Thoughts I'll never tell you by Tangled-Tales, literature
Literature
Thoughts I'll never tell you
3am.
it seems nighttime
has never looked this dark
(or maybe my emotions
are just blurring
my perception)
squinty eyes turn
to my alarm clock:
a lighthouse
in the roaring black sea
delirium fades,
as the dream
s l o w l y
comes back
How can I miss someone
who wasn't even mine?
Hidden Predator by GhostOfTheEmptyGrave, literature
Literature
Hidden Predator
The beast hides in the dark
Awaiting its prey
Patiently but eagerly
Anticipating the fear of the victim
The screams
The last breath
And the taste of the blood
One strike is all it takes
One move and it's over
With the covers pulled over my head, my room darker than the city night and the steady breath of my sister in the bed below me, I would put my hands together, close my eyes, and pray. I’m not sure who I was praying to. I knew God then, I suppose. Each night asking for the same thing. Never receiving, but I’d never stop. I couldn’t sleep unless I prayed. Dear Lord, I thank you for such a nice day. Please let us all have good dreams tonight and a good day tomorrow. And please, please, please let me have the power to fly. In Jesus name I pray, amen. I thought these words each night, and each morning I’d wake from my night
She's always seen during
daylight -
yet her beauty is
nocturnal.
I, with shaking hands
[and nerves],
wrapped her round me
like a scarf,
though she still gives
me midnight chills
and spasms of pain
Her friends pick daisies and
pierce the stems with their
fingernails,
link them together like
Uncle Levi and Auntie Gertrude and Katie didn’t miss Gramma. They didn’t even think about her until her Soul Fly Day came. Their flies were silver with big sparkly opal eyes, but Momma said the wood ones Grampa carved for us were just as good.
It was my first Soul Fly Day ever. Momma got me a new black dress and told me it was all right to cry. Katie’s dress had white ruffles and silver flies stitched into it. She pointed at my wood fly and called us poor.
There were so many people there was barely enough room for the shaman to get to Gramma. Everyone got real quiet so we could hear him say words I didn’t understand.
He drowns
in visceral shades of gray,
confined
in illustriously craved walls
with four defined ridges
allowing him only
a window to his soul...
a window without bars,
and yet it offers no escape
for it only allows
the gray to flood through.
He cannot swim,
the color allows him no such pleasantry
and instead he must sit,
basking
in what little color he can find
as they slowly choke him
and as he dies
he screams repentant cries
and begs for salvation
with tears in his eyes
for redemption...
but his tears
only dye his skin as gray
as the filth which drowns him.
a longdead leaf
burnt brown in the depth of green
cups a handful of fresh water
a leaf left behind
holds something of worth
forgoing death with its dead body
Stop putting words in my mouth by Tangled-Tales, literature
Literature
Stop putting words in my mouth
You shove your fingers
down my throat,
and insert words
I never spoke,
in desperate hopes
to make me choke
but beware:
my pearly gates
won't hesitate
to bite
the hand
that feeds me