#writing drill

[gingerchangeling]

Hello lovelies-

I’m trying to get the creative juices flowing again but doing a poetry writing drill I used to do in high school. I’d take ten random words given to me by someone else and write a poem with it.

So I’m asking for ten words. They can be anything, save for: no proper nouns.

I’d appreciate anyone’s help! And if you want me to share what I come up with, I can send it to you or post it, just let me know.

[halfasleepoetry-blog]

14.

it must have been sometime after seven in the evening, as dusk is settling into every nook and corner of the house, shadows getting heavier and longer and orange light bathes over exposed surfaces.

ben is sitting slouched down, his back at the wrong angle, and if he stays long enough like this both his back and his neck will kill him, but joe is sitting in the exact same position beside him, their bodies as if two parallel lines running beside each other, pressed close shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, right to their sock-covered toes. he doesn’t want to move, and tells joe so. he can hear a chuckle. he glances to see the older man tilting his head slightly to shift his upper body a little, presumably making himself more comfortable. joe has his eyes closed the entire time, lips drawn into a slight smile. it does feel like they're pressed even closer to each other now.

ben wonders if they’re drunk from that bottle of wine that they didn’t plan on ordering over their early dinner, but did and finished it anyway.

not drunk, says joe. just light-headed.

ben looks straight and up now, suddenly finding the ceiling interesting. shadows continue to elongate and like a paradox, orange light burns alongside them. just light-headed, he repeats under his breath.

joe hums an affirmative, half sounding like a deep, satisfied sigh.

can i ask you something? in this space riddled with shifting shadows and burning lights, his own voice sounds alien to his ears.

mmhmm.

we are very close, i mean, we are super close, and i don't want you to think that i’m weird or anything—

his lips are suddenly so dry he has to lick them before he continues,

but, i’m just wondering if you have ever thought about—ben stops and bites his lower lip. he blinks once, twice, as if he had just lost his thought, or his breath, or both. the words are stuck in his throat and he couldn't go on. he isn't so sure now if he wants to go on. he blinks rapidly, cursing himself internally.

say it.

he curses inaudibly under his breath.

if you don’t now—

shut up.

say it, go on. ask him.

hey, benny.

ben almost jumps out of his skin when he hears joe calling his name.

your internal dialogue is so loud.

shit, fuck it.

so, are we or aren't we?

ben looks sideways at joe. are we what?

going to kiss.

bloody hell. ben's mouth is dry suddenly. he licks his lips again.

yes, we are.

it is as if someone else is speaking on his behalf. really? we are? yes we are, don't pretend to be an idiot. that was all you could think about all day long, for weeks and months now. it's kinda pathetic. it's not. and now, maybe we're going to kiss. sure, because that's the natural progression of being friends. what the fuck would you have me do, then?

joe is right. his internal dialogue is raging. he closes his eyes, bracing himself—for what?

good, i thought i might die from this tension, says joe, but ben almost misses it amidst all the loud bickering inside his head. 

so then, when he opens his eyes all he sees is joe—hazel eyes, long, narrow nose, pale skin, thin lips—cast in shadows like a period painting, and moving in on him, and oh, soft lips. joe tastes a little like red wine, but mostly of cinnamon and vanilla, spicy and sweet, like the dessert that they shared after dinner and his cologne mixed with something else—and scruff and stubble. so this is what it's like, kissing joe, and for a split second ben thinks his mind might go into clouding panic, realising that he is earnestly kissing a man this sober, kissing like he really means it, which he does. but this is joe, and joe is not just another man. how did that come about anyway? him thinking that it's perfectly okay to kiss joe? well, haven’t you had this playing over and over again in your mind for some time now?

ben—joe breaks the kiss momentarily and ben wants to know if the haze he sees in joe's eyes mirror his own, if he is the cause of that, if joe is also suddenly missing his lips, and if joe wants nothing else but to close the gap between them again—less thinking, please.

