PoeticIndigo

And then, the hand. One: lightly on his shoulder. Afraid of clasping too tightly.The second: in his hand, not laced, but still less lightly.It seems impossible to be entirely light when the discussion is heavy and the faces long, drawn. One, two. One, two. they sway with the rhythm they've acquired over the years. The practice. The ballroom dancing that seemed to be more. Good, but never quite good enough to win the competitions. And there had been competition. One, two. One, two. Exact, perfect, driven.Those were the judges words.Not together, rhythmically, yes. But they were supposed to look "in love" as it was said. One, two. One,

I've only ever found true peace, In the artificial darkness behind my eyelids. Did computers leech the life from our eyes? From your eyes? (Personally, I've never felt more alive.) In the artificial dark, I'm not cold. Strange as I've always expected it. I feel infected with warmth I wish... It would go away. Is the sparkle of life truly gone from our eyes? From yours? Did it say good-by or fare thee well? On days that darks shadows frequent the space, Between our eye and our cheek. In that moment I must have looked weak. I felt weak. I feel weak. I must be weak.

Why don't you have two lives? One here. One there.   So you don't have to carry it around everywhere. And why don't you love every one? you said you did. That was just some. How do I discern from that which was said, If you were faithful to that god. I remember you said "In the bible Methusaleh lived for nine-hundred odd years" and I replied "That was back when god loved us." and added at your dismayed face "my dear, dear friend, I know you well and there is no way it can't be helped. I'm sure god loves you. How Could he not? Unless He likes to fool with thoughts..." Your face brightened. Wounded distraught dismayed o

"Mesdemoiselles and messieurs," The Frenchman said in his familiar, monotonous and slightly self-righteous tone of voice. "Welcome to Ze Toy Train." The toy train was a trendy restaurant that was frequented by many a stylish young person in London. It was also on an actual train, which seemed to further its novelty. Conversation that had been demurred by the Frenchman's intrusion, were resumed. Of particular interest was the conversation of the four individuals in the back of the compartment. One of the young women was telling a particularly scintillating attestation of an even more scintillating event. She tossed her long dark-blonde h

I'm the Antagonist again. Oh well, I don't care about the things you say. I'm not being dramatic. Stop saying that. That is the way it is. Why won't you just listen to what I'm saying. So leave me alone! Goddamnit don't call me. Because I will break. I'm not coming back. Nothing you can say will make me. I hate her and I hate you

Enlightened, We choke on the ashes of forgotten children. So, We are dead and our souls beg, For the darkness. I guess we are all forgotten ashes and with that, dust, For others to choke on. It's hurting sometimes. And through our fathers veins, We'll swim and twist and decay. And kiss the edge of our own skull temples. Perhaps, If my fingers lace with the bones of your hand... (familiar) I can smile again. So my face is pressed To the ivory ridges of your neck... and I feel kind of cold. I remember promises... Of heaven. And in my case, hell... Happily ever after, dear. And so the wisdom of infinity and the ages,