"proceeds" poems
I reserved a table for the two of us
at the only restaurant in the world
that not only offers atmosphere and setting
but tone and syntax as well.
First some articles for appetizers. They're
easiest on my pocket you know.
An an, a the, and an a.
Let's not even start on the punctuation,
I'm treating you to a rather large meal.
As large as the entire English language,
now back to the articles.
Sure these taste like lint but they still
taste. Petit fours but there you are.
Try to be disinterested or you'll
put me off my food.
Nouns now. My, what a variety.
Bit meaty, eh? These have staying power.
They taste like a bit of everywhere,
and everyone, and everything.
What's that? Surely they're not that bland.
Maybe you need some seasoning.
"Adjective" comes from the
French for "to the word."
So exotic aren't they? These
really are fantastic.
Exquisite, unique, zesty to say the least.
You must admit, they
make the meal worth it.
I hope you're not allergic,
I could have sworn I just
had something "nutty."
Oh, it had nuts "in it"?
There must be some prepositions
mixed in here.
(I'm glad we're getting through
these now, I've never been a big fan of them.
When I was a kid, I would always push my prepositions to the end
of my sentences. You just can't do
that in a joint like this, it seems.)
Ah finally. The verbs are served.
Well-prepared it would seem.
Yes, anything you can do to a verb
they've done to these.
Infinitives (too good to realistically be believed!),
gerunds, and participles (No, not particles. But we
did have some of those at the Japanese restaurant.)
Fairly lean too, as I can't see
any auxiliary fat.
For some reason
those adverbs (just to your left, under that
thesaurus) really go well with this.
Plus those adjectives from earlier, rather pleasantly.
Now a brief selection
of conjunctions, but don't ruin
yourself. They're not a meal of themselves,
just a link to...
Oh! Look at those interjections.
So delicate, so (Wow!) incisive.
I told you to keep your appetite.
Well, just try a little of this. Goodness, me!
And then everyone proceeds to
die
from a split infinitive.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 7:44 PM UTC
A populace filled with totalitarian tranquility
The supposition that the world is in a harmonic homeostasis
Blissful ignorance that leads to careless calamity
Amid the uproar of the most populated of places
Therein lies the seed of humanity’s deceptive destruction
A solitary host housing a virulent virus
Infectious disease that proceeds crisis and corruption
Hope only stands with the powerful and pious
Prognosis describes communicable cannibalism
Rabid outbursts show signs of voracious violence
The harrowing pandemic leads to ceaseless cataclysm
Cities and towns suspended in systemic silence
Habitations riddled with gratuitous gore
Hope fades in the wake of the crimson carnage
The pestilent hoard feeds to a glutton’s galore
The Author of humanity publishes the final page
The closing verse rains down a rapturous recompense
The high cost of a dense population paid at humanity’s existential expense
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 11:06 PM UTC
I tore the fabric of space
Interrupting my affectionate stalking
Spurts of longing, interspersed
with spasms of premature *****
In vain, hankering to attain that next level rush
*Oh you're a ***** girl aren't you*
That's when I was discovered...
Her shrieks royally flushing my cheeks with shock
-Superseded by pallid chagrin
I fumble to bail,
Pants entrenched around my ankles
Premeditative,
Of absent-mind, in haste
Prime directive a method of escape
Evasion failing
Detection:
Imminent
Reflecting a grim lack of circumspection,
accursed **********
Trying to conceal my turgid ********
Her father particularly beyond reason
And not fond of my indecency for his daughter
Proceeds pummeling me to death with my beloved binoculars
Devoid of clairvoyance;
I am coincidentally sent
outward toward oblivion
Bon voyage through the portal
Falling facefirst into an abysmal wormhole
Its then I voyaged backward through time
To the moment of Creation
And witnessed the universe
**** itself from naught to existence
Spewing forth such cataclysmic splendor
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
1114
The largest Fire ever known
Occurs each Afternoon—
Discovered is without surprise
Proceeds without concern—
Consumes and no report to men
An Occidental Town,
Rebuilt another morning
To be burned down again.
5.2k
Tossing and turning
Heavy breathing,
Tears of frustration.