without missing a beat joe gets back to busying himself with ben's lips again, sucking on his lower lip, and suddenly there is really nothing else to think about anymore. from there onwards he doesn't think—absolutely doesn't think of anything when he runs his fingers up joe's neck into his dark copper hair, thumb resting just behind his ear, and his other hand somehow finds its way under joe’s maroon topman sweater, used to be ben's by the way, now is joe's; the most natural progression of a sweater's lifespan.

yesterday, my sweater, tomorrow, my heart; anything you fucking want, really, just name it, joseph, you can probably have all of it.

ben is still not doing any of this thing called thinking when he decides sucking and nibbling on joe's upper lip is not enough, there needs to be tongue involved now. their kiss deepens, heartbeats quickens, and then—there is almost an audible protest when joe pulls away again.

it takes two seconds for ben to realize that they’re still so close to each other he could literally move two inches forward and closes the gap again, that he has one hand under joe’s sweater, and joe has one hand in his hair—those perfect, long, bassist fingers—joe’s hazel eyes looking right into his eyes, heavy-lidded, glazed over and bright, like someone who is drunk and yet so alert at the same time, if that is even possible.

joe mutters something under his breath. maybe a curse word. ben takes that as a cue anyway and jumps right back into the kiss unthinkingly, because that’s what we’re doing right now, we’re not thinking, we’re just feeling, moving, pushing, pulling, pressing, kissing like there will never be another one after this; maybe when the dusk settles and night takes over, someone has to get up and switches on the lights in the room and all the confusion and magic in the moving shadows and dancing lights will disappear, and they will be just friends again, sharing laughter and comfortable silences on a couch four feet away from each other, nothing less, they will brush knuckles occasionally, throw long glances and smile at each other, sparks dancing in their eyes. they will find the other easily in any crowd and walk away together bumping shoulders, they will sit across each other and joe will talk animatedly for any amount of time and ben will listen, smoking his marlboro lights and nodding at all the right moments, throwing occasional jokes and punchline and joe will laugh at every single one of them, not forced, not exaggerated, because they get each other. they always do. time will pass, days, weeks, months, years, they might be miles away across the ocean from each other, they might be sitting together, knee bumping, in the same room; they will always be best friends. more than best friends. soulmates. always.

but right now, hidden in shadows, they’re kissing breathlessly, mingled gasps, hands in hair, fingers on skin, as if it’s the only thing validating their existence in the darkness that is near total. but dusk is fleeting, it’s that five-step long pathway from the gates of daylight to the house of the night, so try as anyone might to cling to it, it passes.

and this one passes when joe's phone rings.

the screen display lights up first, somebody to love playing loudly in the quiet living room. the phone vibrates in rhythm, moving slightly to the right on the coffee table across from the sofa. like a chirpy commercial break in the middle of a silent movie, its loudness is jarring and intrusive; it broke the spell of quietness and silently gasping breaths. joe is lying on his back on the sofa and ben on top of him, hands and legs and traces of making out fully clothed over a long hour of dusk everywhere on their messy hair and damp skin. silence and darkness no longer blanketing them, joe now looks at the ceiling, while ben puts his forehead on joe’s chest, very much aware that joe still has one hand in his now-longer, wavy blonde hair, while his own are on either side of joe, supporting his hovering weight.

ben looks up, and sideways. joe’s hand falls to his side. your phone, he says, as if it’s not obvious enough that the rectangular, thin device is screaming to be picked up. they’re looking at each other now, and for the second time in a space less than two hours, ben feels panic creeping in because it’s dark and he cannot see joe’s eyes clearly, and there’s nothing for him to read and he’s feeling a little lost here.

joe lets out a deep breath, looks up and starts getting up to sit up on the sofa. ben has no choice but to move away and sit up too. the room is almost completely dark except for light spilling from the large two panel glass that made up the northwest corner of the living room. joe is sitting with one leg folded on the sofa, facing ben and still looking at him. ben could see his eyes now, but they’re unreadable. so he looks away.

