I Can't Be Your Angel NowI watched the war beneath a blackened summer sky, smoke and gunpowder and silent screams curling like liquid shadows on the wings of savage ravens. Their eyes, pale glass moons, fixated on a violet hill gone red with the blood of my young brothers and sisters. I used to ask God to stop me from dreaming before I ever realized I was awake.I Can't Be Your Angel Now
And because I feared death, I watched the clash unfurl from my safe haven, lamenting the war through the sweet euphony of a weeping guitar. My siblings’ madrigal music is playing through that of their cries of pain and fury, and I cease strumming
The MusicianHis words were an enchanting fantasia, his lyrics the melodies of unsung heroes. Tracing the fragile neck of his guitar would yield the voices of a thousand artists; screaming, chanting, clamoring. Tapping the crash cymbal of his drum set protested and caterwauled in a way that would sound, to the untrained ear, like just a bunch of noise.The Musician
...but he could hear the symphony in a car crash... ...the melody of a tempest... ...the euphony of war.
It was never noise. It would always be the sound of music.
6 2 5 - 7 4 0 Snaking my nails across the bedroom wall in a slow calculated fashion, I watched intently as flakes of red paint yielded beneath my fingertips and leapt upon the floor. Annoyed, I stared at the shavings dotting my carpet. My paint never stayed. A decade in my house, and I had already painted the bedroom an infinite amount of times, in all shades of scarlet, crimson, burgundy... All red. Always red. It could never be any other hue.6 2 5 - 7 4 0
I had been dating Robyn for eight months, after having met her
aEYEWhen I initially made sentient contact with my creator, his first words to me were “you’re welcome”. Years would pass before I was able to comprehend his meaning behind them.aEYE
It had come to my understanding that most children are conceived and cradled within something called a “mother’s womb”—a place of fleshy warmth in which a mammalian fetus finds solace for nine months, most unlike the nest of sparking wires I would call home for the duration of my semi-life.
To truly understand what I am, you must first hear of my creator. Though he never told me the
by =hoschie
by *kerembeyit
Dearest Stephanie
Suggestive
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"I collect spores, moulds and fungus." -Egon Spengler, Ghostbusters
"And God said, let there be Spam, and let my children taste this Spam, and vow never to do so again." -a comedian I don't remember the name of.
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"That is one fantastic hat orgy."
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"That is one fantastic hat orgy."
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" Dry land is not just our destination, it is our destiny! ".Atticus Finch.
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~SummerNights
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