Screaming at my brain
To dismiss, erase, forget
All memories of you.
But it rebels
Like a stubborn teenager
It eyes me
In a huff, says,
"No!"
And proceeds to
Replay
Those moments
Over and over again.
My exasperation
Soon turns into
Sadness, despair, misery
Knowing that
It's all gone.
Forgetting you
Why can't it be easy?
Like how dried leaves
Are swept by the breeze
Into the river
And float away to
The point of no return.
Feeding myself
Thoughts of how
It's hopeless
Just doesn't work.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC
His home is an orphanage
in downtown Belize.
Triple-decker bunk beds
topped with ***** stained mattresses
fill each room.
An abandoned 10 year old
lies paralyzed on the floor;
"Don't touch him. Nobody ever touches him."
A small child covered in sores
sleeps in a puddle of his own *****
I offer a container of pink Play-dough to a boy
who proceeds to sculpt me
changing the pink to brown
with his ***** hands.
When he is done,
it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
"What is your name?"
"I'm Allen"
He tells me about his dreams of leaving Belize
and becoming a U.S. soldier.
He tells me of how his mother,
a **** addict,
dropped him off at the doorstep when he was 8 years old
and how he remembers
the look of fear and disappointment in her eyes
every time she looked at him
and saw his father.
His favorite color is blue.
Together, we make bracelets with colorful beads,
and as I stand to leave
he hands me a pinkish-brown heart
warm and sweaty
from his ***** hands.
And in return
I hand Allen,
and every child like him,
my own heart
red and ******
dedicated and passionate,
foolishly and hopefully attempting
to change the world.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 5:05 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
let me begin my salutation to you
by expressing my angst about your ghastly night experience
that you go through when in the hands of the policemen
who often walk around in the name of security patrols
while in truth they bettle terror in the show of evil mighty
they swop you down and arrest you spreadeagled
asking for bribes substantially the money of your proceeds
from the ware of your trade your body the temple of christian God,
Wherever your lack money
your beauty saves you as they go on to **** you in circles among themselves
as they glorify the power of your bossom in their policeman's slang,
where beauty , tyranny of bossom and your bribe is absent
you are forlornly arrested from the streets of Nairobi and Lagos or Johannesburg
then rounded down to a dingy police cell to be charged
with heinous crimes of prostitution and vagrancy,
when the true origin of your fortune's tomfoolery
is powers that be as they glorify anti woman crude cultures
beseeching a girl child into despair and depravement,
they are these men who refused to see you as a beacon of glory
they always link you to the filthy bedrooms from which you ennoble not.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
1624
Apparently with no surprise
To any happy Flower
The Frost beheads it at its play—
In accidental power—
The blonde Assassin passes on—
The Sun proceeds unmoved
To measure off another Day
For an Approving God.
4.2k
She comes to class and goes
“There’s bees in my Head”
Then pulls out
Another mug
Of coffee
Which happens
To be the cause
Another comes
Face on the verge of tears
“He did it again!”
We all know who
“He” is
Then proceeds to
Accept hugs
While giving
An in depth narration
Another comes in
“I’m, just, dying”
She proceeds to get
More hugs
While another friend
Calls her “hot”
And she insists she’s not
The fourth comes in
She’s been sacrificing
Her free time
To attend this class
And her sad tired smile
Says it all
She gets hugs too
And here I am
In the middle
Suffocated
...
Am I emotionally immature?
Am I too much of a cynic?
Is it me, or is it them?
Am I just different?
Or too self conscious?
...
Why do they have so many problems?
...
Then class starts
And I turn to our model,
A plastic skeleton dubbed
-Bony Bonez
And lose myself
In the charcoal
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
His home is an orphanage
in downtown Belize.
Triple-decker bunk beds
topped with ***** stained mattresses
fill each room.
An abandoned 10 year old
lies paralyzed on the floor;
"Don't touch him. Nobody ever touches him."
A small child covered in sores
sleeps in a puddle of his own *****
I offer a container of pink Play-dough to a boy
who proceeds to sculpt me
changing the pink to brown
with his ***** hands.
"What is your name?"
