wish for. Your love is not one of them.”
They hunted down the dragon, unaware that the fire that burned down the keep had been an accident. Unable to understand that even dragons got the flu.
Once upon a time, there was a prince who didn’t want to be a king but he was never allowed to run away and forced to marry the princess his parents assigned him. He lived happily ever after and ruled well, though he took no joy in it for the ocean whispered of adventures he would never have and sadness he would never get to know the meaning of.
Once upon a time, there was a princess whose destiny was to marry a prince - and he was kind, as king and husband both, but his eyes were distant and wistful for adventures he could never have. She loved him but as the years went on and he confided in her, it was a soft wound that he never asked about adventures she might have wished to have and if the ocean called to her as wel
Once upon a time, there was a land full of orcs that had been all but ruined in bloody wars of succession for the thrones of the land. Realizing the failure of this state, they abolished all kings and rulers and their land grew in kindness and prosperity. Which is why the kingdoms of humanity attacked them and exterminated every last one under the guise of saving their lands from monsters. And not a single king was at the head of any army that fought in their name.
I hid truth inside your coffee, knowing you would drink it all. For what is truth if not a poison?
I wrote a poem about you to try and forget your name in a hyperbole of text, losing you in how a poem is never about what it is about even when it is.
Only now I get phone calls and I think they are from you.
I no longer remember your name, lost it in a battle over metred verse and I long since excised all memories from my phone as though deleting contacts was the exorcism function after all.
“I’m a monster,” Alec said, his voice cracking.
“And? It’s not like you weren’t one before,” his sister said.
“You’re a man. By definition that makes you a monster.” She grinned as he gaped at her. “See? Still Alec, monster or not.”
“I am, as you may have guessed, one of the most dangerous people you will ever meet. Yourself excepted, of course.”
“Me? I’m not dangerous.”
“Only dangerous people have the luxury of believing otherwise about themselves.”
We hold onto our silences in a world of lying words where having a nice day means one just barely adequate at all.
It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him, but I didn’t trust him. I tried to explain that it wasn’t personal: most of the time I didn’t trust me, after all.
You can tell how tired someone is by how often they speak unvarnished truth.
He wrote a pedestrian story. Lackluster with a lack of muster:
A pedestrian. Hit by a car. Died.
The best way to hurt someone is to do them a favour they can never repay.
I found my muse in the bar, drinking from the mop bucket of rag squeezings.
“I wanted to tell my own stories. Useless without it,” they whispered, and I didn’t see the knife until it was too late.
Didn’t understand I’d just become as stupid as the characters I wrote.
Not until I died.
I can't find a way out of hating you. I keep trying but my memory is a traitor to my will and your smile and your smile and your smile.
I can't find a way out of loving you. I keep trying but my memory is traitor to my will and your smile and your smile and your smile.
You don’t lie. And if you don’t think that’s a scary thing about you, then I’m worried for you already.
I deleted the post I wrote about you.
Preparing to see Star Wars tomorrow night.
By watching Spaceballs.
“You can’t win, Vader. If you like me now, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.”
“Christmas? No, I don’t celebrate that,” Reynard Fox said. “I believe I helped invent the concept of presents however.”
“Why that?” Boy asked, baffled.
“What greater trick could a trickster pull off than to promote an unnatural attachment to material things for such a holiday?” And the fox smiled, slow and wicked, and Boy gulped for a moment, feeling as though his friend had become almost a stranger briefly.
And Boy decided, as a gift to himself, that this stranger wasn’t a Mr. Fox he would get to know.
The miracle was reaching midnight without a fight and not a single blow exchanged.
I made friends with some sad Christmas trees and snuck them back out to the forest! :)
“Hero is a very loose word, and a dangerous one. Say rather: associate. Ally. Power has no need of heroes; quite the opposite, in fact.“
The air began to hum unpleasantly, sounding like an off-key dentist’s drill
You can’t tell people they break your heart without sounding like a cliché. So I said that you corrupted every save file inside my soul, and you just stared at me blankly in reply.
Past tense is weird because! I don’t think the past should be tense at all!
“My resolution is to be less resolute.”..... "I failed."