#random prose

[luxuryandlilacs]

With elegance that rivals the stars, she graces every event with an allure that captivates all who encounter her presence. Her wardrobe is an anthology of style, an ensemble of couture that whispers tales of her taste and sophistication.

[lys-writes-and-stuff]

It never fails to amuse me how people constantly say that romance is dead. And while they might believe they understand, it only seems there are none to blame but the hopeless romantics. I don’t mean to judge. I, too, was once hopeless. Finding solace and exhilaration in fantastical dreams of being swept off my feet was a daily routine. That was before. Now, with a heavy heart and tired eyes, I know. I’ve learned. There was a boy, not too long ago, that taught me romance – real romance—isn't something hopeless, or unenergetic like stale poetry, or futile like canned compliments. Instead, it is something that lives in your heart, growing until it consumes you. Romance can make the world exponentially brighter some days. It can be a reason to continue on every day, for love is healing. 

But as with anything, there can also be a dark side. Depending on how you like your cup of tea: with milk and sugar, or black and a splash of whiskey. Yes, romance can be dark, dangerous. Romance can be deadly. Now, most of you may be afraid, but there’s a dark soul peppered in here and there who will agree part of romance’s — love’s — beauty is its deadliness, its risk. There is something beautiful about the darkness. It’s something ineffable, unattainable. Something only the curious ones will go looking for and never regret the day they did. 

[saltgrave-prose-poetry]

I love you in the way a dog doesn't know what its own paws are called, but will bite someone who shouldn't be touching them. I love you in the way cat claws can find their mark or retract when unnecessary. I love you in the way an upwind breeze can be welcome or annoying.

I am not one to process emotions well or quickly or consistently. I don't like a lot of stimuli, yet I cannot handle stagnation or a colorless, tasteless moment. I'm so sorry I am hard to love sometimes; I struggle to understand what I am supposed to feel and do. I am committed to being truthful to myself and to you, and sometimes that means admitting I want to dig my fangs into you. I feel untamed, feral, and cornered when I try to love you. I do not understand how to be a doll or a delicate flower or an enchanting melody. I only understand narrowed eyes, stiff lips, and the cool air of your breath on my neck if I turn my back on you.

I love you in the way a lion is not the strongest, fastest, or smartest beast, but is one a widely respected predator nonetheless. I love you in the way it is dangerous for a water buffalo to cross deep rivers, but still strides in because of instinct and need. I love you in the way a pack of wolves keeps its strongest members at the back when traveling, so the weak are not left behind.

I have a feeling in my gut that I should be with you, even when I don't feel like being a fragile, harmless, little rabbit. My instinct is to trust you. Even if I had claws and bloodlust, I couldn't lay a finger on you.

[christmaslightssalesman]

It's a fracture

This boyhood dream

Buried in all of those screams

And the cool stream

It was long ago

And it's covered in mud

Catching frogs

And chasing bugs

Whether 1958 or years too late

Lemonade stands

And window fans

I can't apologize

I'm trying to remember

Those moments

All that's dismembered

And deep September

Climbing trees

And setting those traps

For myself to fall in

And Marco Polo is calling

Somewhere on the lake

For Pete's sake

Somewhere off the path

I could hear them now

All those ladies asking how

And others with their why

And I'd stay up all night

Counting it in my head

And I stay up all night

Filling it up with dread

The stars are shining

And the crickets still sing

As the old movie plays

Of boyhood days

All too far

Lost in deep September

[dreamtofbluebirds-a]

A silent person has the loudest voice. He's kept it in neat bottles all these years and the first was never meant to open, but it resonated until the room was flooded with his vicious pain.

He never asked to be heard. He'd rather he never was. But he'll scream for those whose bottles never reached the shore, forgotten in life's cruel waves.

He'll scream until he no longer can because someone showed him he had a voice and that the heavens listened to thunder.

[hxyaati]

You deserve all the happiness in this world, you deserve to feel deeply about everything and anything but must of all don’t you ever forget that you deserve to be loved for all that you are.

[christmaslightssalesman]

It's just the taste of it all, that little whimper and that wandering twitch that brings it all crashing down. They say that all sins are forgiven before God, but it's all back there, left in my own fog. And I don't mind being wrong every once in awhile but I don't need to be told about it either.

It's the way the ground moves under your feet, and it's the look in your eyes, like a confused doe caught in my headlights. It's the groove where I'll fit, that space tightly nestled, as you thrash under the weight of it all.

It's midnight and it's six in the morning. It's the fresh coffee on my lips and the cigarette butts dropped. It's that feeling in my lower stomach and the burning that runs through the toes. It's a begging, dirty word, whispered and not screamed, lashing out for a momentous stumbled breath that you're never given.

But sweetheart, did anyone ever tell you how beautiful you look in the moonlight?

[christmaslightssalesman]

It was falling again, it's 4:45pm and I'm no longer sure how long I'd like to live, or how long I will at all.

I'm feeling the pit, that giant gape, the burial plot. I'll lie down and cover myself with dirt.

Maybe it was one too many words. Maybe it was the cat getting caught. Maybe it was an unecessary shot, this space of inferiority. It's a maddening drone, and it's so very dull. I can't decide if I want to burn or watch you ignite.

It's so useless, this clenching. I just want perfection, I want statues and I want people to remember. But instead I sit, sinking, looking for a way to bite deep.

I want control, I want posession of it all. And forgive me for being so crude, but I want you on your knees, begging. I know it's washed out, and I'm lost in that sea.

So I'll just skirt around what I'm saying, and mumble my nothingness at the wall.