"I'm Allen"
He tells me about his dreams of leaving Belize
and becoming a U.S. soldier.
He tells me of how his mother,
a **** addict,
dropped him off at the doorstep when he was 8 years old
and how he remembers
the look of fear and disappointment in her eyes
every time she looked at him
and saw his father looking back.
His favorite color is blue.
Together, we make bracelets with colorful beads,
and as I stand to leave
he hands me a pinkish-brown heart
warm and sweaty
from his ***** hands.
And in return
I hand Allen,
and every child like him,
my own heart
red and ******
dedicated and passionate,
foolishly and hopefully attempting
to change the world.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
this peculiar notion transmigrates into a startling potion,
one that creates, not slakes human thirst,
a consequential first position for those who are in possess
of a direct line to gods who hide in the pitch black,
perforce one must make discrete deferential inquiries
avec une politesse indirecte
just in case we are wrong
(honest aside:
as composition proceeds, ear buds fill me with
Music of Transmigration, notably Op. 11, of S. Barber making
contradicting souls passing through me tenable and malleable)
naturellment,
loud radio silence, was I naive to expect otherwise?
perhaps god is not the subject of this poem
but perhaps the author(!) who's
just keeping his "hand" in the poem game,
spoofing human memes,
with a spot of fun even in
New Z--l-and-other domiciles
after all who has more
nominalistic titles,
is cursed and blessed,
by almost everyone
at least once a day, and in
a thousand different names
with an impishly
cruel sense of what this human gig
it created.
is about
tonight
I am a composer,
tomorrow’s decomposer,
or just a funny named follower
ah,
the answer is in the
data
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 4:55 PM UTC
For the first time on campus, Sisters on the Runway will strut and pose for domestic violence awareness.
Sisters on the Runway will be hosting its first annual fashion show from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. tonight in the Business Building. All proceeds will be donated to the Centre County Women's Resource Center, Layla Taremi president of the organization, said.
Sisters on the Runway is a national student-run organization that raises awareness about women and children who reside in domestic violence shelters. There are over five chapters throughout the nation, each supporting the same cause to local shelters. It was founded in 2009 and has grown since then, Taremi (sophomore-marketing) said.
Aside from the fashion show, which is the biggest fundraising event that the organization hosts, Sisters on the Runway is also responsible for other events. The organization hosts a chalking event where they write facts about domestic violence on sidewalks using chalk. This is a way for them to raise domestic violence awareness, Taremi said. It also hosts a walk where all participants walk a mile in heels for awareness.
The show will consist of eleven female models and three male models, Edie Alexander, the event planner, said.
Alexander said the show is expected to showcase clothing from Connections, Dwellings, Diamonds and Lace Bridal and Harper's, who are also their sponsors. Looks Hair Salon will be responsible for hair and makeup for the models in show, Taremi said.
"There is no theme for the show,” Taremi said. “It will be a wide spectrum of clothing."
The male models are expected to walk the runway showcasing suits and tuxedos, Taremi said. Originally the show was not going to include male models. It wasn't until the owners of Harper's decided to contribute to the show by donating some men's apparel for the fashion show.
All the models participating have been building up their confidence for the runway, Alexander (sophomore-recreation park and tourism management) said.
"I'm excited for our first annual fashion show, I hope this brings more awareness to the Penn State community," Vice President Lauren Shearer (sophomore-supply chain management) said.
The organization’s goal is to get a lot of people involved through different events to help raise awareness of domestic violence, Shearer said.
"We’re trying to push people to come, not just Penn State students, because it's not an issue that doesn't only affects college students,” Alexander said. “It affects everyone as well."Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
It's cold outside,
rain falling down the sky,
foggy view, blurry sight,
I tremble with every step taken.
Not dream nor reality,
my consciousness fades,
words dance around their letters,
my beliefs collapsed.
Shapeshifting,
a brighter world sprouts,
limitless possibilities,
junctions merging their paths.
Efforts rewarded
with the sand of time,
barricades undone
time rewinds.
Splashs of water running down my face,
worlds drifting apart,
existence reentered,
my walk proceeds.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 3:21 AM UTC
I feel.. m left in the darkness where no one recites..
