"e were just small children so we didn’t quite understand what father meant when he sa"
olivia grace 

we were just small children so we didn’t quite understand what father meant when he said

“mother is sad”

we continued our games and make believe stories and waited for mother to be happy

and when we were young, sad just meant someone stepped on your picture

or they ruined your sand castle


and in 2 seconds it was over

the deeper I fall into my depression I find my mother
I find her ghouls and her ghosts
her corpses

I find her dark eyes in my dark eyes every time I look in the mirror
and I find her hatred for everything, including me

I find new ways to torture myself
my mother

“you have your mothers eyes”


we also have the same disease

the only difference is, her demons won
mine don’t stand a chance

"knowing, but never quite comprehending"
Melody W 

Days, stretching to infinite proportions,
a gnarled oak, stark white against the cerulean sky,
distorting and twisting within itself,
aching to be complete, still, silent.

Nights, a lone swimmer's watery nightmare,
caught in the depths, darkness yanking feet down,
struggling upward
yearning to break the surface -

Howling and shrieking at an empty door
locked from the outside
to protect trembling walls
housing
nothing.

Is this who we've become?
Mindless drones who've arrived at the future,
cursing the past?

You overtook us swiftly, still trembling with rage,
your vise-like fingers softly caressing,
embracing our fragile necks,
each second drawing us closer to the final countdown,
knowing, but never quite comprehending
that we can never escape your cold lair.

And you -

grinning ironically,
peering down at us,
your playthings,
stumbling through this labyrinth;
blind mice, oblivious to our demise -

you will reveal everything
in Time.

©MW
"names are quite obsolete in this dance of old"
Melody W 

Memories scattered like driftwood are
dispersed into oblivion by feisty currents
frolicking with these heavy stones

Linger with me in this timeless quiescence;
gingerly pluck teardrop intricacies
from my ebony-dusk saturated hair

In our secret place obscured from judging eyes
No one shall know our names, though even so
names are quite obsolete in this dance of old

Don’t look back, lest you transform into all we abhor;
Cold, unfeeling, settling heavily to the bottom
Clawing - always clawing - but unable to grasp redemption

We must hurry, though, for the tide is rising.
And we’ll be gone before they can even think
of stealing us away.

©MW
"you stumble across, but never quite grasp"
Melody W 

Categorizing these emotions is
as fruitless and unsatisfying
as dislocating sounds

All elements are fluid, shifting;
blurred beyond recognition
this furious synergy of molecules

you stumble across, but never quite grasp
all dimensions of this vast
abstract acoustic environment

flourishing with uncultivated sounds
struggling to make themselves known
indeterminate, unpredictable as rain

©MW
"But the shadow that he can never quite catch always winks at me when he leaves"
April Watson 

He calls himself Peter Pan and he's looking for a new Neverland.
I feel him watching me thinking that I can't see.
But the shadow that he can never quite catch always winks at me when he leaves.

I turn to sneak a peak but I always find he's already looking at me.
I wonder how one can be young for eternity.
Wouldn't it get rather lonely?

I saw him again and he finally said "hello."
It was timid and shy but on the inside he's wild.
I couldn't help myself from my toothy smile.
There was nothing to say but "It took you a while."

We are going strong Peter and I.
In my ear he'll whisper sweet nothings and desire.
I'll just smile and kiss his pink lips.
Because what's left to be desired when you live eternally fighting pirate ships.

This is my first one, yes it's a little cheesy.
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