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The twins, they never seem to agree.
Two sides of the same coin, living like that ain't easy.
Her eyes rolled back,
washing down those pills with 80 proof.
"Jaime, stop."
She's not listening.
Not like she ever does...
"Don't pretend like it's me you care about."
Words like bullets, per usual.
But what hurt more?
Those words?
Or the truth in them?
I can't help it...
I always stare,
unable to let go.
Even when I realize,
It's so hard to shake off.
"You always look like a deer in headlights."
It just...
always hits me so fast.
I still don't know what yet,
but I can feel something...
... can you?
"Next time you wake up at rock bottom,
look beside you.
I'll be right there with you.
So let's keep each other company,
at the very least."
I couldn't tell you if those words comforted me that day,
but for a split second...
I felt that things could get better.
There's something special,
about that moment
when you're nursing sad thoughts
with sad songs
about suffering a broken heart.
You get that epiphany,
that sudden realization,
that these words are not for you.
Because they don't write songs
for the one's who hold the knife,
but for the one's cut up and bleeding out on the other end.
"I was drunk, and he asked me, so I did."
Smiling pulls at my cheeks
Never thought you'd mean it,
when you said you meant it.
It's hard to be genuine
when you're not drinking.
But so is life,
and such is ours.
Twenty-somethings searching for something.
And never really moving.
But at least you're here,
and that's probably something.
(Never sober edited)
Eyes watched behind relaxed lids,
a blue umbrella walk past their window.
"Do you feel better?"
she asked, after it was all said and done.
Fiddling with her tongue pressed against her cheek,
Amelie peered down at her mismatched socks.
The two sat in silence for a moment,
Jaime waiting patiently - for once.
"Yeah.." she finally responded,
raising her teacup to her lips,
eyes not looking for Jaime,
but facing the wall.
It wasn't that she was lying,
she was merely lost in thought.
Thinking that yes, for once,
I feel better.
And no one had to suffer for it.
Times like this...
were a rarity, if not completely mythical.
The way she glared at me,
with tears building on her lashes.
It was nice to see her make a face like this.
"Aw, does it hurt?"
I asked, making sure to mock her well.
I couldn't help but grin
steam nearly rising from her neck
"N-no..." She growled, behind grit teeth.
What a terrible liar she was.
But this was her first time,
and she was a crybaby.
As i watched needle lay waste to her virgin skin.
Eyes open and I'm awash in a sunrise afterglow that feels akin to waking up after an out of body experience.
This can't be my body, weak and frail - an unfit and bruised ugly shell that only my mirror recognizes.
This can't be my mind, heavy and unstable - but familiar memories flood in without remorse to wake me.
This can't be my heart, I begged, so lifeless and caged - but an unforgettable loss echoed from within.
Morning sun dimly cuts through the dark room and I realize once again I'm trapped, alone with this stranger I know all too well.
Good morning, Dove. Do you miss your wings?
My morality has a reset button. #bejelly
I wish a window cleaner followed me around.
He'd erase the things I say and the words that I write down.
So, Mr. Window Cleaner please erase each mistake.
Soak and sponge my dirty mind, and the choices I make.
I know I've made a lot of work for you,
and you've got a big job ahead of you,
but before you go, just know
it's not that I regret my actions.
So don't confuse this for repentance.
Because I know I'm not a good girl.
Never been, never will.
Wash away my sin,
so I can do it all over again.
Please, let me, Mr. Window Cleaner Man.
Again, and again, and again.
Alive again.
Because I'm a sucker,
do me a favor.
And never play acoustic,
at least not for me.
Because I'll only get sicker
So, do me a favor,
And never play acoustic.
No, not for me.
I'd love to make a children's book kind of art theme to go with this.
The Devil's Twins
One boy and one girl
Separated at birth
And sent to this world.
So the two were cast out,
To experience Original Sin
First hand with the mortals,
At it's place of origin.
Unaware of eachother,
Or the flames their hearts love
They grew into demons
Only daddy could be proud of.
The rotten apple
In his father's eyes.
What he lacked in compassion,
He doubled in pride.
And the twisted princess
Embraced her insanity.
A pernicious bitch,
hurricane of calamity.
Destined to destroy the other,
It was when they came to meet,
That they both shared the same thought;
"I'm laced with a burning desire,
To have you knelt at my feet."
