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PrttyBrd Dec 2018
I.
discolored snapshots
breathe life into memories with blurred edges
unabated joy in thoughts of, "forever will feel like this"
Silver Bells tasted like pine boughs and cinnamon

she built home out of air
filling lungs with life that made love
into the root of all things beautiful
ragtag Charlie Brown trees, the most beautiful of all

II.
Fall fell hard and the trees died too
lights and empty gestures, for the sake of children
eyes clenched in prayers that, "forever won't feel like this"
breathing in the smog of auld lang syne

can't save what couldn't be saved
sometimes things end without ending
love in seedlings or old oaks still scorch a heart
Silver Bells in saline reminders of nothing feels familiar

III.
stomped into submission beneath icy indifference
short breaths feel alive in crystal shards that penetrate lungs
when they try to break free from truth
normal in stifled emotions where a toothy grin pretends it's elation

Silver Bells smile without a voice to jingle in
and snapshots prove happiness is possible...or was--once
believing that angels walk with us
teaching us how to make love into the root of all things beautiful

maybe, "forever, we can try to build home out of air"
auld lang syne - /ôld laNG ˈzīn,ˈsīn
    noun - times long past

122318
203w
Swathilris Oct 2018
i.
Abyss.
Cocooned within an infinitely bounded vacuum
A smile eclipsed by resonating quiescence.
                         This emptiness
                                  kills.
I yearn to sculpt the carvings of camouflaged tears
through 3 am poetry
but yellow sheets emptier than my dreams
embrace
as I dangle amidst kaleidoscopes of barren yesterdays.
Even words have failed me tonight.

ii.
Chaos
Twirling against haemoglobin tiles
deranged voices heist the oxygen from my lungs
as I gasp
against a narrowing rib cage.
Insanity tattooed within mascara embroidered eyes
I hear you over and over
screaming, screaming, screaming,
and I explode
into scarlet fragments of nothingness.

iii
Adieu
I used to build esoteric constellations with
the stars in my eyes
and tuck away the moon underneath
my smile
But now my irises bleed the tales of fallen stars and a widowed sky.
Whiskey memories sway against burnt edges of my windowpane
as I spiral into an expanse of toxic ruins
of myself,
falling
falling
falling
falling











fallen.
A gun gives you the opportunity,
The thought pulls the trigger
PrttyBrd Sep 2018
i.

melted ice cream afternoons
bogged down

rising from asphalt
in magical mist
that transforms
the day into
a test of endurance

even dusk offers
no solace
in frozen watermelon bliss


ii.

smoke permeates fabric
hair and every surface
with peace and grit
wafting over
the crispy
edges of predawn

begging sleep
to the most stubborn
insomniac

rotisserie style dreams
till morning


iii.

there's less death today
waiting in line
in candy store nightmares
begging silence
from the jubilant

but the sky turned up
a dream state

in that beguiling beauty
is brilliance


iv.

in shadows
the earth falls silent

rustling through
tall tales
the moon births

images in hidden corners

evening strolls
turn adventures

and every day
burns quick
to be reborn slowly


v.

the weight of hell
in short tempered bites
**** will with a proficiency
unseen outside
a viper's silent hunt

ready for war
with fists losing
responsibility

breaking triple digit
pressure


vi.

Incessant banging through walls built faster than I am strong enough to demolish, cradling lace so it won't rip on my forked tongue. There is only so much care left to handle perception just trying to breathe through a smile.
91218
190w
Jenny Gordon May 2018
I am certain they DID bury me with Mum.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCLXXVI)

Memor'al weekend's here, and summer thence
In tow as wont:  my stockings in betrayl
Hang limply, needing to be washed, and stale
Cuz warmth is now a constant, with those scents
I had forgot:  that sour note haunting sense,
As to perspire is what we'll do sans bail
The next four months, erm straight, t'exhale
Nor think of sweaters, chill our sweet defense.
Watch golden shafts, while Maple leaves half stir
To fragile whispers, tricking shadows to
Shift vaguely 'cross grass' carpet, skies deep blue
And moody, clouds mair grey, light ghastly, poor
As listning to the kitchen sounds in tour,
The music gone, how static mocks which cue?

26May18b
Also, from everyone else's (father and brothers) happy tendency to dream, making plans of travelling the world, where I literally have NO place in all the world I care to be than only with my loved ones, [intro]
Triscuit Jan 2018
My emotions are like a pistol in a holster.
I've kept them seated for weeks, trying to convey a maturity.
I don't need you to turn to, and I grow a little each day.
Change is hard, but our vignette was harder.
Chapter by chapter we grew more climactic.
Drama begets danger, and the ringing sounds like shrill bells, each one screaming a letter of your name.
I put on my headphones and get to work.
I will undo the anger I've seen, you can't drag me under.
Healing is a long process and doesn't happen easily.
Kendall Seers Jan 2018
a young warrior fulfils a dream,
one on one combat, and his foe
folds like wet parchment.
a wounded musician, has his back
even as the javelin impaled
in her arm (her spoils)
drips with life.

the clatter of a die.
a number announcing if she survives
is softly reported

[or how Oscar’s help was neither wanted nor needed, thank you very much]
This is part of a series of vignettes from my first Dungeons and Dragons campaign.
Kendall Seers Jan 2018
chills creep up my legs.
the frost white presence
now awake, rises from cave-stone floor.
the chill is on our faces,
breaths and bodies freeze.

the rogue among us steps,
quick fingers dipping into pockets,
their own for once.

Draconic eyes glint like sapphires,
drawn to the currency,
the two gold coins
held before him
in two confident hands.

echoing through the dark space,
a single clink,
a tossed wink.
and just like that,
the thief had stolen a heart.

[or how Chafon seduced a dragon]
This is part of a series of vignettes from my first Dungeons and Dragons campaign. The dragon's name is White-out and he is now in our party.
Kendall Seers Jan 2018
bright lights glare down,
shouts and roars collide with white ceilings.
thuds echo from the table
and stomps boom below.

[or how Chafon is an interesting influence, and Aegon seduced an ogre]
This is the first part of a series of vignettes from my first Dungeons and Dragons campaign.
K Balachandran Nov 2017
in torrents rain chats,
whitening nimbus restraints,
vignettes come in drops.
Ako Jun 2017
He is sad 
As he is a bet 
He is dead 
Is all they bet.

All they want is a bet 
Causing his life to be a duet 
Between him and regret 
All he knows, his life is a threat.

He knows, he is just an epithet 
His tears making him wet 
A brief vignette 
They turn him into a marionette.
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