watch me: http://www.youtube.com/nictrickk
i’m lost. no eyes to see. no hands to lead. no feet to walk. stumbling around i find no solace in the quiet of the night. only the heavy gasps accompany me in the sobs of desolation. lungs wracked with the heaviness of crying, mind wrought with peaceful thoughts of death. i’m lost and there is no way to be found. i’m trapped on an island of desperation. i’ve lost all that i am, all that i was, all that i will ever be. without you i have no one, with you i am no one. the lesser of two evils escapes my wrath and i am left with both still, daunting and lurking. i choose neither, but find no happiness in the void between the two. i am stuck and there is no where i can go. I am a pod of broken hopes and dreams, encapsulated, frozen. there is no one waiting on the other side for me. i’m a product of my own fears. peaceful, blissful death beckons.
when we were kids we promised one another that we would someday catch a butterfly together. we told no one of our plans however and let the fantasy grow between us. it kept growing and growing until it expanded so greatly that we had no choice but to take notice. when we did, we realized that we were no longer kids. like drunken fools, we renewed our promise and like children we believed once more in the wondrous things we could do. so with your hand in mine, we stood amidst the wild grass, feeling each blade brush against our arms and legs, like reminders of a lovely dream. we stood for hours without end and finally it came to us. a beautiful one of blackened gold drifting on the breeze, landing softly on our hands like a mother’s kiss bestowing quiet dreams of sugary things. we laid it in a jar, sealed it shut and staring deeply through the other’s eyes, we departed. in the comfort of our home we watched it flicker and flutter in that jar. our childhood dream had come to be. what was left of us, we could not tell, but we were happy for once. we would be happy always. but as we had hidden our dream like a dark nightmare, no one had ever told us it could die and so we waited. like a doe, frozen in the sight of a poacher, we waited and watched it flicker in that jar. then in the way a light dies, we watched it flicker into death. one day it flickered no more and laid at the bottom of the jar, a shriveled mess of something horrid. its wings no longer glimmered beside our bedroom window, but remained a stiffened black. but still we waited.
I’m a Homewrecker. I come under the disguise of genuity. Like a realtor I’m here to help you. The only difference being what lies beneath. Under the blazer I wield a heart as sharp as an axe. Every breath I release is accompanied by termites and parasites, in the form of biting words. Gradually, I eat away at the foundation of your Home. Tearing down your Walls, I feel nothing but satisfaction. I’m a Homewrecker. I come with words of peace and leave with the child of destruction. You built this house with your own hands, shielding the first few bricks with your own jacket under the relentless rain. You gathered every brick yourself, while I anticipated the day you would come to me. I, who plotted the demise of your sanctuary from the very first day your eyes fleeted my gaze. Reluctant, you remained in your Home, but I drew you out with promises of fulfillment. Your Home was fated to its doom the minute you stepped outside. The second your lips met mine, the stairwells and tiled floors of your Home creaked and groaned in empathy. Naive and trusting, you let me in. I tore down the walls and broke the windows as you stood watching, waiting, wondering if everything would rebuild itself. Now you are nothing but a vagabond and I continue my real estate business because I am a Homewrecker.
I’m hungry for a fresh society. Yet only preservatives are what surround me. It’s abused, processed, frozen and reused. Only thawed to lower self-esteem. To tell a nation of teens that their worth equates to their style and body shape.
An hourglass figure is worth gold but rolls of skin…
THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL. AMEN.
crumbling fortresses of everything within, yet a pristine exterior remains standing, as a testament to what could have been.
its overdone, overplayed, to say that you and i are unravelling. truth be told, we are much worse. i break away only to have you standing at every corner, pulling me back. we’re glued at the seams, choking in an acidic atmosphere. attached, but not together, we push and pull until we tear the very skin that once held us to one another.
last night i laid beside you wondering who it was that i was exchanging these nightly vows of false serenity with. surely it could not have been you, for you’ve been far to busy in your sandcastle of hopes. you’ve been building and renovating and remodeling that little castle, praying that one day it will stand tall against the relentless waves of salt water. but what you do not know, you cannot stop. by nightfall, i stand watching over that little castle, silently casting waves of my own, tearing down its walls, one grain at a time. by the sunrise you will have forgotten the progress of the previous day and like a forgetful old man past his prime, you will stumble out to your little castle once more. once more, you will take up your shovel and obsess until the sun leaves your side, unaware that your little castle is weaker today than it was yesterday.
this is the nightmare that shall never come to fruition. at least, not in this reality.
It was springtime.
“It’s pretty hot,” the boy said.
“It’s absolutely sweltering.” the girl said.
“Could we try it?”
He was totally still except for moving his mouth, it felt like.
“I’m perfectly willing to go through with it if it means anything to you.”
“We could get along.”
He hated himself for sitting so frozen.
“I’ve never seen one.”
“No, you wouldn’t have.”
He looked more like a picture than a man.
“It tastes like licorice,” the girl said.
“Everything tastes of licorices. Especially all the things you’ve waited so long for.”
In this position the girl rocked slightly.
He could look at her head, but not at her.