Everything I say is broken English
and everything you say sounds like you took time
to think ahead before you spoke
like you've studied the art
I bet you think that you're clever
Or at the very least bet that I do.
There's a stubborn pride in the air tonight
And nobody is backing down.
Because it's easier to simplify
Talk it down.
It's not something,
I'm not anything.
But I can't bring myself to say the same about you.
There's more on my mind, but I can't.
Anyway..
You'd probably rather I not.
You're not anyone's responsibility but your own.
It's part of growing up, I think.
That moment you realize it's not someone else's job to take care of you.
Nobody has to love you.
Nobody has to appreciate you.
Nobody has to care for you.
Accepting that is hard, and nearly impossible for most.
But treating others as if they owe you something, in the end - is a hell of a lot harder.
Treat everything as a gift, if not a fucking miracle.
Each smile, each lovely word or considerate gesture.
The world owe's you nothing.
Be grateful.
Taking a long drag, he scratched his bristly chin,
and I knew what was coming next.
As he sat and let the smoke mingle in his lungs,
his eyes were far off
like they were staring beyond the stars
we could barely see in the city's night sky.
"You know... God only spent six days on this.."
Letting the smoke slip from his lips, he shook his head.
"Six days. To create an entire universe,
even less time he spent on us,"
Letting out a sigh, he leaned back against the car,
his shoulder slightly touching mine.
"No wonder why we're such shit."
I couldn't help but grin,
hiding it by bringing my hands to my mouth
heating them with my warm breath.
"What a slacker." I added,
keeping my eyes off of his and up at the sky as well
thinking that maybe I'll see what he's looking for.
Suddenly, he spun on his feet, pointing his finger at me
as if I had just stolen the words from his tongue.
"Exactly! God, is a fucking slacker.
Just like you, and just like me.
He didn't even get a full week of work in,
took a day off on the seventh day and said...
Fuck it!"
It felt like I was watching him catch fire,
flicker and burn brighter by the passing second.
My eyes were fixated.
"God is no Holy King,
He's a slacker, a quitter,
a failure if nothing else, I mean really!
Think about it!"
All the while, he spoke with a smile.
Like he had discovered something phenomenal.
"He's no better than me. Hell, what makes him any different?"
I spoke quietly, even though his question was likely rhetorical.
"You're real."
As quickly as I spoke, he came toward me,
slapping his hand on the car beside my shoulder.
"You sure 'bout that?"
I wasn't.
I held her in my arms, and within moments I knew exactly what was happening. Not because of the expressions on her face, no - those were hidden against my shoulder and neck. It started with the little tremors that came from her chest, those little spasms that were impossible to control. The inconsistencies in her breath became more apparent as time went on and I knew she was trying to hold her breath the best she could to not give it away.
But as my arms wrapped tighter around her back, pressing her body into mine as if to absorb her and somehow take away the sadness that was consuming her that night - that was when the dam broke. No longer was she holding her breath, her gasps erratically dispersed between heart wrenching sobs.
The scent of her soft hair pressing against my cheek took me in as I could feel my shoulder moisten with her tears. What could have caused this? In that moment all I could think of was how I never wanted this to happen again. She should never cry, no - not like this. I had never seen this from her before, and it was scary. Not because I was shocked, but because I had no clue what to do.
Suddenly - without warning, a silence has fallen between us. Eyes lock, unable to get a single word out – but it’s clear both of us want to say a thousand.
Your eyes are decieving you, unable to hide a thing.
That stare of yours, that powerful stare that weakens me with every passing second. Have I forgotten to breathe? The only sound I can hear is my heartbeat pounding faster, it’s vibrations shaking every inch of my body. I can’t say anything, in this moment I am terrified.
But the silence breaks in one sudden motion – the clashing of two bodies unable to hold back anymore. In the back of my mind I know you'll regret this and maybe I will too.
Unfortunately, I’ve already jumped and there is no turning back once your feet leave the window pane.
By now, I’m unable to distinguish if the air in my lungs is mine anymore...
A name – your name, escapes my lips in a faint whisper, calling out for your mercy because I feel like I’m going to burst. Something goes off inside you when it hits your ears, your eyes once again falling on mine.
What have I done?
2087
[Leader] was the first to become a Desert Ranger, working for the military he was among the group who took over Death Row, casting out the convicts inside. Among the convicts was [Leader]s younger brother, [Tank]. His circumstances were never that of the cold blooded monsters he shared a roof with, but that of someone dealt a regrettable hand by fate.
