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#metallic
You can tell the quality of the fire from the way the smoke billows. You watch it from the porch, counting the seconds between the grey curls and the way the wind catches the soot, turning it into a fine, black lace against the blue of the afternoon. ------------------------------------------------------------------ You’re thinking about the silver— if it needs polishing. You’re thinking about the door hinge that squeaks every time the cat pushes through. ------------------------------------------------------------------ You’re holding a glass of water, and the ice is melting against your palm, a small, cold comfort while the air begins to taste like copper. ------------------------------------------------------------------ What you can’t tell is the moment the air turns from a warning into a weapon. ------------------------------------------------------------------ Whether you’ll get blisters— a sudden, stinging bloom across your knuckles as you reach for the handle. Or if you’ll simply stand there, still holding that lukewarm glass, and see your house burn. — Around — you. ------------------------------------------------------------------ TiB
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Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 8:04 PM UTC
The Quality of Fire
the wet weight of a Tuesday presses against the back of my skull where the salt collects in ridges. I am counting the pulses in my thumb, one for every time the window vibrates from a truck I cannot see. my teeth feel too large for my gums and the copper taste of a penny is stuck under my tongue, insistent and metallic. there is a pigeon on the ledge with one clouded eye staring at the way my knuckles turn white when I grip a glass of lukewarm water. the clock isn't ticking, it is just moving forward without asking for permission. I forgot the name of the person who used to sleep on this side of the bed so I am breathing into the empty space until my lungs feel heavy with old air. the ceiling has a crack shaped exactly the way my thumb feels.
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Mar 31
Mar 31, 2026 at 10:08 PM UTC
knuckle-white and penny-tongued
my tissue is stained with red blotches it's only two cuts though. not a biggie and didn't hurt much. I just blow away the redness on my wrist and smell the metallic scent. kinda refreshing if you ask me.
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Sep 11, 2024
Sep 11, 2024 at 7:55 AM UTC
red
Drinking blood of sinful bodies that want no more than a hand to bite down on. ******* every last drop of metallic liquid out to taste life the way it is.
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Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 6:45 AM UTC
Drop Of Blood
when we used to speak, i found comfort in saying whatever i so thought i looked forward to spilling the contents of my brain into the open air, allowing you to take in the sights and sounds of the sentences my lips were forming around when we speak now, all i feel is a glass sheet sat on the tops of my teeth waiting to shatter under the pressure of the conversation now, i have to be careful with what i say, otherwise, the shards would find their way down my throat causing nothing but more pain, and more blood now, when we speak, the words i say feel different against my tongue they taste metallic and damaging like lies and betrayal rather than sweet memories and fairytales like sugar cubes and honey
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Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 5:19 PM UTC
Glass
I am envisioning a world of bots, pulling us into the black hole of innovation and technology, with no trees, no schools, no collages, nothing that is bricks and mortar. Can you envisage a life on man-made oxygen?   Can you imagine the fantasy world in movies becoming our real world? I'm being ingenuously curious, how long before a plethora of machines and bots, a metallic universe created by man, replaces everything we have lived for? A few more countable years perhaps. Just the thought sets me off in trepidation. I wish to somehow freeze and slowdown the evolving era so the living flesh and blood could be prepared for what they are about to face.
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Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 2:53 PM UTC
World of bots
the clay watched with rented breath the red robe genuflect before the dirt-dark nailed wood. strange words were uttered choral echoes flew they too would bend their knees those veiled long hair those oval faces with scanning eyes. the red robe spoke they moved the corners of their mouths till they were too far they nodded, and nodded, and nodded they did not know how to stop. the red robe did not speak he read from two slabs. the air cracked by a tip-toe cadence of metallic muttering they held their breath but there was panting. with one unseen flicker that stole as fast as light shot from up beyond there perched on that dirt-dark nailed wood a dove of light of blinding vaporous whiteness. we hid our eyes. our faces too. we only saw a tall slender spiral staircase that ascended a long, long, long way.
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May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 9:31 PM UTC
wood, clay, and a red robe
Been with me the longest of all, Through all tough times, And every small brawl. Your sweet ticking sound, And your elegant black look, Your metallic cold touch, Changed my life like a fairy tail book. O my friend, my lucky charm How I am gonna miss, Your warmth around my wrist. You Served me well, Always fair, And just in time, For a single cell. The time has come, It's the toughest of all, You left me alone, Gone in a single fall. - *The ******
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Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 1:15 AM UTC
My Dear Watch
Read to me about things i'll never see Imagine I'm sitting up in a hospital bed Cradled by white cotton pillows infused with bleach Empty clear bendy plastic cups sit neglected My usual lipstick stains stayed in the handbag today Your fingertip bruises decorate me instead I once thought: There is no better colour than the colour that they put into your eyes That is the colour of the liquid that they have put in the drip bag I might not be able to picture that colour, but I recognise the feeling of it entering my body Rusty clots and mascara dust barricade it from leaving Maybe not immediately Or in a weeks time But the cells of my heart muscles are becoming saturated with the juices Becoming preserved in syrup Seized and breathless I knew that from the very first time I have been a can of something Its label torn off Unsealed and bleeding And we both knew Duct tape couldn't keep that together Still my hands were cupped trying to clasp But now Its embedded under my fingernails.
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Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
Today
Downy flowing dripping That metallic taste in my mouth I knew there was something wrong with me before I knew what it was I still don't know exactly But I do know for sure when I step into a room no one looks to the door
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Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
There You Are