#hella cryptic

[chasingfridayon]

IV. Games Played Between Spoonfuls of Complex Carbohydrates

What if you were a boy I met on a bus. Pressed up against by accident. (Open a box of cereal) A deep worry growing in my heart, that intentions were misjudged. And then you get off the bus. And we passed each other without knowing. Hearts centimeters apart. (Find the box empty) Just one person who walked too fast And another who turned too slow. (Scan the cabinet)

What if when you walked, I would smell cherry blossoms as you passed (Open a new box) Each footstep a quiet piano note Calling delicately After one just passing by And you never saw my face And I never heard your accent Blended like coffee between a young gazelle in the brush and a dolphin of the deep.

(Find a pair of scissors) What if he knew That she thought dreams were As clouds in a pail of water That the things she loved Were submerged in that bright Apple red Pail (Cut open plastic package) That she thought if she got too close (Grab the first bowl) Like the picture in the water breaks (Pour out cereal) Her love would break too (Fill bowl with milk)

He got too close (Place spoon in hand)

What if I never saved my words (Dip) And instead let them like the chimes (Spill) Be torn away into the wind Away from a future I'll never know (Eat)

[chasingfridayon]

III. The Tale of the Backwards Butterfly

It's the kind of story people tell to their children to scare them about something. Like that Japanese story that warns if you cut your nails at night a monster will rip the paper door in half by midnight, stalk into your room, and cleave your blood from your bone.

Right. So there was a butterfly with wings of mahogany. At birth, it was a blind caterpillar but it always heard the whispering of other wings fluttering in the wind Without having seen, it fell in love with those wings like the sailor's wife falls in love with the light house operator.

Imagine if you fell in love with something you couldn't see. It's in a metaphorical sealed box. And we've ripped out your eyes Sorry says God but in return I'll let you love what I put in this box.

So now what? You're in love with what's in the box You can feel it pressed up against the sides You can feel its warmth through oak wood And you feel your heart Beating at your rib cage Begging you 'Let me in'

So the caterpillar, like you, opens the box

Never before have you ever wanted to-

The caterpillar curls up And the change begins. Mahogany wings unfold. White silk threads twist Like A straight jacket? Thorns? Twisting like a ballerina whose toes are knives Twisting into your side

-close a box so badly.

The butterfly is crying. You are crying. The butterfly never leaves its cocoon. In hopes it will turn back.

And what you've realized is the box you've opened Is your coffin What you've loved inside Was what you were

And the butterfly dies inside its life's work

Parents wag their fingers while the children shake in their sheets Not sure why they are so scared (Maybe because it dies?) But they find themselves awake all night anyways

[chasingfridayon]

II. The Becoming of a God Who Fears Sharp Turns

It begins on a day I would go to work at 8am. The rest of the world has already woken up and your car is stuck on one of those windy bridge things that always made you want to puke. But you just pull the cloth of your ceremonial robes over your eyes.

I decided not to go to work. She yells at me, moths flying from her teeth. She complains about her ring, her rock, all her hard work. I am reprimanded for not doing my part in growing up. I chew a bagel she paid for and stare out the window.

Nobody knows today is the day. I don't write that in a way as if I do. If I did, I might have gone to work. I might have thrown her ring and rock out the window at "all her hard work". Maybe then I would have grown up. I would still have chewed her bagel with fog in my eyes.

You probably deal with the rest of your ride into the ugly concrete jungle with oblivion in the colorful, butterfly folds of your dress.

I wouldn't know.

I only see you once, as you pass in the parade A foreign creature Walking with a confidence unbeknownst to even the seventy one year old man climbing into his own bathtub (Wrinkles like an accordion folding in upon themselves As they submerse into the foaming water) Your robes flutter behind you like wings You have black hair Thin and winding Like a spider's web Just like that smile I get stuck on Then you are swallowed by the yoshino cherry blossoms in front of the temple

[hoodrascal-blog]

THSSI IS DSO CUET ISM DY I NG HELP

[consolecadet]

superego game too strong