Despite their differences, [Leader] brought him in under the pretense he was just a wandering survivor, making [Tank] a Desert Ranger as well. [Tank]'s strength and love for destruction making him a powerful asset.
Saving the innocent became a daily goal for them, a saving grace that kept their sanity intact, along with their hope that one day they could piece together this world.
It was during one of their many missions out in that desert hell that they met [Hunter], a woman on the brink of death - if not insanity.
[Hunter]'s safehouse had been pillaged, convicts leaving her injured and unable to leave. They took her back to the Ranger Center, and with care and time had made a recovery.
[Leader] offered her a permanent place among them. She was a natural survivalist with a sharp eye, a great addition to their team. But in her eyes this world was no place for bonds, and she fled to Las Vegas.
Time passed, bringing another strong ally to their feet. [Intel], a man who's brains far exceeded his brawn, a trait hard to find in a world where man was slowly turning to beast.
[Intel] was a unique survivor who did not rely on the help of the Desert Rangers to stay alive. He was a jack of all trades, but a master of none.
[Leader] and [Tank] were the one's sent out to convince him to ally himself with the Desert Rangers, suggesting he had nothing to lose, but the world would have everything to gain. It wasn't easy, but [Intel] joined up, and the team of three was nearly complete.
It was during a mission to Las Vegas that the final piece of the puzzle came together. Taking care of a band of unsavory types that were extorting the weak under the veil of the city's bright lights, [Leader] and the others came eye to eye with a new foe - or better put "an old friend".
[Hunter] was not directly affiliated with the group, but instead merely a hired enforcer. A crime against man was still a crime, and [Leader] had a better idea than sending her to the afterlife. Using the same charisma that won over [Intel], he gave her the option to join ranks with them instead.
Not having much of a choice, [Hunter] joined up and became a Desert Ranger herself in the end. It was at the end of their journey back to Ranger Center that they were met with some unfortunate news.
It's like pulling teeth,
that shatter and throb in my gums.
Once you've yanked one out
I can't stop bleeding,
and as every word spills relentlessly
staining the illusion we've created..
in that moment...
I wonder if it was worth it.
Or if I was even worthy to speak.
If just maybe, just maybe
I could have put up with the ache.
I'll tell you my pain tolerance is high,
and I've got bite marks and history books to prove that fact.
Shifting gently in his seat, she watched as a finger glided across the screen of his phone before it was set on the table between them.
"What is that for?" She asked, eyeing the glowing microphone in the center of the screen with a cautious eye.
Without hesitation, he pressed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and casually remarked, "I like to record my sessions, so I can take notes later as opposed to now.."
The room hung in silence for a moment, to which he followed up with a lighthearted addition, "It's not very comforting having someone scribble away as you delve into your emotions.. right?"
Her silence was Jaime's way of saying she approved... or at the very least was without a valid argument. There was no intention of delving into emotions though, she was in this room because it was forced upon her - so she would drain the time until this gruling task was over.
"So." The chair groaned as he leaned back, making her feel like she was nothing amongst the sea of faces he had seen in all the years he spent in that chair.
On that side of the desk.
The safe side.
"What would you like to talk about today, Jaime?" He asked, immediatly obliterating any notion that he might be unorthodox, that he might not be the same kind of "doctor" who follows the text books to the T.
Uninterested, and frankly bored, she leaned toward the desk, softly nudging her chin in the direction of the wallpaper on his computer monitor. The image itself was the man on the other side of the desk with his arm around a petite redhead with a smile sweeter than honey. "Your wife?" She asked, not really interested - but eager to direct this conversation away from herself.
"Ah.." A little disappointed, but not entirely shocked at the tactic, he decided to play along. "No, my girlfriend... but, I'm pretty sure she's the one." He smiled, optimistically musing over the future while hoping to set a happy tone between them. Cases like this, it was smart to give a little, warming her up to doing the same.
Jaime didn't change her stoney expression at his remark, but instead questioned further, "You think so? Mmm, you do seem like one of those guys who'd love that whole cookie cutter white picket fence, wife and kids kinda thing."
Unsure of that being a compliment or not, he glossed over it with a professional expertise. "Yeah, well I can't say I don't. I think I'd make a pretty good father."
It was then she cocked her head in interest, the opportunity to poke a hole in this mundane small-talk coming quicker than expected. "Oh? Why's that?"