joe made a slight sound, like he’s clearing his throat. well, i’m fucked.

ben runs his hand through his hair now, wonders if that was a joke. a bad one.

i like kissing you. a pause. i feel like i’m going to get into so much trouble now.

what? are you thirteen? never made out with a guy before?

maybe i feel like one. joe is smiling now, ben can hear it in his voice, but he doesn’t want to look. and yes, i have. have you?

you’re more like five. ben can hear chuckling from the man beside him. i have. not sober, though. was he being too honest?

if i go and switch on the lights right now i bet you’re blushing.

well, i’m not.

okay, captain sassypants, joe starts to stand up and god knows why he does what he does but ben lunges at the older man and tackles him so that he falls back down on the sofa with a surprised gasp.

they are tangled limbs and messy hair again, warm, breathy, lips inches away from each other.

if you want to make out again you could've just ask nicely, you know.

shut up, joe.

and they kiss.

tags: @ssasakiiwrites, @oniriquex

[halfasleepoetry-blog]

#15

from where he’s standing leaning against the door frame joe can see the emptied closet and the packed suitcase sitting beside it. he sips tea from the mug he’s holding and mulls over the heaviness in his chest, he knows what it is; a violent onslaught of dread and desperation of not wanting to be left alone, because it has been twenty-two days now, today, that he has unlearned the art of being by himself—walking, eating, drinking, laughing, sleeping and dreaming alone now all seem like a distant, unrecognizable memory, something he does not want to be reminded of or welcome ever again—and he is screaming it underwater behind a thick glass.

beyond that thick, soundproofed aquarium, is his calculatedly calm figure, shifting his leg as he leans closer to the door frame, folding one arm closer in front of his chest, staring into the now empty mug, resigned to the inevitable loneliness. after all, it’s an old friend that he has spent most of his life living with; but unfortunately for him it is now no longer comfortable, warm or familiar.

ben shuffles across the room, folding his bomber jacket once before putting it on top of his suitcase, only to change his mind and picking it up again, holding it in his hand. staring at the jacket in his hand, he turns on his heel slowly, facing the doorway.

he can feel ben’s eyes on him.

joe. a pause. can i be honest with you?

he looks up to ben now and knows—with the conviction of a seasoned actor who has been doing this since the age of 5—that his eyes are unreadable. and he knows that the younger man is uncomfortable whenever it happens. ben’s gaze does not waver, however.

i don’t want to leave.

ben’s deep, husky voice sounds so gentle and a little breathless when he says it, that joe almost, almost caves in. what he wants more than anything right now is to tell ben, me too, i don’t want you to go—don’t ever fucking leave, and he would say it while looking straight into those green-blue eyes and then he would press his lips on ben’s and they would kiss—

—but what he does, is to straighten up from where he was leaning just now and brings down the empty mug to his side.

we’ll see each other again, silly.

he doesn’t like the way he must have sounded or looked like when he smiles and says it.

come on, ben, you have a flight to catch.

how unthoughtful, how cruel, how cold. as if ashamed of what he had done, he turns and heads to the kitchen, every step feeling like dragging unspeakable weight on his feet. when he does reach the sink, he turns the tap on and rinses his mug longer than necessary. then, wordlessly and gingerly, as if he is a piece of china that might break, he feels the younger man’s arms encircling him, and warmth spreading everywhere on his back. he does not pause or let anything slip. the tap is turned off, mug placed on its drying rack. ben’s hold tightens, however, and he realizes he wouldn’t be able to move anywhere unless he puts up some resistance. and he will, he is going to, only that he’s already feeling so tired now. he realizes that he has been wrestling with his thoughts ever since he woke up today, and it’s just so fucking tiring. so he puts both hands on the edge of the kitchen counter now, stares blankly at the white tiles neatly lined in the space between the counter and the cabinet overhead.

