We Titans, with fated breath, our cheer bursting in claps,
in thunder.
And we, whose loud romps, shook the world.
Soda-pop sticky, barefoot, n' green laughs rickety,
We spurred on with cold weighing our fingertips.
We saw the paling pink joys of seashells
leaping, lunging, skidding in surging shallow waves.

We Titans, naked few, have shared this all,
held it in our young palms firmly.
And against the retreating cool of night, we stood.
Laughing as it hurried across the winds,
stirring the sleepy beach town behind,
as both our eyes greedily swallowed the gold,
the light, that chased the milky-blue horizon away.

We Titans, shivering under waves and waving long arms,
like the branches that cradled us when the sun
spilt himself down and baked our cheeks red.
Wore nothing, but the lightening we huffed
and slung around our waists. Our triumph of
bursting might cracked open our little chests and mingled
secrets and giggles, purging the boredom until
only the return of night set us fearful and plain.

We Titans, were the jokers, the rulers,
the paupers and the villains. Gilded trust we wielded
and yielded upon one another. Our bond like a flame
in the dark of our eyes that hid what we feared.
And tender did it flick, twirling across the faces of
monster and friend, as we sipped the dying daylight as youths.

We Titans, though age may pull us far from tumbling seashells,
may rage and call one another from dubious memory.
But our friendship still dances here,
as a destiny set in the soft pale pink trembles of my dreams.

There are certain parts of misery
That never made sense to me.
I never caught on to the self harm thing,
I figured I already felt bad enough.
I never drank it away,
Because a hangover was just a reminder
That putting a coat on
Doesn't stop the snow.
DABDA doesn't make sense either.
How can you be angry
About something you haven't accepted yet?

I do now understand masochism.
I certainly don't practice it,
But I get it.

The thing with masochism
Is that you really have to love it.
You really have to let go.
My nerves are just nerves.
My skin is just skin.
My eyes just make drawings out of ****.
******* purple from the fourth wall
Letting the people eat a different truth.

My brain on a steady loop
Of Whose Line Is It Anyway reruns
Just waiting to invent the next thing
We all take for scripture.

Our memories are like shells
that form
constellations
in the
cold
cold
sand
The friction of such can cause
the same sound
of your
forgotten
giggle
Our oceans,
aligned with pink skies,
clouded our minds
as we
isolate
reality
You are one of the most
precious ornament
I've ever collected
within my
island
Only if high waters doesn't shove little things
Only if sails are stable in every swift
Only if mermaids are forever singing
Only if we learned how to keep

We collected our shells from the shoreline,
listening deeply to hear the whispers of
                                                 Sorrows.

But all that was heard was a fabrication  
of what needed to be heard,
                                       No reparation.

There is a breeze on the shore, it carries
our cares away. We moved on again as
there are always more shells to listen upon.

Our feet collected on pebbles,
throwing one it skipped for a moment
sinking like the apology never said.

let the disgust hide within
the transparent shells
of white crusty sin

They can see through
my dusty muddled skin
but cannot, of what is
engraved deep within

These shells, they are
fragile and blue
and in deep denial
that they belong to you

These shells, they do not crack
they grow old, to only
reminisce and bite your back

-Kaya

You and I and these beachy vibes.
Swaying like the palm trees in the wind.
The California breeze blowing through our hair as we stay here perfectly still. We build barriers from sand and shells, to protect this moment from all the stares.