Leave it to Jaime to turn this hour appointment into an interrogation. He was too safe behind that desk.
Far too safe.
Scratching his chin, he had no idea what he was about to walk into, thinking off in the distance about fatherhood. "Well, my father was a good man, and I think I can take after him. I'll love and nurture my child... you know, make them feel special."
But as he sat, mulling over the pleasant thoughts and images he was conjuring in his head - all whilst patting himself on the back for such a commendable heart, surely - Jaime cracked a smile. But not for the reasons most would.
"See, that's your first mistake." Speaking casually she sighed, "Poor kid won't stand a chance."
Bullseye.
He was shocked in the moment, almost taken by the mixed feelings of sudden anxiety and confusion she brought up in his gut. But this being a patient - he had to take a step back and realize this wasn't about him. It was his turn to ask questions now. "Why do you say that? Isn't that how they say you should raise a child?"
With a light scoff she rolled her eyes, "The worst thing a parent can do is make their child feel special."
What a twisted way of thinking he thought, perhaps she was neglected and this is her way of justifying it?
Her arms remained crossed, but now her nails were digging into her skin with each word, "You're only setting the kid up for disappointment. The moment you drop 'em off into the real world, he'll assume everyone is going to think he is just as special as his parents do. This kid will spend his entire life looking for someone who makes him feel that way, only to be let down over and over again."
And it was in that moment that her attempt to attack this man had backfired, for she had shown him a crack in her paint he could begin to peel away.
"It's too cruel."
Deep breath.
Close your eyes, hold it down.
Count back from ten.
Temporarily disconnect,
three...
two...
one...
A close save.
Tread lightly.
When the curtains drop
and she collapses in bed.
In silence, she listens
to the ringing left in her head.
And she's trying to breathe,
before her heart just gives out.
"The devil, he was here."
She whispered, beyond any doubt.
This weight on her bones,
a phantom of that nights dream?
As her eyes begin to close,
she hums to the rain,
singing herself to sleep,
the feelings she cannot contain.
The story of a demon, who cursed her every night;
"He kissed my lips,
ran his tongue down my neck,
sunk his teeth into my skin,
and ate my heart from my chest."
Into darkness she fades,
the night still burning on her tongue.
"I know... it's hard to believe." He spoke, with caution and hesitation.
"But I swear to you, on the Sun and the Stars, I knew it was coming."
Slowly, the white sunrise began to glare over the oceans horizon.
"Like prey in the wild. I could sense it... smell it in the air. Something awful, something dangerous... something completely out of our control. And... as that anxiety began to creep up my throat and make it hard to breathe, I could only think about one thing.
...Dess."
The front door burst open with a loud rattle, green wide eyes peering in. "Dess!" He called out, trying to catch his breath from running all the way from the cliffs. "Odessa? Where are you?!" It took him less than a minute to comb through the unkempt shack, nearly losing his footing over the clutter.
"Abel?" The white haired female asked curiously, popping her head through the front doorway. "What ya doin' making such a noise? I was just workin' on the cruiser and..." Her hands blackened with oil and rust, she gestured back out to the yard where he had passed her by but within seconds he had his hands wrapped up around her tiny wrists. "Something's coming. We have to go... we have to get out of Nova... like now." His soft features alone made it hard to take him seriously, but some bold statement such as that made it nearly impossible.
With a click of her tongue and a roll of her wide blue eyes she scoffed, "Oh cut it out, you're not scaring me."
It was then, the for the first time in Nova's history... the ground shook.
Please, weary girl.
You're sleeping at the wheel,
and the car is speeding through the night.
I hope you forgot to buckle up today,
And you can't traverse the streets of ice you paved
I hope the sound of screeching rubber is deafening,
and the fear in your chest clears out your throat.
I'm sorry it came to this, but you've been asleep too long.
And I'd rather scare you half to death,
than watch you half dead any longer.
Have you ever felt the pressure
of bullets crawling up your throat?
The heat bleeding through your face,
coughing up lingering gun smoke.
Are you still shaking?
Spitting out the casings on the floor?
"Why a snake?" he asked.
For as long as she could remember,
the snake had been her guardian.
In times of unrest;
it would appear,
just out of view,
in her minds eye.
"The snake brings me comfort,
whispers to me... words I do not know,
but somehow understand."
