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Literature Text
Walking past strangers,
Oblivious to the world,
Thinking to myself,
my
mind
begins
to
twirl
My heart does not belong here,
In this city of polite masks—
Cornered by androgynous uniform edifices
Erected to preform mundane tasks,
Built to withstand an earthquake,
But crumble to economic weight,
All these buildings are empty,
Filled with hollow shells.
Eventually I walk away,
Thinking to escape,
But the city's illume pollutes the sky above,
And reminds me of its take.
Oblivious to the world,
Thinking to myself,
my
mind
begins
to
twirl
My heart does not belong here,
In this city of polite masks—
Cornered by androgynous uniform edifices
Erected to preform mundane tasks,
Built to withstand an earthquake,
But crumble to economic weight,
All these buildings are empty,
Filled with hollow shells.
Eventually I walk away,
Thinking to escape,
But the city's illume pollutes the sky above,
And reminds me of its take.
Literature
i only asked for the end of the world
"i found shadows in the sun again,"
i looked at her
with a gleam of sarcasm in my eyes,
as she looked down with wind in her hair.
the night looked lovely on her.
the purple of post-nebula progression
it made her eyes look electric blue
though they were a soft green.
"i said, i found shadows on the sun again."
she'd never look up unless
she couldn't breathe and needed
to pull a sigh out of her butterfly winged lungs.
and that bothered me;
- she'd refuse to breathe
only because the air seemed
un-enough.
she'd give up so easily sometimes.
i run out of pretty things to say
Literature
Bravery
On Saturday the twenty-first of January, Elliot took a gun, pressed it to the strip of bone between his eyes, and shot himself. The bullet shattered the frontal bone of his skull, warping his features past recognition, and burrowed through his pre-frontal cortex into the midbrain. He died before the sound stopped echoing through his empty apartment.
This story isn't about that.
I worked with Elliot for only a little while—less than six months. Most of what I knew about him came from his desk. Unlike the smaller ones the secretaries and other reporters had, it was a stately, imposing thing. It would've been terrifying, especially to a
Literature
Pirate Moon
A bloody moon rose, hungry, through the mist
to wash his crimson glow across the waves
and froth the surging whitecaps with the kiss
that sent ten thousand sailors to their graves.
Beneath that vicious moon, a sail was set –
as was the fate of some poor, hapless crew
oblivious to the impending threat
that drifted ever closer through the blue.
The moon smiled sweetly, bathing naked steel,
as cannon shuddered through the velvet night
to rend the sodden trader, hull and keel
and put an end to her frenetic flight.
The captain's grin shone redder than his sword
As he o'ersaw the booty brought aboard.
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