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victims of changeonly a thin slat of light falls across
the darkened room to rest on a wall
as lonely as i am, a wall that could
tell stories older than the blood in my body.
i think of how we are just people
who organize their lives and loves
into boxes of respective sizes, and
yet these boxes hold more than our
memories - they hold ourselves.
in this room, so many things have
happened: a lost innocence, a lost
virginity, a lost sense of self.
i cannot help but remember how this
room was just a futon and bunk-beds
when we first met, i also
cannot help but realize that this
room has cocooned and evolved
with me, over time.
in an attempt to rid you from where i
sleep, i switch beds.
in an attempt to rid you from myself,
i chance myself nightly.
and though i cannot see anything in
the unlit cave i call my bedroom, i
find comfort in the ceiling, for that is
where my memories, bad dreams, and
many's the long night he have robbed me of my restbefore you move on:
i want to smoke pot with you.
no more of this high school teacher bullshit.
get high off life!
we can watch a few movies,
eat like kings, and pass out
in each other's arms
to lucid dreams.
(but nothing is ever that perfect,
before we spend years not talking:
i want to kiss you.
i've spent years dreaming about it.
i'm not the boy of your dreams,
i won't kiss your scars,
but i'll kiss your stretchmarks -
they're much more human
for they grow with you like i have
and i have a matching pair.
(but that just makes me an asshole,
before you forget about me:
i want to tell you how much i love you.
i think it goes without saying,
but i'll say it again,
just in case.
(but you've fallen for someone else,
before you get married:
i want to go on a road trip with you.
we can listen to your music this time
as long as we can roll the windows down
so i can catch the scent of your loveliness
without you knowing.
(but you'd still know that i l
how to be a starving mani told him,
you have to
love a starving
woman, the kind
who feeds on
the way you
move and words
you speak, the
kind who has
forgotton she exists,
sometimes, but is
still achingly aware
of how she
does exist. i
told him, you
probably would love
her more than
you think. i
told him, she
loves you even
more than that.
the truth behind loving someoneyou didn't love her.
the only movie you watched that ever stuck with you was 500 days of summer, and when she asked you to carry her over the rush of the creek that way that summer would have, you did. you never knew what it was that attracted you to that movie, or the idea of loving a girl as much as the protagonist had, but you assumed it was something you should do. you were young, anyways, and you were good looking, and she, among many, had dropped words in your hands, hoping you'd hold onto something. take it somewhere, ask for more, take more, like you deserved. you don't know why you took more from her. maybe she looked best for the part. you don't really know.
she was happy, always. she listened to music, you knew; she wore her favorite bands like clothing, wore art in her denim and hair length, and maybe she was better looking with makeup on or off, but she looked like a project, color paper cut and placed over her body in haphazard precision. she was a doll, everyone said abo
The BeginningHe told them, of course. He told those idiots everything, the whole damn story, including the blunder he'd made, and its consequences. Looking back on it later, he realized he had probably been in shock the whole time. It made sense, anyone would have been.
Soph was about twenty years old, and he'd been that way for a couple of years already, ever since the Hoarde had started attacking humanity from the past. Every day that passed, they ate at another day in the past. It sickened him. Those creatures had absolutely no regard for proper time and causality protocols.
It didn't seem to affect anyone else that way, though.
The Hoarde was the result of a human creation, of course, like everything bad in the world, though no one else knew about them. Then again, no one else had undiluted access to the power of creation. Even he didn't know much about the Hoarde, only that they appeared through some tear in The Fabric of The World and started killing people off. They appeared at some point in
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