For the girl who was never quite right,
it knew, she could never be so wrong.
In between the spaces where my eyelids would meet, I closed my eyes.
They felt hot, like they were burning through my skin.
A lethargic wave of exhaustion began to wash over me, just like it always did.
Akin to coming down from another high.
Too tired to speak, I felt I had spoken enough.
Instead, another voice..
"I don't care who you pretend to love, I know where your heart is."
The bulky wooden door groaned as it opened, the echo bouncing off the empty pews. A horned shadow stretched across the aisle, as weary feet stepped slowly inside. A weight looked to hang on her shoulders, as she ignored the searing pain beginning to tear away at her surface. Steam rose up at the points of her skin that began to burn, the amulet protecting only her heart below where it hung.
When she couldn't walk any more she collapsed to her knees, moving a trembling hand to grasp tightly the very token that embodied everything; power, life, love. With one sharp tug it broke from her neck and was tossed along the floor. The sudden clash of sound bounced off the painted windows and pointed ceiling.
Finally, she raised her bloodshot eyes to face the cross of gold hanging before her.
There was so much she wanted to say in that moment. Her last confessions, her last words. But words could never do her heart justice... so instead...
she simply closed her eyes...
and pictured paradise...
As flames consumed her,
leaving only ash.
"Am I... dead?" I asked. My body felt cold, lightweight, like I was there but - i wasn't.
"No... not exactly, maybe metaphorically... but not entirely dead. No, not that." A quick tongued voice answered from another plane.
"Then... where am I?" The room around me was small and bare aside from the few essentials that would deem it a bedroom. "Hmm.. what to call it, what to call it. Let's see... a domain with no exit... only one key... of which you do not possess so... hm, a prison?" I froze at that word, hostility running up my spine as anxiety began to choke at the air in my lungs. But this voice knew of it's mistake and quickly added, "No, no, sorry no. That word is too harsh for what this is. No, let's call it... a safe house. Yes. Like a panic room? Yes, no one put you here. Well, you put yourself here... but by your own accord whether you realize it or not." My mind, it couldn't keep up with the explanation. Ruffling my brows, I tried to make sense of it as quickly as I could.
"Listen, there's no use you know." The voice said ever so sure of itself. "You're always trying to figure it out. Whatever... it is. There's no sense now, no sense to make sense of. It's all quite nonsensical really.... hah." The voice added a laugh, clearly the only one appreciative of such a dry joke.
It was right though, in the past it was all I could do to protect myself. I could never accept something unless it made sense to me. Was I just supposed to accept this? This dream? This nightmare? This blinding uncertainty?
"But...what am I supposed to do...?"
It answered back with a kind tone of a wise parent, "Wait."
As the food in my fridge goes rotten and untouched, I'll do the same. I'll stay here bound to the confines of this bed frame as my own frame breaks down. Breaks under the weight of all these thoughts, all these memories lost.
It's become dark, so dark I forgot my eyes were even open. Not enough exposure, not enough exposure, not enough light. Just like the picture I took of the skyline that winter night I could hear the ice breaking. I could feel myself breaking. Trembling in the cold on that fragile surface that in that moment I wanted to break. Break the silence. Swallow me whole and eclipse my dark with the faintest of light. The moon making just enough light to separate the tree tops from the sky. The same sky where we would be so lucky to catch a foggy glimpse of the stars above. If we were so lucky.
But I've never been more than a curse. A plague on the mind and body, one cannot seem to see. The only person who's always known is me. Because a history book of destruction became my biography. And this trend of repeating events could no longer be considered a coincidence. Not in good conscience can I ignore the cosmic signs that maybe, just maybe this is my place.
This is where I belong.
Alone, a disgrace.
"Ngh-! Ahgh..." Sam took hold of his head, pressing firmly as if to keep it from splitting. Staggering, his weight fell into the wall, knocking a painting to the floor. "Sam...?" She asked, turning around upon hearing the commotion. "Sam! Are you okay?!" He obviously wasn't, the strain of his veins pressing through his skin sickeningly apparent. But even so that didn't stop Lily from reaching out to him, but as her hands reached to grasp his arms, she quickly retracted them. Taking a sharp breath in and examining her hands, her eyes darted from her reddened palms to the man before her who was burning to the touch.
Nearly choking on the pain, he buckled to his knees, trying his best to keep his eyes open in fear of passing out. Only proving impossible as visions of Lily's face began to blur, multiply and eventually fade. He could hear her calling out his name, but the sound only grew distant as another voice took precedence. A voice familiar yet unrecognizable, that echoed so clearly in his mind despite sounding distorted and clouded in static.
"Samael..." It called, "Samael..." Over and over, growing louder as the pain grew stronger, a pain he wouldn't make it through - he was certain. But then, at it's agonizing pinnacle bones began to crack in his skull and flesh began to tare. Two black spikes, one after the other forced their way from the peaks of his forehead. As they grew in length, the ribbed bone curved slightly before twisting back toward the ceiling. It was then that finally the pain began to subside to nothing more than a light throbbing.
Unsure of what exactly happened, Sam finally took another breath before opening his blurred eyes. Pale skin and long dark hair began to focus - but those familiar blue eyes weren't looking into his, instead they seemed to be glued to the space above. "What...?" He asked, moving to brush his still shaking hand through his tuft of brown hair. Only something was blocking his hand, [....]
Nobody writes songs for the snakes.
Because in their eyes, there's only black and white.
No blur of gray between the two.
You get what you deserve, no remorse.
So what do you say when you feel the snakes crawling, deep within your veins?
From the moment they begin to hiss, does that make your heart black as coal?
Do you even get a heart at all, or is there just a gaping hole?
There's no excuse for sin, and by no means are we a pair of saints.
I've accepted what I've done, and that I've left venom in their blood.
So, I ask - why can't I accept the veil of the damned?
I want to be cold blooded and deadly, like the snake I am.
But instead all I feel is the pain in my stomach and the trembling in my hand.
xxxx
'I used to think of myself as a morning person.' She thought, looking up from the mattress on the floor. The early morning daybreak had already begun to cut through the window above. 'It didn't matter what happened the day before, what mood I was in when I fell asleep. I would always wake up feeling like today was another chance.' Frail bones cracked into place as she rose from her bed, picking up the shirt discarded in her sleep. Taking a moment to glance over, she thought maybe it was the beds fault. Not the fact that it was old, or lumpy or even cold at times. Something else. 'The romantic in me says I just hate sleeping alone, but it might just be the fact I've lost my security blanket.' With a few tugs, the over sized t-shirt fell into place.
Opening the door into the hall where the sun shown in uninhibited, ash blue eyes winced as they tried to adjust. Morning was always a deafening silence in this house, a silence even now she didn't seem to mind. 'Only now, it's become evident that every quiet moment is nothing but a gap for my mind to fill with thoughts unproductive.' Letting out a light yawn, she flicked the switch of the kettle. 'Even things like pulling out a particular cup from the cabinet trigger short silent films in my head.' Setting the fragile, painted tea cup on the counter she did her best to not let her mind drift and made her way from the kitchen down the hall.
Chipped nails glanced the wooden railing before turning the corner into the bathroom - cold tile waking her up even more. Taking a deep breath, tired eyes rose from the faucet to the reflection in the mirror. Bringing both hands up to rub away yesterdays makeup, she attempted to bury feelings of self loathing deep in her gut. 'Sometimes I feel like I have a split personality and it's an endless battle for who's gonna come out on top, and worst of all they don't get along. One day, I'll wake up feeling timid, quiet and like I owe the world something for letting me still be here. Another day, I'm a force to be reckoned with, a dangerous combination of careless and selfish all wound up with a confidence conjured up from who the fuck knows.' Bringing her hands down to turn the faucet, she splashed a handful of cold water on her face. 'This disconnect with my personality, with my state of mind as a whole has me struggling more than I ever have in the past.' She watches the water drip down her jawline, past her neck and to her collarbones - any expression lacking in her features. 'And because I've lost touch with myself, I've grown fearful of those that know me best, afraid that they'll notice that right now, I'm playing a part...' Pulling the towel from it's hook, she patted her skin dry. The distant whistle of the kettle now boiling as she peered once again into the mirror.
'... and I've forgotten all my lines.'
I'll never
learn so let's start
over, and I'll make the
very same mistakes,
even though
yesterdays will never
open the doors or live
up to what we wanted them to be.
"Please, please, I just need you to be quiet, okay?"
There was a panic in her voice never heard before.
Like a new mother lacking maternal instinct,
she begged for silence out of fear and misunderstanding.
Her knees came to the floor in an instant,
wrapping her arms around her sisters shoulders.
"Amelie, breathe!"
Breaths of air were far and few
pained, harsh gasps between
the spaces where she had finally broke.
It was impossible now,
Jaime couldn't ignore it.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...
I didn't mean for this,
Please, just let me take it back."
The room flooded with light
as if a flash grenade went off
everything was silent
as she watched her sister
silently scream
eyes gripped shut.
What have I done?
Hello my name is recipe for disaster,
I was raised on suicide and sarcastic laughter.
Just like everyone else, I've got more baggage
more luggage than I can afford to check.
My ancestors, they give me an excuse
for yelling a lot and drowning in booze.
No I won't blame my dad for the life I had,
or the lack of time he spent within it.
And it ain't my mom's fault
for being built with faults
that were cracking decades before I was born.
Cuz yeah life hasn't been the best
but this pain in my chest
that you and I
we carry every day
It raises us right
teaches us to fight
made us feel we could handle the worst.
I'll pull this knife from my chest
toss it to the floor with all the rest.
And with all those metal scraps
I'll fashion armor unbreakable.
It was there; in her own special corner of hell, a never ending snow would fall. Away from the fire and brimstone, away from the sinners howling in repentance. The scene itself plucked from mortal memories of days long since but never truly forgotten. Her long frame cloaked beneath charcoal robes, she sat atop the overturned remains of a once living tree. The foot prints tarnishing the landscapes beauty were quickly vanishing as each flake made it's descent.
Oh, how the silence rang blissfully here - closing her eyes she could even make out the soft sound of the snow falling onto her cheek. But it did not melt, for her skin was colder than the pond beneath her feet. How long was she to stay here? Pondering the safety such a lonely place held?
Snap.
The sudden crack of a branch nearly made her flinch. As the footsteps grew closer, so did the rests between each thump of her heart. Couldn't she just be alone? Wasn't it clear that's what she wanted? If she was going to be alone it was to be by her own choice and no one else. Not even a King. She would not turn, she would not waver, she would not look him in the eye.
And as every fiber of her being raged inside her unmoving shell, the storm around her grew furious. With every passing second the temperature dropped more and more, turning the flakes into sharp pin-like shards of ice. The wind blew stronger and louder until finally -
a new weight befell her resting place and a warm hand took hold of her icy fingers.
The Demon King whispered into her ear words impossible to make out, and at that same moment the storm halted completely. The snow on her cheeks finally melting against a sudden heat.
"I've always been able to cope with being lonely." is how I'd really like to start this out. But thinking back, my way of coping didn't necessarily ever work. It didn't make me happy, because at the end of the day, when I left imagination and returned back to life I wasn't comfortable. I've never been quite comfortable in my own skin, and that's how I know I could never cope well enough, because I still always hated being alone.
Don't get me wrong, I've always always always found ways to pick out the good in every situation. To take moments that to someone else are only a blip and turn them into long lasting memories. Warm feelings I could bring out at times where I felt cold. I can think of plenty of reasons I was lucky growing up, so many that I could greatly outweigh anything else.
For instance I managed to be gifted with a "wild" imagination. Some people would consider my daydreamy take on life as something not to be proud of, but I can honestly say I wouldn't want to live without it. When my house was quiet, the world I painted inside my head kept me living. When my house was loud, I took solace in the safety of it's walls. I was never smart, I was never athletic, but I was always expressive and always curious.
Smart people ask how, I always felt the need to ask why.
But thoughts like these are hard, because not everything can be answered. At least I cannot answer everything. And having thoughts like these are dangerous when you're isolated because you start to think inwardly, analyze yourself. You pick yourself apart because there's nothing else to do.
But then there is writing. The ability to create someone else, to take the imaginary games of make believe and turn them into something of substance. No longer am I alone, no longer do I even have to be... me.
That realization dawned on me over a decade ago. To think it's really been that long is nothing less than bizarre to me. To think I've aged ten years and still I feel like the same confused child lost in her inability to cope.
I want to learn how to be comfortable.
It's hard to say what brought me here - no, what brought us here. A series of terribly unfortunate events paved by your feelings of passionate love burning to an evermore passionate hate. Much like a tantrum throwing child, upset without his way, you took out your frustrations on me. Often I let your dirty nails press deep into my open wounds, the same wounds you begged me to reveal. Little did I know you'd exploit them at your first chance, waiting to revel in the infections you'd spread.
But this is it... your game stops here.
Rocket descended the stairs into the dimly lit cellar, the smell of sweat and must wafting up into her nostrils as she grew closer. The sound of heavy boots scuffing across the dirty floor drew his eyes up, sweat dripping down his brow. "Aww..." She purred, "...looks like you've had a rough night."
The 'victim' tensed and jerked against the ropes confining him to the metal chair, but two masked "goons" placed a firm hand on each of his shoulders sending him back firmly. His glance reached from side to side to get another glance at both of them, their expressionless white masks reminding him of the throbbing pain he still retained from the previous beating that got him here in the first place. "Tch- fuckin'.."
"Ah, ah, ahh~" She teased, wagging her finger before him. "I would watch my tongue if I were you, pretty sure these boys right here hate ya even more than I do. And they've got a bit more force behind their punch too.." A giggle escaped her lips before resting both hands on her hips with a sigh. "Boys, this basement is pretty stuffy, huh?" With a pout, she took a moment of silence to think before snapping her fingers. "Oh, I've got it! How about a trip to the beach?" Rocket suggested with childlike excitement.
A look of confusion came across the victim's face, "Wait... what... just tell me what's going on!" He demanded as the masked men cut his ties and ripped him from the chair, roughly tugging him around by the arms. Rocket led them up the stairs and out of the house, his eyes wincing at the bright rays of setting sun in the distance. When they finally came to focus, he could see her popping the trunk of the black car before him.
"In ya go!" She chimed as the two goons threw him inside, slamming the trunk closed atop him before he could even begin to make a sound. As they all climbed into the car, Falco and Spooky took off their masks and smiled at each other. "To the beach?" Spooky asked, turning the key in the ignition. "To the beach!" Rocket called out, slapping the dashboard with her hand.
As the car drove on to the sound of blaring guitars loud enough to muffle out any sounds of protest coming from the trunk, Rocket leaned her head out the window to let the wind blow through her hair - a carefree smile on her face. The reckless speed at which they flew around the road only heightened her excitement. When they arrived to her favorite spot, Falco parked the car and everyone piled out. The boys put on their masks as Rocket stretched and spun in the warm rays that shone down upon her.
When the darkness was once again broken with sunlight, the two faceless goons yanked him from the trunk and sent him to the ground. His heart was pounding so fast with fear he could barely keep up, trying to swallow the pain creeping up his throat. He was indeed exactly where he thought they would bring her. Pulled to his feet, he was shoved forward again and again despite the weight he tried to place in his heels. "No, no, nono... come on guys..." He pleaded, digging up the dirt below him. "Rocket! Please! Get some sense!" His steps growing closer to her, the sun behind turning her form into a darkened silhouette as she stood cliff side, the sound of crashing ocean waves below her.
It wasn't until he was held beside her did she turn to speak to him, "Didn't you once tell me you wanted to come here with me during sunset? Well, look! Wish granted!" She raised her hands up into the air with a joyous smile. "Everyone's entitled a last wish, right?" With a wink, her locked eyes with his before a sudden force shoved him forward.
The moment was just as slow as the movies made it out to seem. Those final moments as his blurred glance attempted to focus on the twisting of choppy deep blue waves that could only grow closer.
But no - instead he hung there, suspended over the edge as one of the goons held him by the back of his collar. He let the victim dangle momentarily before throwing him onto his back. He practically whimpered at the earth greeting his cheek, trembling from head to toe.
"What?" She asked, crouching down to grab him by his hair so that he would look her in the eyes once again. "You thought we'd kill you?" A scoff escaped her, rolling her blue eyes. "You ain't worth it." Letting him go she raised back to her feet, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Besides, I'm not that kind." The smile she always wore began to fade as her masked accomplices came to stand behind her. "Death would be sparing you of the awful life you've made for yourself. Sure, not breathing the same air as you would come as a pleasant convenience but... it's just not as satisfying as knowing you're still barely living in that bed of vile shit you've become so comfortable in." In that moment her eyes were dark, serious with a venomous glint.
"Have a nice life, kid." Rocket nodded, waving a hand in the air before turning on her heels to follow her goons to the car, adding under breath, "..if you want to call that living." And it was there he shook, curling his body up into a ball wishing that they did actually toss him from that ledge, knowing full well that he lacked the courage.
Before peeling out Rocket could be heard asking, "Okay, who wants ice cream?!"