M the only one who is left behind..
I too wanna growup like every flower..
But i have to hold on till the morn..
I don't know why everyone has to pass this phase..
Even knowing these are the obvious days..
Why do i feel so low.. the dilemma and anxiety even though i know..
I want to find the way out of here..
from where my life proceeds no where..
I really don't know where to go and what to do..
All i know is to hold on till i get the right door..
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 3:37 PM UTC
He declared himself a refugee, and ran away from his country
Running away from hunger and poverty, to the overseas,
He roams foreign countries from one place to another,
Chewing foreign fortunes of historical efforts,
Of blood and sweat shed by the fore(wo)men of those countries,
He is prostrate and defenseless to foreign languages,
Begging for sympathy to be made a citizen in Europe,
His rapacious appetite wedding his tongue,
Swallowing saliva on sight of European fortune,
Feating into mad appetite for sweat of others proceeds.
He burned the bridges on the way back to his home
Lest he be told the piffling of going back to his emaciated mother,
He changed his names to become a foreign native
Out of laziness not to fight for political and social change,
An imperative need of his motherland and fatherland,
Blind cowardice made him to over measure homespun folly
In the patriotic spirit of verve-less readiness
To die for political goodness of his motherland,
A (de)patriotic syndrome to only which
Hugo Garcia Manriquez sang a limerick
The best of all poems in his time of solitude;
(The fear of representation, of going back
to representation, that is,
to animosity)
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
Johnny can't join
his daddy has no car
Michael can't join
they don't like his shoes
Ahmed can't join
he has a funny name
Bobby can't join
supports the wrong team
"What's going on?"
bellows the red-faced teacher
"You can't treat each other like this!
"Have you ever been excluded?
"Yes?
"And how
"did it make you feel?"
He ushers them in, muttering
though somewhat gratified
by the shame in their eyes
Then herds them through
to assembly
where the guest of honour
is the minister
who proceeds to explain
to the obediently seated rows
that if they don't see things his way
they will be eternally,
terrifyingly
and agonisingly excluded
from the great big party in the sky
And the teacher hangs his head
in baffled complicity,
defeated.
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 2:56 PM UTC
9/12/2014
consolation is a prize set upon golden sands that my feet are no longer invited to tread upon
solace is a faraway whisper that is only loud enough to be heard in my dreams,
and when i am woke,
all hope proceeds to dwindle,
and solace has gone forth to a new home,
and i am left to a melancholic hum which pierces my ears like the tip of a steak knife,
and i am left to sit
and dream,
but how doth the dreamer sing when all that is laid upon him is sorrow,
and how doth the dreamer pray when the exodus tears him apart from his mates,
and tell me how doth the dreamer love when all his life he hath known pain?
how does the dreamer live,
when he doth not see the light of the stars any longer,
when he doth not feel the warmth of the sun upon his nape,
when he doth not feel the wind outside his window?
the stars have gone dim,
the sun hath frozen outside of his dreams,
and the wind doth try to blow him away
away,
far away,
is that what the dreamer longs for?
what does the dreamer long for when life no longer fits his fancy?
i can say,
i do not long for death,
but maybe i do,
for i am like this dreamer
i once longed for the stars to envelop me in their light,
and the sun to shield me with it's warmth,
and the wind to wrap it's breeze around me
but now i do not know what i long for
the dreamer hath decayed,
the life has begun to rot,
the moon has begun to fall out of the sky,
and i am afraid of what peril i,
the dreamer,
may face
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 6:19 AM UTC
For Her
The call came late that night. The voice on the other end asks for him; he answers in the affirmative. It then proceeds to deliver the dreadful news.
At first he does not believe the voice. He asks it to repeat it self. It does, this time offering words or sympathy and comfort.
But it's to late. She is gone. There are no words of comfort, no spells, no nothing that can bring her back to him.
The phone falls to the floor with a sharp clatter; he with a soft thump. He stares blankly ahead as his brain works to understand, comprehend, believe what has happened.
DEAD
The Word rings through his mind, his body, his soul. It consumes him. He understands nothing else. It traps him in its hold till he is numb, then it releases him.
