Shady Day 1: Emo Cake PartyShade stepped through the door, and the first sound she heard was broken glass crunching under her boots. He had smashed every window in the flat, and thrown buckets of black and red paint on one side of the room. The other side had deep scratches dug into the walls by what she could only guess was a large shard of glass. Not hard to do, considering the cheap plaster quality of the walls. Naturally, everything was spilt all over the floor; tea, soups, a large cake? Amazing how he actually bothered to fill all the saucers, teacups, and bought things for the special occasion of smashing and spilling the contents.
She sauntered over to the couch, which like a mutilated stuffed animal with all of its fluffy guts spilling out, gaped and made a painful moan as she sat down. There was a warm breeze spilling in from the jagged windows, a pleasant reminder that the long winter had ended, and there were blue skies ahead. The only thing that would have made this moment more enjoyable would have b
Birds in My Hair, Stop CallingWhat's that..little birds caught in telephone wires
chirping scissors cut my conversation and leave the receiver hanging limp. It melts in my hand, drips into a cold black puddle of ink on the carpet
inside, the windows are made of a milk that sandies my throat
shuddering...must open the door to avoid suffocation, stepping
outside the droplets of fog solidify on stinging red cheeks.
a devoured city, encased inside the stomach of a ghost
It heaves, belches foghorns, sweaty clouds coughed from bronchital chimney throats
On this heavy day, humble abodes became chain smokers with cancered organs migrating blindly to the invisible supermarket in the ghost's liver.
What's that..distant chirps of birds so close they're caught in my hair like the telephone wire
I can hear you, friend, on the line trying to connect through my ears. You have reached
Brain, my call-center that's out-to-lunch for the day, will tell you to please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can
Saturday ProcrastinationGhosts whisper through your mouth, blinking through the sunlit smokscreen which chokes your hollowed lungs, I can feel your breath by the silent earthquakes reverberating through your ribcage, rising and falling in rhythm with the quietly dimming tide of my mind's ocean, footprints left by no one on a vast beach isolated as the surface of the moon
it was the Saturday nothing was finished, papers were fallen birds scattered on the hard floor that gravity pressed my cold nose into. The ceiling, threatening to fall and crush me, pushed closer against the air in the space between, which was so heavy I was a leaf flattened between the endless pages of an immense book whose spine was a million miles wide
I seeped out of the pages in a sleek liquid ink and fell far through the floor until my body was completely dissolved. As I frantically grabbed with my phantom hands at fleeting equilibrium to pull me into a direction that couldn't exist, the artifacts of my figurative mind melted together a