November 29th AKA The Day Before the World Ends. Cause we’re going down Like pilots at Pearl Harbor. Maybe it’s cause of the sky opening up And no it’s not the rapture. Not yet anyways. Our gas ceiling is shrinking And our footprints are growing. Pretty soon we may be Glowing. Like stars in the night sky We’ll irradiate our radiation. While satellites rotate around us. Or are they soon to be space junk?
November 29th AKA The Last Minutes Till Midnight. Not that we have many left anyways. Pretty soon we might get those questions “Father, what was Nagasaki?” “A joke, my son. It’s a joke.” We could just... ****, Gone in a cloud of fungal spores. Not a trace of anything left. All that would be left would be the Glowing. Like lightning bolts in the sky We’ll strike and set fires. The embers floating around us, Or are they the last fireflies?
November 30th AKA The Day the Horseman Rode Again. The White one first With his crown of gold. Next, the red one. With his goblet of blood. Third, the black one. With his weighing scales. Fourth, the pale one. With his bone-white clique. Yet they can’t do anything, we’re Glowing. Death, is unstoppable, yes. But only against what holds life’s kiss. And inside... we’re cold.
I’ve been working on this one for a bit. I plan on doing another in the future, possibly multiple times if I have things to get out.
The desk in front of me has eyes. The chair I’m sitting in has eyes. The lights above my head have eyes. The walls around me have eyes. The bricks in the walls have eyes. The windows in the walls have eyes. The trees through the windows have eyes. The leaves on the trees have eyes. The road next to the trees has eyes. The lines on the road have eyes. The cars on the road have eyes. The wheels on the cars have eyes. The people all around me have eyes. The eyes have eyes. And those eyes also have eyes. My eyes have eyes. My skin has eyes. My fingers have eyes. My hair has eyes. My clothes have eyes. And every single one of them Is staring at me. And every single one of them Wants me dead. Everything wants me dead. Everything is devouring me.
Don’t pay any mind to the kid having an anxiety attack in the middle of class.
It feels like my head Just swallowed me whole. And I’m falling to pieces In a room full of gold. Jagged knife teeth Cut through my head. Megaphones blast in my ears Screaming nonsense. Until I’m frothing on the ground. Cold on the inside, Bleeding on the surface. Dead.
It feels like my arms Are strangling me. Raised off a balcony Before plummeting off. Descending through the ground But my body still above. My spirit is below, Finally free. But my body lays cold, Bleeding out, Dead.
It feels like my world Has crumbled around me. But everyone floats, Finally free. But me I fall, Down into the nothing. Where I plummet forever. But at least I’m not cold... Or bleeding... Or dead...
I’m so cold inside. So empty are my innards, As my head overflows with screams. The crazy quotes of demons Branding my temples with anxiety. Battered hands locking my lips And making a key from my teeth. Razorheaded monsters watching me With their judging gazes. But I’m fine I swear.
Ice cold love Is love without passion. Love is that warmth The warmth that melts the snow Around our hearts. Being lonely? It’s like being caught in a blizzard But everywhere else is so warm. Sometimes though... Love is being cold with someone else. Because someone you love Is so vulnerable But you’re vulnerable with them.
I may not be your First date. I may not be your First hug. I may not be your First hand to hold. I may not be your First kiss. I may not be your First set of eyes to stare into I may not be your First person to call up at midnight. I may not be your First shoulder to cry on. I may not even be your First choice. But I want to be your Last everything.
The world stops for a moment when I touch her, and suddenly everything is okay again.
Blue eyes wandering Meet with brown eyes Talking up tempests and Blue eyes stops and stares. Because wow brown eyes You got it going on girl. Brown eyes stares back and... Giggles. Brown eyes walks over to blue eyes, The tempest twists Twisting to a twister A twister twisting the tempest Into a beautiful hurricane. And at the eye, Of the hurricane I mean, Are their eyes. The blue one And the brown one Eclipsing one another Taking in each other. And blink... They were gone. Whisked away on a blowing breeze The sky their tap shoes. The clouds their slippers And the breezes their clothings. Soon blowing breezes turned to hugs And hugs turned to handholds And handholds turned to kisses And kisses turned to... Love. And it all started With blue meeting brown.
Hands on hands Bodies on bodies Oxytocin blood rush. Heart rushing. Face gushing. Stomach fluttering. Lips stuttering before Hers meet mine. And then it all just... Feels okay again.
The radio static in my head Was like comfort food to me But I’ve lost my appetite recently Because I just Can’t stop Thinking.
And with how much I think about the future, I should be psychic by now. But all my foresights Involved her. And though “it” May never happen. God she makes me feel good And happy In this moment.
And in this moment Our hands are shaking Lips are quivering And birds are too busy beeing Ethereal beings. And if all goes well I hope the bees Don’t turn to wasps And take half of everything. That way I won’t be like him.
Sapphire eyes across the room, Two oceans etched inside the moon. Twin skylines descended to human form, But behind lies two heavy storms. Typhoons of ideal, perfect things, Susanoo’s double diamond rings. Perfect inside, perfect out. But always, always, always doubt.
Kids sit in math classes All worrying in a forgetful dream. Thoughts like “Pythagoras Theroem” Or “*****-Intercept Form” Race through their minds. But all I want to know is, How the heck are we Gonna get the poison out of the sky? Because when I grow up, Get married And have kids. I don’t want those kids To grow up thinking One day our sky Might fall down to earth.
To be quite honest, I’m afraid of what the future might hold.
Nobody cares About the kid in the twenty one pilots sweatshirt Cause they think he's like Stacy's mom But there ain't nothing going on. Not after the the verbal attacks, The nagasaki bombings of his social life. And honestly he kind of Wants to Off himself right now. But he can't say that aloud. No that's not allowed. It's not allowed To hold your own opinions, And say how you feel. But what you know to be true I guess is never really real. At least according To the people who care about you. And the slow-motion train wreck That he called a friendship Is now just a sinking ship. And it looks like he's going down. But his hoodie's warm So he'll be okay in the ice Cold Water.