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.
“What?”
“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.
(Maybe.)
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! :)
- Jay
“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!
- Jay
“My resolution is to be less
resolute.”
..... "I failed."
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