I can feel the pounding of my heart thumping loudly in my chest, beads of sweat gradually drenching my body as I run through the thick, humid air. The dense foliage of the jungle welcomes me, swathing me in its virescent abundance as I embrace my newfound freedom.
“You’ll never take me,” I think to myself, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Never again…” My vision blurs, and all I can see now is the trees whizzing by as I run.
The hot, erythraean glow of the sun filters through the leaves, gradually diminishing in intensity as I sprint deeper and deeper into the jungle. It’s getting harder and harder to see, and the muscles in my legs, protesting with each stride I take, are giving out on me. But I can’t give in to fatigue yet. “You hear me? Never…again…S…”
My legs finally buckle beneath me before I can say his name, unable to support my weight any longer. I lie there on the ground, the smell of moist soil and the leaves and branches of the exotic, foreign plant life of this planet surrounding me as I gasp for air.
A small part of me wonders whether or not he bothered to follow me. Most of me is relieved to be free, relieved to be safe. But nothing is ever that simple. That small part of me almost wishes that he had followed, wishes that he had hunted me down, and I cannot for the life of me shake the feeling and move on.
I was at the corner of fifth and Vermouth
trying to drown my sorrows,
I didn't know the little bastards could swim.
Smooth, dark wood and dancing neons.
Bottles lined up like dominos.
My words have taken anchor in my throat.
(more) Clinging, bringing
the night down around me
Her words like a sword, slay the day
Dangling from the edge of the world
You lie down in the snow, eyes fluttering closed as the cold envelopes you like a tomb.
You know, many years ago, you had been left out in the cold as a child. Purposefully. To kill a child with your own hands is shameful; to allow them to(more) die of exposure, less so.
Perhaps that is why the cold (and those who live in it) scare you so much, because you know they meant for you to be dead.
It is no matter. Sometimes you wish they had succeeded.
Because even though you had been saved, and taken to a place of warmth, you were still a child belonging to the chill of winter. You burnt in sunlight, you burnt near low-burning hearths, you burnt with the heat of your not-mother's affections and your not-brother's passion.
Instead of being burnt over and over, until you were just a pile of charred nothing, you wish they had just - let - you - freeze.
You'd rather have died and never lived a life than to have been taken to that place.
They took your heritage. They took your death. They took their places as your parents, they took your condemned life and made it their own. And you hate them for it.
Better to have never to have lived at all than to to have lived and lost.(less)
it's a foreign word to me: boyfriend. it doesn't seem to accurately embody how i feel about you. sure, i like you, maybe even adore you, and true, you are a boy and a friend and we are more than friends but what is this word--boyfriend? i don't understand(more) it. (less)
She dreams of a time when everything was different, when she had everything she could want. She laughs as she plays with her friends in the meadows by her home, full of hope, full of life.
She blushes as she's courted by her first love, the summer turning everything(more) rose colored as she and him dance together in the ecstasy of love.
She smiles as she gives birth to their child, the darling girl laughing as she smiles at her love. They name the child Cosette, and all is well.
But then she wakes up, and she is reminded of her real life, the life outside of her dreams. The life where everything was taken from her. Her love, her daughter, her dignity. She lives for the times when she can sleep again, when she can relive the good days, when life was worth living.
But eventually even her dreams are haunted, are filled with what she lives with every day. She no longer remembers how it felt to play with her friends, what it was like to be in love, the feeling of holding her daughter in her arms. Sometimes she wishes that she would just die, so she would no longer have to deal with her life.
The life that killed the dream she'd dreamed.(less)
accomplished so divinely in her living,
a woman of glass & pretty strangeness
shattered me completely with her wiles.
wild she was--& i told her this true--
"my sweetness," "my goddess," "my queen"
played muse (a game & she the child).
(more) ne'er did she seem to sense her unforgiving--
for in nature & soul unmatched, one would not suspect--
biting bitching, borne from lack of my own
unhealthful, obsessive attentions,
once so daily full-dependable to her.
but words verbal hardly ever did exchange
my peony & i, her rain (upon which she did feed,
as she tended to her ego in bloom). believed--
so pitiful, "your girl" i signed my letters,
penned with such doting affections
as could never be returned (& that i knew!)--
though so impossible a figurine exquisite
could by any means choose me from the menagerie,
perhaps that she was taken with me, too.(less)
Not by a man or woman
But by life
I'm constantly moving forward
Trying to keep everyone happy and normal
But I rarely succeed
(more) Remember you can't please all
You have to stop and look around
And be present in the present (less)
Their souls were a pale white, sparkling, before their innocence was taken.
Her innocence was taken at age fifteen
(she had to provide for her family).
His innocence was taken at age seventeen
(he pulled the trigger).
(more) Her innocence was taken at age two
(she saw things she shouldn't have).
Before those ages they were pure white; after they were
And the worst part was that it wasn't their fault
but still they were tainted
all because of the accidents that life gave them(less)
They took souls.
It was possible now, but not many people knew it. If you were a dissident, a protester, if you varied from the sacred norm...
And that was where she was now. Lying on the table, naked, but covered by a thin white sheet. Behind her lurked(more) the huge soul-taking machine. There was a technical name for it, but it didn't matter.
She wondered if it would hurt. If becoming less than human was painful. If becoming worse than dead was permanent. Sure, no one had ever gotten their soul back, but there must be a way. Did they keep the souls somewhere?
Her gurney slid into the depths of the machine. Needles pricked her arms, sensors attached to her bald head. They had shaved her hair off.
The air inside the machine was warm and smelled fresh. Ironic, considering the fact that her humanity was about to end.
She counted down to her doom.
Nothing. She was still human.
Something beeped, and the machine hummed louder, vibrated faster. Invisible substances were pumped into her bloodstream, waves vibrating through her brain.
She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out except a pale, shimmering vapor that was sucked up into the vents of the machine.
The beast was rolled out of the machine. She looked human, but her eyes were dead and hard, mouth set in a small frown, breathing raggedly.
The beast was hungry, so it rolled off the gurney. A thin white sheet tangled its legs, and the beast stared at it in confusion.
The door behind the beast open and something, a dart, shot it in the neck. The beast closed its eyes and felt nothing.
Her soul was placed in a jar. Taken forever.(less)
She thinks of a time when she had everything. A life worth living. She had friends as far as the eye could see, people who adored her, maybe even loved her. A boy liked her and she liked him back. It was a time of pure bliss.
(more) But life has a way of taking things away when they are most needed.
Friends come and go like seasons, they move away or forget. The boy that liked her came and went like a passing fad.
Life had taken things back, leaving the girl with only herself.(less)