Fiction
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She undresses herself to the perpetuating tune. The offset of the offbeats, running ripples in soundwaves through heatwaves. There is an aridness to the room she stands in. Her clothes fall like landslides from her velvet flesh, though were loose to begin with. A pair of eyes, glancing to riveting nudity. A man sees a…
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I Dusty Skin Now when all stars are dusted over with skyglow, we take our faces to what is still gleaming. It is forming. Guiding a man. A man who left the sun to rot in his chest, though the moon still pulls him. What forms, from nothingness, is a small, stripped piece of what…
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I Cracks in the Walls There is always love that dreams. Even then, those times when the eyes are closed, when the mind has entered a shutdown phase, the soul is screaming. The soul screams, as that is all the mind hears. The same as an infant owl having a powerful sense of hearing will…
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Liam ended with a question in the same method he uses to enter or begin something else. The inquiry for his surname, the last word to a very fundamental identity. The lack of himself not knowing what is, of a surname, so basic and yet, retains itself at the core of all persons. Liam does…
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I Beyond the Unknown Door The first step will hurt. The first step will reopen the wound. Sometimes, it healed not back into color. When monochrome fills the skies, there comes the symptom of wanderlust to keep a person living. When those colors return, reality will sparkle. When the turn comes for someone like Liam,…
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She rises. Then, she falls. Her eyes drift from one corner to the next, tracing the shadows. Nothing had been forgotten where it was removed. Absolutely nothing was stolen. Each item that was placed, whether on a dresser or against the wall, remained in her heart. Nothing special was misplaced, out of proportion, or even…
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I want to part these lips for light. He chooses to open his mouth, though the blank pages remain. Whether I or him, whether the world full of silhouettes and sighs or the singular man who kneels here will want to breathe for what means to go, it goes without accepting. Short of time, and…
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“I think, that when I look at the night, I can see something still so mesmerizing of color as the day. I can see nothing missing in detail, never deprived of either vividness nor shape. A flawless form; though, dead with the teardrops that fell, while in desperation, attempting to raise a garden from a…
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“I think, that when I look at the night, I can see something still so mesmerizing of color as the day. I can see nothing missing in detail, never deprived of either vividness nor shape. A flawless form; though, dead with the teardrops that fell, while in desperation, attempting to raise a garden from a…
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Colors will drain from the open wound. Upon the carpet, upon the spaces where sunlight brought in from open windows is shown warmest, as these marks are left without memory for why or when they were applied. They just were, because colors can be left behind. Color-blinded, some people are, though not ever blinded of…
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He paces, in support of himself. His footsteps crumble remnants of a previous Autumn, for now the season is Spring. Something keeps his forward direction, though his heart requires a quilt, even as a hand to keep it company. This elder, this man, follows the sidewalk gleams, like it were a pathway of snow for…
Modern Romanticism 