he could see a glazed, blurry reflection of himself and ben on its surface, and the contrast created by the younger man’s well-built figure, so softly pressed against his lankier but stiffer figure. ben presently has his nose buried in joe’s shoulder, eyes closed. they must have remained like that, as if frozen in time and in the silence of the house, for a good five minutes. joe doesn’t even remember at which point in the minutes that he has brought his right hand up and places it over ben’s. by then, perhaps their image, so closely pressed with each other, is already permanently printed on each of the tile’s glistening surface, embossed like a lucid dream that is only visible in his mind. he wonders which part of him that is hurting so badly now, that feels like breaking apart, only held together by ben’s arms around him and his warm and broad figure behind him. he wonders what will happen if the man in the thick-glassed aquarium breaks free, wonders if that man would not be choking on his words and feelings like what is happening to his calculatedly composed counterpart right now.

he hears a muffled sound of his name, said against the fabric of his t-shirt.

he wants to say yes, but he is startled by how large and painful the lump inside his throat is. it makes him blink, and then he realizes there’s wetness in his eyes as well.

promise me you’ll think about what i said last night.

last night. of course.

after they had one last dinner with rami and lucy last night, they found themselves walking along the promenade, ben’s favourite place, overlooking manhattan and the brooklyn bridge. they must have walked the promenade almost every night for the past three weeks, just walking and talking, and occasionally, ben would smoke as they sat on one of the benches lining the walkway, or stood against the metal railing separating the promenade from the water ahead.

sometimes they would hold hands. most times, they walked bumping shoulders, the back of their hands and fingers grazing each other’s. there were two times that they had kissed, both times when they were out walking late past midnight, and there was nobody else around at the promenade within eyesight.

the night was clear and the air crisp and chilly, but they were warm from walking and was having the most animated conversation about woody allen and his films. joe was explaining to ben about the various ways that new york has been framed and immortalized in his movies, and how the sentiment and feeling he created for each spot of the city featured in his films were sometimes consciously or unconsciously brought forward into other, more recent movies.

the guy’s up there with all the fucking legends, if you ask me.

i’m not arguing with you on this, really, said ben, looking sideways and smiling at him.

oh, how come? i thought you always have something to say about my opinion, benjamin, he countered, and ben laughed.

you’re all about the first star wars trilogy, you memorized lines from jaws and hey, you’re the kid from jurassic park. your opinion on movies is alright, ben said with a dismissive air, taking one hand out from his coat pocket and made a gesture of balancing his palm on air, nodding and squinting at the same time.

joe laughed loudly at this, and swatted ben’s hand as if offended. the younger man, however, used the opportunity to catch his hand, intertwining their fingers together and in one smooth movement, slipped their joined hands into joe’s larger coat pocket, effectively preventing him from pulling away, and at the same time, bringing them even closer together.

joe raises his eyebrow at ben.

it’s cold tonight, ben brought his shoulders up a little on a pretend show that he’s cold.

cute, joe said, squinting his eyes in an equally pretend show of annoyance.

ben’s smile was ear-to-ear however, and joe couldn’t help but smile too. they fell in leisurely steps as the lights from the city and the bridge lined their peripheral vision. the silence is comfortable, and settled like a warm blanket against the cold night. for the first time since a long time, a point of time which joe could not even recall, he did not feel the need to say or do something with this quietness, and it is as bizarre as it is so normal whenever he is with ben.

he looked sideways and he could see the younger man smiling, the kind of smile one has on without thinking, without intent, it is just there out of happiness or contentment, and it made his heart do a jittery jump when he realized that his own smile must be mirroring that of ben’s.

it’s rude to stare, you know, ben said without looking at him, his smile turning into a smirk and then a grin.

wasn’t staring at you, loser, he replied, bumping their already-touching shoulders together, almost throwing both of them off the rhythm of their matching steps.

ben laughed, but joe felt him tightened his grip on their joined hands, as if to steady themselves in case their stumble turned into a fall. joe wondered how did that happen, when did this happen, this green-eyed, wavy-blonde haired man who literally blushed as they were making out the first time on his couch, who was so unsure about whether they were going to or not going to kiss, even when his whole body wanted it without him having said anything; this man whom joe could read like an open book, every nuance and change in his emotions and moods reflected in his eyes, so green and yet so different every time. so disarmingly beautiful and deceivingly pure, so mature at times and so shy sometimes, but always so in tune with his own chaotic impulses and quieter moods. this man whose smile is both reserved and radiant, his gaze so gentle and burning hot, all at the same time.

benjamin jones, who drives him absolutely insane sometimes but most times is the only person who knows how to ease his mind, how to quiet all the overlapping voices and ruckus inside his head, and make them sing to him instead.

joe wondered when did he fucking drop his fucking heart right into ben’s fucking hands.

when there’s a great view behind you but a better one in front of you, ben said, barely containing his laughter.

quoting your own instagram post, how classy.

at least i always mean what i say on instagram.

you think i didn’t?

i don’t know, did you?

always, joe wanted to say, but he decided not to say anything. he just looked squarely into ben’s eyes instead.

they have stopped walking and stood against the metal railing, close to the bridge. joe brought their clasped hands out from his coat pocket, now slightly over-warmed.

you want to know what i think.

it wasn’t a question, it was a statement, and it was met with a shrug from the older man.

ben sighed, smiling a little, and it made him suddenly look wiser beyond his twenty-eight years of age.

i think you’re at your most honest about something when you’re joking about it, he began. joe switched on a mode somewhere in his mind where he did this thing with his eyes and they become unreadable. ben blinked, and he felt guilty, almost.

you like to hide behind your jokes, ben offered, visibly swallowing. he shook his head a little, looking down. do you know what scares me sometimes?

what, joe asked.

whenever i look into your eyes and cannot see anything there—it scares me bloody shitless.

joe shook his head, smiling. why would you—

because you’re the most important person to me, that’s why.

there’s a quiet desperation in his voice that joe has never heard before, has never even thought he would ever hear, until today. he’s taken aback by it, to say the least. but a man like him, who has been mostly stumbling in and out of relationships, just mostly misses instead of hits, nothing lasting or concrete, nothing even working out the way he thought they would, is a creature trained in defense mechanism. dull the heart in order to not feel the pain, in order not to feel anything at all. why stoke a flame that might burn him one day, why take off his armor so he can be wounded?

why not just hand a knife to this young man standing in front him, eyes partly shaded, partly burning with blue fire, worrying his lips with his teeth, this young man joe wants nothing else but to kiss so that he will shut up and not say anything else that would throw him off; just give him that damned knife and let him stab my heart now, because eventually, that’s exactly where all this is leading to, sooner or later.

i’m not asking for anything, really.

ben shifted his gaze downward now, and joe wanted to tell him to shut up, we are not having this conversation, i know where this is all going to and i can tell you ten things that would go wrong the moment we finish talking about this. they’re all on top my head, hovering dangerously. we should just kiss instead.

and they did kiss. it was long, drawn out and open-mouthed, with a hint of desperation. joe stepped into the space between them and brought his hands inside ben’s jacket, slipped them under his sweatshirt and the t-shirt underneath. ben shivered a little at the touch, pushed their bodies closer. when they finally broke apart they were both breathless and a little disoriented, and joe wished they were not here on the promenade, overlooking the spectacular night view, but in his apartment instead, preferably in his room, where things can take a more favorable turn.

and they did kiss again, barely making it through the door, legs stumbling, hands fumbling with keys, doorknob, clothes; too many layers. no talking, except for when you scream my name, he whispered right into ben’s ears before he started nibbling and biting on the lobes, earning a moan from the younger man. there is always something exquisite about wanting to feel and touch another person so desperately, skin to skin, like this; something so feral and alive, like watching short circuit bursting, like starting a fire. and joe knew what he was doing, as was ben, they have spent enough hours and times touch-mapping skin with fingers, lips and everything else in between. they were not in a rush, but there was no lack of desperation either; each of them wanted more and more, closer and closer, and joe thought he would have all the different ways ben called out his name—joe, joseph—throughout, etched forever onto his memory.