First comes the grief and the tears. It washes over him crippling him once more. The tears stain his cheeks forcing him to remember.
Then the rage. Rage so red, so hot, it burns the Word out. He begins to blame everyone and everything. How could this happen? How could Fate be so cold? He blames and blames till there is nothing left to blame.
The rage passes as the guilt begins to seep in. It starts at the skin and slowly makes its way to his core. She had done nothing to deserve this! It should have been him, not Her! She had been innocent!
As the guilt reaches his core, his thoughts take a deadly turn. He could step off a chair, pull a trigger, take pills. Anything to end this pain and join Her. He could flood the tube, cut till he bleeds out...
Suddenly a cool calming sensation washes over him. His thoughts begin to clear, his emotions begin to calm. Her voice whispers in his ear, soothing him, begging him not to join Her.
For Me. She whispers then fades.
Her words strength him. They lead him away from the Darkness and Guilt and Rage. For Her. For Her, he must continue.
Day after day he gets stronger. For Her. He tells himself. For Her. Week after week. For Her. Month after month. For Her. Year after year. For Her, he whispers.
Till one day he sees her. she looks the same as Her, walks and talks the same. But as he begins to learn about her, he realizes she is not Her. she is like Her but not Her.
Month after month and year after year. Finally he has a reason to live, a reason to fight.
He realizes that She was right all along. Her words were right, for time had passed and he had healed. However he would never forget her. Every now and then he whispers softly to the sky For Her, Thank You.
High above She gazes down at the small family. The family she could have had. But She has no regrets. He his happy and that is all that matters.
A smile tugs at Her lips as She watches him. Finally he had found peace. Finally he had found love. Finally he had healed.
She would forever gaze down to watch and protect for though he was happy She knew She would be forever in his heart
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC
**In the shadow of Everest people are dying
Crushed in a chaos embirthed from beneath,
Emerged as destructor of temple and Taos,
Emerged as an innocent killer... bequeathed.
History crumbles as heavens roar mightily
Ghorka is dead in an avalanche of rock,
Beggars and potentates crushed in the brickfall
Dharahara’s fall leaves men gaping in shock.
Shuddering mountains in avalanche of free fall
Wails of the stricken as quaking defiles,
Gold topped pagodas and statue of ancients,
Sculpture of lions now a rubble in piles.
Khathmandu in the clasp of calamity
Nightmarish forces arisen from deep,
Grasping the earth in their grip of profanity
Monstrously tearing the bedrock from sleep.
A techtonic ****** of Asia by India
Nepal’s Himalayas ****** to the sky,
Inconsequential, this plight of humanity
Nature proceeds as poor Nepalese die.**
M.
ANZAC Day 25 April 2015
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 5:45 PM UTC
Wandering paths ask for a dying cloud-drought
One black with the heart of darkness, devout.
A blooming earthly sunrise follows a fountain
and walks with her vices, talking to a mountain
Hope of finding you there, with bitter mnemonic
standing restless, alone in uncommon bucolic.
She proceeds to see with a call for rain
as fog blankets us, sunlight slowly wanes.
Lost in haze, could of sworn water fell genuine,
closing eyes swallow you whole, the medicine.
Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 10:58 AM UTC
There is a bullet in a box of crayons with really strange names like Parkland Perrywinkle, Sandy Hook Sanguine, and Great Mills Green in a place where children play Russian Roulette with their school supplies when they reach in to grab one and they’ve been learning about probability this week Forrest Gump will tell them you never know if you’re going to finish the lesson or turn into a statistic my sister likes to create mosaics by putting a hairdryer to crayons melting cascades of wax down a blank page sometimes she reaches in and it’s the one lead crayon at the top of the page and it’s only one color that seeps down into the crevices of the cafeteria’s tile floor that proceeds to wash away the Proud Honor Roll Parent stickers washes away the Proud Honor Roll Parent stickers I see another child reach into the box and I write another word problem I write another word problem: “Zoey reaches into a box of crayons. What is the likelihood she will not get to hang her drawing up on her kitchen refrigerator? What is the likelihood her funeral photo will hang there instead?” Draw students’ attention to the key word “likelihood.” Tell students This word shows that the question is asking whether or not you will live to tell your parents how your day at school was. and I wonder when school desks will take the shape of caskets in a place where both screams of laughter and screams of terror
are permitted
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 1:02 PM UTC
Blinded by the sunlight that shines so brightly,
it proceeds to massage my spectacles,
rinsing the grime away from my eyes,
there lived mankind, buildings, plants, and animals,
but where was I, unaware of the planet I saunter,
I look in amazement, unborn to what to forecast,
but then I distinguished the dark side, somber and bleak,
impoverished skeletons walking hunchbacked, desperately
scrambling for silver, as so to purchase a bottle of liquor and a burger to indulge his vacancy that absents him,
as I trek my way further into this metropolis,
I hear a sudden commotion arising from the right direction,
it begins to steer me that way, luring me in deeply there was a mass of onlookers chanting on, of what seemed to be two individuals pummeling one another into a bloodbath, but then it escalated, the crowd began to all partake in the beating and it caused a mayhem, that was uncontrolled, I bolted the scene, protecting my mask from getting dismantled, as suddenly I hear a very deafening noise, it was a four wheeler wagon, that speedily amtrac it's way towards the locus in which we was in, everyone scattered the scene, as the people who dressed in uniform annihilated the scene, putting an outright stop to the madness that occurred, forestalling future procreation from the participants, my heart shriveled and I gasped for air, I ran aimlessly into a town that was lively and sunny, as I saw mankind playing sports, clubbing, riding nice convertibles, homes were futuristic, plants were vegetated, smiles and giggles were infectious, everyone was cheerful and amused enjoying this utopian I discovered, it was care-free, as folks walked in suit and ties, formal dresses, luggages entering and exiting, dialect as clear as caribbean sea, friendly animals chaperoned by their owner, "where am I?", "what was this strange but yet interesting soil I embark on?", ..... I don't know, but it closes me in like a maze and I'm forced to live as they.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 4:12 PM UTC
~Christi Michaels~December 2015~
**the air presents tranquility
zephyr winds which blow on high
swirling within the troposphere
veiled serenity
clouds stealthy shift
covering brilliant, poignant stars
air masses
a juxtaposition
tension exists between...
omnipresent
yet unseen.
the sky illuminates..sparks of light
swarms of fireflies
ubiquitous in flight
there is a calm
steady as a drone
unwavering in its commitment
to a reality yet unknown.
till the shift proceeds
balance moves to tilt
calm planes of matter
Present ready to meld
celestial balance
no longer in alignment
exploding outward
defying confinement
fragile realization
of a squall revealed
friction surmounts
air becomes thick
atmosphere now dense
expanding as it pulls in
a tempest has arrived
opposition exists
shards of electricity
violently ripping open
the sky above
zephyr winds which
blow on high
the inevitable calm before the storm**
* * * * *
Copyright © 2014 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC
Imagine a map, it’s a map of the world, a giant map, placed on the wall.
There are lights on the map, some of them blue, some of them white,
some of them glistening more, some of them flickering faintly.
Each light represents a soul.
Your light is on the map and I don’t know if it’s blue, white,
if it’s shining or if it’s hiding, if it’s bruised or healing.
(If it’s healing, it’s purple.)
Then something horrible happens; a villain steals the lights.
Not the souls,
just the lights.
Blue, white,
purple.
No indication of them on the map.
The map’s plain now. That’s not nice, is it?
A plain map. A plain map that didn’t use to be plain.
A plain map that used to special!
The villain returns the lights. He isn’t a villain anymore and
once the lights are placed on the map again, they shine like nothing
happened.
The villain didn’t break them.
But the map doesn’t want them now. I don’t need the lights.
The villain who isn’t a villain anymore leaves.
The map tries to shake them off but the lights don’t badge. *Please,
get them off me*, the map says. *Please,
I don’t need the lights.*
Nobody hears the map.
Nobody will ever hear the map.
The map proceeds to tear itself apart, the small voice not loud enough
to make its presence known:
I’ll try to get off you, I swear!
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC