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grandfathermy grandfather died on a normal day,grandfather by andrewpom
alone, as expected. his funeral
was held in silence. i vaguely remember
the flat where he’d lived, alone.
if i had played there, i don’t remember.
i do remember my parents tearing
down wallpaper, as wrinkled as he was,
and the stale, ghostly smell of cigarettes,
and the low ceiling that bled yellow. they
emptied his drawers, cupboards, bedtable—
then stopped, silently. child as i was, i
saw them find something, hidden beneath socks.
then my father, who i did not see cry…
man as i am, i cannot remember.
suitably warmCoffee. Iced coffee. Iced coffee is my favourite type of coffee. I don’t normally like normal coffee, because the heat of it detracts from the taste. When you take a gulp of normal coffee— well, I say gulp, but in actuality you have to take quick sharp sips, because it’s too hot to gulp, really. But when you take a gulp of normal coffee, you can’t enjoy it, because all the little coffee molecules rumble down your throat like little bubbling bumble bees. The heat makes the particles excited, and they rush around in great surges of energy. They walk into each other and drop what they’re carrying. “Sorry, my fault, sorry”. Funny. They all have places to go, though they all go through the same place. Iced coffee’s not like that, I find. Iced Coffee shakes your hand like the true gentleman he is: a soft, firm handshake, like the bygone gentlemen of ancient times. He hushes you. Tells you to relax. You drink him down, a long slow tremor;suitably warm by andrewpom
never mindI guess it’s kind of funny, if you think about it. You always see in the movies – in the TV shows – people running and screaming and praying and stuff. That’s what Hollywood always thought it would be like. Some sort of ‘death cloud’ or something – or like an asteroid or something like that – that just happened: that just totally hit everybody by surprise.never mind by andrewpom
People have known about it for months. It’s not like in the movies. The word ‘inevitability’ comes to mind: and hey, guess what? Nobody cares to run from the inevitable. It’s pretty stupid – isn’t it, if you think about it – how people, in the movies, try to run from inevitable death. Everybody has decided what they were gonna do today weeks ago, maybe even months ago. Say goodbye to family, spend time with girlfriend, et cetera et cetera. As with the Kubler-Ross effect – or whatever it's called – p
ColetteKiss the girls and make them die,Colette by thestitchedsound
they say in hushed tones through vacant skies
The empty hearts of the Queen's guards
Are calling out your name
You're swimming in pools of regret
The bloody seas won't calm just yet
And your hand-me-down Catholicism
Doesn't cover life jackets or canoes
"We are witnessing a good girl's fall from grace."
They shout out in unison in wealthy estates
Sipping on Bourbon and London Gin
As you undress
They know the Harlots are in bloom
Embellished in lace, concealed harpoons
Tramps pour word upon word unto their deaf ears
Remember, seduction will only carry those in red
With cheeks a merry, stubborn bred
So remember who you loved
And who loved you
When your skin becomes so frail
Your rosacea fades, and there's no ale
To cloud their eyes, poor pretty mare
You'll have to read
Text is sacred to the Holy,
Empowering to those worthy
And a useful trick to get beneath your skirts
Know that 'a penny for your thoughts'
Is worth no more than getting caught
In an alleywa
Alone.ScarletAlone. by whitelightwings
and in the eye
two thousand truths
palm to palm
the mind becomes
the mingled scent
and when I
open my eyes
and the hall echoes:
Wolf HideHe called me pretty boy when I first came here. Now he calls me trash, if he calls me anything at all.Wolf Hide by Psyghostis
"Hey trash, pick this up for me."
It didn't even start out as a joke, as if he'd been saying it all along. It didn't bustle merrily across stage, as if it had been sitting in the wings, waiting for its inevitable appearance. It was thrown, like a heckler's open disdain.
Pretty boy became someone else, belonged to someone else.
What was I supposed to think of that? Some bastard boy with more hair on his legs than his face was the same bastard boy I had once been to someone else, when I'd first appeared on the scene.
I had tried to ignore the signs; he had seen them, and acted swiftly.
Just like I'd been tender, and the first pain had been tender, here was an ache that carried still that tenderness - it was a killing ache, but one devoid of love as the ones before it had not been.
Now here in my place was another soft, sweet tender ache for him. The ha
We met where someone had eons ago carved meet me here when your world falls apart into the grey, crumbling, concrete path separating the road from the park. Though I doubt she noticed the graffiti.
It was either dusk or dawn; I can’t remember which—the light was in a temporary stalemate with the darkness, and there was the faint promise or impression of stars, coming or going, led or shepherded by the moon looking as though it had been slightly erased from the deep, middling blue of the sky. There were no clouds.
I didn’t notice her coming until I heard the scuffing of her shoes. I was glad I could only hear one set of footsteps: she’d heeded my request. Turning, I felt in my pocket for the square of tightly folded paper, passed it over without a word, trying to converse through our eye contact. I went home without looking back, silent.
When school started back after the summer holidays, she sat next to me in Engli
VavaraThe day had been long. Finding my way to the arena from the town gates proved more difficult than I thought it would be and that stop at the tavern, called "The Husband's Last Stop", didn't help things though it did help to dull the oppressive summer heat. I asked the tavern keeper why the name and he just laughed, said I should visit the store next door and put two and two together. I took his advice, but found myself leaving almost as soon as I walked through the door. The tournament interested me more than some cheap whore. Besides I only brought so much money.
The arena itself was tucked away in the back of the town, towered over by two large churches, one to the Old Five and the other to the new faith. I smirked at the priest of the Old Five doing all he could to bring the people to him. The message he had was a dated one however, one that had lost its appeal. A man was shouting near the main entrance to the arena about where fighters were to sign up. Shouldering my claymore and c