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every monster finds it way to my paintbrush. and paints itself and its story.

monsters write themselves in blue ink, idling aphotic shadows, luring near floors, unable to view themselves as nothing more than weak mindless creatures who yearn to be seen as beautiful and not fearful creatures that hide in dark spaces. They want to be drawn and written about, painted and noted. They want to know if they have some place in the world that fears them.
the voices are faded distorted whispers, glitched between my thoughts and the floorboards
they will not let me sleep until they have their stories told.
Did you ever wake up and realize
that somehow, over night,
everything stopped making sense?
All of a sudden, your bed feels foreign to you.
Your pillow is cold against your cheek and
your blankets aren’t as comforting
as they used to be.
You drag yourself out
from beneath the covers
and the walk to the bathroom
Feels longer than you remember.
The tile on the floor is more solid and
the little rug in front of the sink
no longer caresses your toes.
When you look up,
when you make eye contact with yourself,
you notice that your eyes
are no longer the same shade of blue.
Your hair is longer and lighter,
your shoulders sag lower,
and the wrinkles at the corners
of your eyes are more defined.
You turn the **** on the sink
but the water takes longer to warm
than it did the night before.
Washing your face,
you hope that it’s all just an illusion.
You look up again and nothing’s changed.
Your heart starts to race,
you hope that it’s just an off morning
but your mind tells you that you know better.
Slowly, you take the few steps
back to your room and
look at the person lying
in the space beside yours.
You close your eyes and
open them once more.
Nothing, you feel nothing.
The person lying in your bed
is suddenly a stranger,
and then you realize,
so is the person inside of you.
 Aug 2013 ghostlings
壱原侑子
there was a time when the moon didn't show herself in phases;
there was a time the moon never had to hide parts of herself;
there was a time the moon shone brighter than the sun;
there was a time when then moon never had craters;
there was a time the moon never let the clouds come upon her;
there was a time the moon and the stars were so much closer;
there was a time the moon and the sun kissed for longer than the duration of an eclipse;
the moon was more than the moon in time before time,
then she was born into our universe.
 Aug 2013 ghostlings
壱原侑子
you were the day i had to start
using the word love
only in the past tense
for every statement
that contained it
to be true

and though lessons
learned are forgotten
or unlearned

i want to be the exact moment
you learn to never use
the word love
in all its forms
and incarnations
without extreme caution
 Jul 2013 ghostlings
Mikitara
rev up a **** whacker

a power you are not used to vibrates up your body and through your arms and rattles your teeth
a sort of dentiphone that forces you to listen to the sound of gasoline fueled madness
a power you are about to abuse on the aphonic wings of a butterfly
a sort of way to seminate bits of shredded beauty

a butterfly is caught up in plastic death

a regret you are not used to vibrates up your body and through your heart and rattles your morals
a sort of accident that was waiting to happen that forces you to listen to the sound of fate
a regret you are about to suffer from until the day when your memory gives out
a sort of way to remember you are the murderer of a soul that most do not consider a soul

you didn't like butterflies anyway.
(i aM STILL ON WRiters block i'm sorry)
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