last night ended when it was too late to even call it a night. the day would break in a couple of hours, they fell asleep with joe half-draped over ben and ben refusing to let his hand be anywhere else except in his grasp.

just so you know, joseph, i’m not planning on ever losing you.

joe woke up first when the sun was already hot on the side his face, as the other was on the pillow, and next to him, ben. their hands were still touching. he pried his eyes open and with his other hand, rubbed sleep off them. he took a deep breath, and felt a sharp pain in his chest as he did so.

so it is the day, he remembered thinking vaguely, and feeling like collapsing into himself, forgetting everything else.

they did get up, one because the day was getting brighter and hotter, two because there is an actual flight that ben needed to catch. while joe showered and got ready in his room, ben used the spare room, where his things were, although he barely even slept in the room throughout his stay, except for the few times they ended up sleeping there.

they went out for a quick brunch, both with sunglasses on, neither feeling like talking. joe ordered their usual and ben was just glad he didn’t have to make any effort at talking. when the waiter walked away they began a staring contest from behind their sunglasses, neither acknowledging that they’re staring at each other, nor uttering a word. ben heaved a sigh finally, and joe slid his feet towards ben’s, until their sneakers touched at the toes.

hey buddy, he started, you want to hear a dinosaur joke?

joe, ben sighed, but he was already smiling. okay, go for it.

what do you call a dinosaur with sleep apnea?

ben furrowed his brows together and pursed his lips, thinking. oh, i don’t know—he began, putting the tip of his pointer finger on his lower lip. you?

joe feigned disappointment in his sigh. 

number one, he started, putting a show of finger counting, i’m not a dinosaur; two, he added another finger, i don’t snore, thank you very much.

it’s dino-snore, isn’t it? the answer. ben started laughing. how do you know that you don’t snore? you don’t sleep with you. i do.

then swear on your heart and tell me that i do, in fact, snore.

ben grinned. no, you don’t. you’re just adorable when you sleep.

adorable? joe was incredulous. adorable? am i five?

ben laughed. you are, sometimes, joe.

their food arrived before joe could say anything, and since they were actually starving, they ate and finished their food in silence.

the walk up back to joe’s apartment too, was engulfed in the same silence. it’s slightly more oppressive than it is comfortable, but at least he has ben beside him, walking matching steps.

when they entered his apartment, there’s about an hour left before ben was supposed to take uber to the airport.

i feel like tea.

not me, thank you.

they set to task in silence again, ben packing his suitcase in the spare room, joe making tea in the kitchen.

and eventually, it’s time—but neither of them are willing to let go just yet; they’re kissing slowly, languorously, joe leaning against the kitchen counter, ben with his arms around joe and joe with his hands in ben’s hair. when they pull apart they keep each other still very close, touching foreheads and mingling breaths. and they kiss again; shorter ones this time, each sweeter and more painful as they come, counting down the seconds and minutes until they ultimately have no other choice but to let go.

no words were exchanged, and finally ben closes the door behind him. it feels like the pooling wetness he last sees in ben’s eyes would haunt him forever, if it does not make the fact that he is neither here, within the vicinity of his apartment, nor in joe’s arms, more real than it already is.

joe wonders when will it hit him, the anxiety of separation and the bitterness of longing, and if it would seep in like rainwater, or it would hit him like a freight truck.

what is more painful than goodbye is the uncertainty of a reunion, and if and when it does happen, what of us would have remained and what would have changed.

