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Chairisse
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"Are you sure about this?" Steve asks. He glances nervously at the dusky stillness.

"Of course I am! It's gonna be great, trust me," James replies, checking left and right before dashing across the street to the roundabout in the middle.

"But really. Pink flamingos, James? Where(more)
Whisper now, hush, hush,
Hide a truth in mounds of lies
Gray morality
Why do boys ache for the spoils of war? What compels them to test their hearts in battle, pushes them to run at each other with dart guns, with metal guns, with swords soft and dull that graduate to instruments of death?
I conquered my thirst for fighting long(more)
It's your comfiest shirt. Your girlfriend steals it when when she wants to be reminded of you. Years old, woven with memories of warm summer afternoons, days in bed sick, and movie nights with friends. That shirt is your home, more than the dingy apartment you're in now. Home(more)
What a burden, the cross! What a fate, to be drowned by the tears and woes of the masses! What a sentence, a restriction, priest's collar chafing like chains on the soul. How quaint, how queer, to see man toil solely for the sake of another!
O, ye pur(more)
The lights above are cold and dark.
Hungry.
There's something up there, seeking. Stars twinkle desperately, longing for a warmth not their own to brighten their existence.
People are made of stardust, and comet-trails, dinosaur bones, that pressure ground together to produce a miracle of life that slowly cools(more)
Rookies always freeze up in their first combat situation. Tense, ready, waiting for the first move. Whether it's a gunshot, a swipe from a sword, or a cannonball barreling at them, new recruits never have the nerves to make the first step forward.
I reckon girls are the same(more)
She pauses the music, and calls, "Can we take it again? Slower, this time. Bump the tempo down to 70 BPM."

Now, the music flows more smoothly. The harmonies mesh in ways they wouldn't when rushed. The beat thumps along only slightly slower than her heartbeat as she(more)
They hide in corners, traipse through shadows, trawl through trash. They're the kings and queens of the underground, all waist-high. Their homes are boxes and cardboard. Their thrones are armchairs devoid of stuffing. Their fiefdom is the sprawling back alleys behind reputable fashion outlets and not-so-reputable nightclub(more)
raw
It's the bruising of skin across Sollux's jaw, the tangles braided with leaves in Aradia's hair, the night Vriska comes to the intersection in front of the cafe with only bandages where an arm should be.
It's the callouses you grow between your fingers as your pour your hopelessnes(more)
There's a street bustling with faceless people, a street vendor selling dried flowers instead of fresh ones, and a little cafe on the corner whose coffee withers in comparison to the one in the little town two miles from your house.
Of course it does. A memory can't compare(more)
I am not afraid
of your words in the dark-drenched
night; I am hopeful.

Hickory dicory dock, the mouse ran up the clock--
and down the wall, across the hall,
through mold and must, picking up dust,
what once was clean holds oily sheen--

hickory dicory dock (more)
There's an aching in my center. It gnaws my bones, in wait for a let-down of my guard. And when it rushes, it overwhelms me with a flow of hunger.

I'm hungry for you. I would beg for that smile, still a little crooked after years of braces,(more)
The flames clash around him, singeing, snapping, straight to his core.
And now there are the words, denouncements of his hard work, his many nights awake, his courage.
When an assumption, a pure soap-bubble of hiding, is broken-

Then he who broke it will burn in repentance.