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the days grow shorter
the nights bring the need for these
artificial lights
On this warm spring day,
The light peers in my window,
Quiet as it can,
Asking questions of shadows:
"Do these walls have ears?
And what does the clock-face see?
Is the lamp lonely,
And does the pillow know tears?"
The shadows answer,
In their sweetest honeyed voice,
"We gave the walls ears,
And the clock has our blank face.
The lamp loves the dark,
Just as the pillow drinks tears.
Won't you come deeper,
Deeper into our shadows,
And hear what we know?"
Will the light claim its homeland,
Burning up the dark
And swallowing the night whole,
Or will it shrink back,
Afraid to see the hard truth
That my shadows breathe
And the darkness grows deeper
Fated to hold the sleeper?
From May 2017
Tired and weary,
Torn and worn;
Wrung with wights,
Thick with thorns.
Written Sept 2014
run...
fly...
jump...
swim through the sky

dreaming of flight
wanting to escape
finding my wings
seamless shapes

limitless reach
stretch above my head
galactic needle
pulling infinite thread

field of pyramids
I'm twenty feet tall
stumbling to find
the end of it all

the house I knew
twisted somehow
and all the rooms
are locked away now

the college campus
that I once roamed
with elevators broken
construction postponed

looking through the floor
glass beneath my shoes
wearing a skirt
afraid of the view

someone I've never met
capturing my heart
sweeping me off my feet
are they real or not?

the roots of any dream
might never be found
but none of them are real
no matter how profound.
.where is the joy I once had
the desire burning within me
the passion to create and live
where can I find my soul again?
.
So tell me friend, oh where should I now go
To waste my days within this endless fight?
On to the right where nothing is left, or
There to the left where nothing else is right?

This war grows cold inside my growing bones:
I hide my fears within a house of glass.
But joining them means throwing sticks and stones,
For none of us have yet learned from our past.

My questions to the wise are called naive
And arguments with fools lend no insight.
But in the end I long to just believe
In something that can hold me through the night.

Though life and death will steal my breath away
I will not bow to fear, strain, or dismay.
I sit in contemplation
trying to close my eyes
so I turn off the playstation
and drop my phone with a sigh.

Earlier, I tried to eat a pear
'cause fruit is healthy and stuff
but it was too hard for me not to care
it just wasn't ripe enough.

This show I've been obsessed with
and the manga after that
have busted that subconscious myth
that fiction has a lesser impact.

How long will I spend in the depths
of the fandom and content I find
accessible at my fingertips
and flooding through my mind?

When will I sense the ending
of this era of nights spent reading
headcanons, and content expanding
on the world on which I'm feeding?

Last night the latest chapter
was out on my mobile app
and I stumbled across it after
going to reread whatever was last.

It hit me like a ton of bricks
like the weight of hardback copies
of every scene the author depicts—
sent shock throughout my body.

A character who, before this day,
was invincible and proud
not unrivaled in his sway
but always drawing a crowd.

And then the last page caught me
and I could not look away
as tendrils from the enemy
cut through its raging prey

Too quick to be avoided
the hit was meant for another
but he knew he'd been appointed
as savior to his brother.

Taking a bullet for the one he abused
the one he had hated and cursed
before their fates were irrevocably fused
without either harsh role reversed—

All perceived slights against him
any contempt he thought he had shown
was forgotten as he jumped out to save him
His body just moved on its own.
I just can't get that image out of my head...
I refuse to believe Bakugo could be dead.
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