#daniel is alive

[korimarsh118]

Working on my Buckley Twins fic, it think I kind of love the twin I made for Buck.

[bloodonthepage]

Eat stars for breakfast. Consume the galaxy. Let the most fantastic planets perform their welcome rituals on you. You’ll grow two moons. They will wear suits and follow you home from work until the transition is complete. Total blackness will welcome you home and will not seem so scary. Look, you’ll say, You can see the earth from here. Look at all those lights! And the people beneath all those lights will look into the night sky and say Wow, the new planet is beautiful. Doesn’t it remind you of someone?

[bloodonthepage]

Self-Taught

In winter, and in times of stress, my skin cracks open as though it were my ribs, as though it wants to show me the colours of my heart and the maps taking shelter in my blood.

With glass in my feet I walk through a forest, where the ghost of my childhood self still plays. The rope swing will break beneath him, I know this because I remember it. His eyes don’t look like mine yet, but his soul’s already heavy and he tells me You don’t belong here. Neither do you, I tell him, and the rope snaps.

He knows who I am when I start to run. I couldn’t stay and promise him the future, that he will not jump from the ledge he will plan to, that the arms he’ll scratch bloody will have mercy and will not scar, that he’ll learn how to kiss and won’t be scared of kissing boys, that for all the times he asks himself What’s wrong with me? I will be there, mute and invisible but screaming the ashes out of my mouth Nothing! Oh God, you will be loved!  He has to learn this himself.

[bloodonthepage]

Everything comes and goes

The nights always come and the nights always go. Every hour brings you closer to something awful, and closer to the next time someone will look at you like you're wonderful. These are the reasons that the world overwhelms me.

[bloodonthepage]

Reality

There are two realities, linear and parallel. You are cracked and broken in them both. In each you wash the makeup from your bruises, and climb, at midnight, a mountain you used to share with someone else. In both you’ve never felt so alone.

And at the highest of peaks you whisper your regret, until one night it slips out in a wail. You’ve never sounded so wild, so alive, so much like an animal that the birds flee their nests in their ice cold terror. I brought stitches, you howl, I could sew us up at our butchered seams. There are two realities. In the first I am made from rationale.  You’re sorry and you’re hurting. The mountain will never be ours again but I hope  the bruises heal over time. In the second I bring you coffee on the mountaintop, and I throw it in your face.

[bloodonthepage]

Winter Walks

Encased in bone,  I stalk through the winter forest and whisper apologies  to the army of corpses around me.  I won’t make eye contact, I don’t mean to displace their earth.

This was our relationship. Once, you were everything. I thought you were breath, held close in my lungs and then appearing, sheepish but inevitable before me. But you were not. Time eroded your mask, and you were the earth that never felt like mine to walk on. You were the trees that let me in but concealed me from everything else. The rest of the world sees a forest, not a forest with a boy inside. I hope you think of me, still,  as the footprints I trampled into your spine when I realised this and ran. Even more, I hope that someone thinks of you as the sun one day, and that you will have earned the title.

[bloodonthepage]

"Tell me your life story," he says, so I put my memories in jars and dim the lights

[bloodonthepage]

I call you up and tell you everything except I’m scared. Which I am.