joe must have stood still as minutes go by, on the spot where ben had left him, five steps from the doorway, as if transfixed onto the moment and the lingering feeling of the younger man’s arms around him and their kiss still ghosting upon his skin and lips. gradually but sternly, he reminds himself that he has a film event to attend to later in the evening, and he needs to be ready for it. he shifts and turns around, the late afternoon sun shining bright and full on him through the large windows of his apartment. as he looks around he concedes that nothing has changed; the window sitting-nook, the leather couch, the neatly stacked manuscripts on his work desk, his macbook on charge and iphone beside it. bottles and containers, microwave and toaster lining the kitchen counter neatly. if he goes into his bedroom now it will look like it does any other day; bed made and laundry put away in the hamper. the spare bedroom, with its neatly made bed and empty closet, as they were twenty-two days ago. he looks at his hands, brings it to his face, rubbing the scruff along his jawline; nothing has changed, and yet, nothing feels the same.

until we meet again, then.

a/n: oh god this took so long! also, i owe this to @ssasakii who never gets tired talking with me about these boys and helping me refine their characterization in my head. the dinosaur joke is there because i’m a fan of caesariish from ao3 (i wish i know her tumblr, if she has one) also! how could i forget, @hey-holtzy who literally handed me the prompt for the walking together scene along the promenade ❤️ the rest is just my always-fluffy, chaotic imagination working overtime–i love comments and feedback, please ❤️

tags: @ssasakiiwrites @oniriquex @hey-holtzy

[halfasleepoetry-blog]

I ❤️ this moodboard. This is basically THE moodboard for Transfiguring Dreams: Vignettes. I have just finished conceptualizing it last night + this morning and decided it will span the period of 10 years (of emotional ups and downs, heartbreaks and growth). The vignettes will NOT be in order, because essentially these are/will be my daily writing drill. My writer brain is super dormant now and in dire need to keep fit 😢 They are all, in the most truthful manner of speaking, work in progress. POVs will be mixed, I have written from Ben's, Joe's, even Lucy's. But right now it seems that Ben is occupying my brain, which I actually enjoy because I'm in love with Joe, and therefore he should too ☺️❤️

[gingerchangeling]

Empty Rooms and Forgotten Cigarettes

In this post- I asked for ten words to use in a poem as a writing drill! Send me yours!! From @soggypotatoes: subtle, amend, pistachio, carousel, ovation, trickle, coven, entrails, piranha, avail

Thank you so much for these!! It went in a totally different direction than I originally anticipated.

Empty Rooms and Forgotten Cigarettes

Flaking pistachio paint now three coats too thin coloring a wall that had long since forgotten its purpose

Across the molding a carousel of pastel animals dance, frozen, to a tune so old the memory of its echo has faded

Within sits the shadow of a soul the smoke from the cigarette adding a subtle hue to the eggshell staining the rest of the room

Like an alter before a vicious god the entrails of emotion, theme, composition lay crumpled and scattered across the floor a blood spatter prayer spelled out in desperate frustration

Like bait thrown across the universe to tempt piranhas of plot, passion, perfection to gnaw, and bite, and prey on the mind to revive a heartbeat in the corpse that feeds them

Every breath, and creak, and groan a silent, cacophonous ovation to failure every smoky exhale carrying a sliver of soul like a trickling death rattle of soot and silence

Empty eyes search for answers in the mote patterns on the empty air trying to auger a portent or prophecy to find offering enough to amend bonds with the muses

Covens of plots before a tribunal of doubts, criticism, and expectation On trial for their very existence predicated on hopes, dreams, and aspirations limp fingers grasping their formlessness in a stranglehold to no avail

The sun streaming in through the dust-frosted window illuminating the sacred rite in all its excruciating ecstasy warming the pistachio walls and pastel animals as they dance while empty eyes cannot help but be filled with all the dawns of tomorrow.

[underground-classic]

Stay up late, Set the alarm early, Write the first thing that comes to mind

The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do is wake up at 6am. Alone. On the couch. Because your scent is the only part of you that is tangled in my sheets.