The boy’s eyes drifted to the ceiling.
The girl managed to sneak a few words through her exhalation, “What’s it like up there?”
He felt a terrible inner resistance but could not feel what it was that it resisted.
“Cold, like lying in snow.”
He wanted it to stop, but he did not do this now.
It would be cruel and indecent to do this now, so he looked back down at her.
She curled up feebly, still rocking.
He felt the ceiling getting lower.
“Is it still cold?”
“Yes,” he said.
She rocked a little more, her breathing heavy.
The whole room was cold now.
Everything was cold and white, like snow.
His eyes were closed now.
A strong silhouette, with arms like branches lifted him through the ceiling.
“It’s warm now.”
- Nicole Tran
we were young and lost in the haze, wandering through the thick blanket of smoke that choked our inhibitions and set our bodies free. they found us with our minds brighter than a full moon, supple bodies possessed by the night puppeteer. our limbs were intertwined, tender throats burning with temptation as we made our way through a boundless maze of distorted voices and heavy smiles. if only they saw us, they could author a memoir of their own poisoned youth. even those with the utmost purpose under the sun suffered a twisted and contorted consciousness by the nightfall. sipping the elixirs of death, we felt alive in the haze because we knew it all along. we knew that the first rays of the sun over the horizon would come brandishing awareness in our midst, dismantling all that we had built in the night. we felt the darkness in our fingertips, savored the phantasmic caresses of smoke against our lips, as we drifted between the pulses of mindless noise. pulsating and throbbing, our bodies burned with the friction of converging intentions, though our minds sought refuge in the emptiness of intimacy. we found ourselves sitting in the wake of foolishness, letting our bodies speak while the mind-numbing toxins seeped into our skulls, penetrating the deepest parts of the memories we’ll never uncover. first a flicker, then the dimness of our failing consciences, then a flash that enveloped everything we thought had belonged to us, dissipating into the haze we’d never come to recognize in the daylight.
one day, i fell and felt the fall that feels like forever.
one day has sent me reeling into the inevitable happiness that is you. one day, it had all begun with a trick of some greater mechanic. one day, he had decided to set me stumbling into your path. one day, he gave us courage in the overwhelming smog of desperation and everyday i am falling deeper into his handiwork.
everyday i feel the fall that had felt like forever, but now i know this is forever.
I thought I knew you
Had felt you
But my fingers had buried themselves
In who I thought you were
My heart had twined itself
Like some affectionate cat
Around the idea of you
Purring against a beat that was never yours
I tripped and tangled and trapped myself
Sometimes it is harder to let go
Of a concept than a man.
i am a girl and this is the world. this is the world that you and i live in. i feign indifference, but no matter, i am a girl.
is there anything more perfect than wanting? it’s the purest expression of desire. i want. people want everything and yet they want nothing because they are never sure of all the things they desire. but in this very instant, i want nothing because i already know what the deepest parts of my being desires. i want you. that curled frame, nesting itself beside me. eyelids that quiver with the childish excitement of dreams. limbs that jerk playfully as though they could physically partake in the adventures conjured by your subconscious. lips that part ever so slightly like doors often do when children hide behind them, exhaling the sweet aroma of forsaken youth. youth that is so imminently doomed, i fear offering it my embrace. but i offer my embrace. i offer my naiveté. i offer my fears of the impending falls that await me. i would give everything for this moment to drift on into dark infinity because right now, i want nothing.
the chill of loneliness stings like the early darts of winter air. my heart is full of hot hatred, but still i shiver in the wake of lonesome reverie, longing for the passing warmth of your touch. it’s so cold.
i am a writer, but i cannot read. i see the lines and curves that make words, but i don’t see the words themselves. of all the things i have read, you are one i will never fully understand. like the multitude of classic literary works, you remain a mystery to me. no matter how many times my lips trace the outline of your silhouette. no matter how often my fingertips graze the ridges of your spine, like the way i run my fingers across words on a page, hoping to absorb their meaning in this small act of desire. i could look into your eyes, day after day, and there will always be something different. like a single line of poetry, they change their meaning. alas, i may be on to something now as i think of the gentle curvature they form when they smile at me. it’s love i see. but now it’s fading behind so many other words. i’m so desperate to hold onto it, but i can’t hide my curiosity. i’ll follow you and all your words into oblivion. i’m ready to lose myself. i would leave myself behind if it meant that i could understand all of you. i want to know every heartbeat behind that faint smile. that last time you blinked, pulling the curtains over those windows i often seek an answer from, they remained closed but a fraction of a second longer than they normally do. did you suspect that an unexpected truth had arisen? had you taken that fraction of time to coyly coax that truth back into the depths where you had fervently nursed it in seclusion? i’ll kiss you a million times over, inhaling each breath you release, as if you were inebriated. i’ll take each one like a breathalyzer, wary of your guilt. but i’ll find nothing. i’ll curse myself for my obliviousness to everything that you are and i will retreat into false pretenses of satisfaction. like a good book, i will read and accept everything as it is in the hopes that one day i will understand without having to put any of it into words of my own. your words are best left untainted by an illiterate writer.