fallen grace.

‘   WHAT’S A GOD TO A NON-BELIEVER ?   ’               sacrificed his soul to the burning sky , his eyes only see the sun , the clouds , his mind thinks in the colors of the sunrise and the symphonies of early birds. the day ian maceo opened his eyes and realised that he’s the creator of his own heaven and damnation was the day he could say he’s free , although the idea of a god or more gods watching and judging him still made him freeze with fear. he laughs , however , wild flowers in his eyes as he averts his gaze from the sunlight.   ‘  no church in the wild , kanye west.  ’

❝  don’t worry , they already know i don’t like you. they’d comfort you, anyway.  ‘ oh ,darling , did ian say something mean again ???  we’re so sorry ! ’   ❞   he mimics the voice of his mother , ending the phrase with a snort and a roll of eyes.  ❝  poor little vitti.   ❞

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HORRORS OF WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN DEATH        still make him jump at every noise , ever door slam , every loud car engine. night terrors are no news to him , they’ve always been there and ian thought he got used to them but they were more and more intense, more vivid than when he was a child in his parents’ care.    ‘  i lack the energy to come up with an interesting topic.  ’   truly uncharacteristic of ian maceo to be this quiet and disconnected. the boy who felt the world now lived outside of it.   ‘  i think a drink would make it easier. want one as well ?  my treat.  ’

‘  I’M SORRY    -------     ’            he approaches with caution and anxiety but his smile hides it all   (  or he hopes it does  ).  golden eyes shadowed by fatigue , widened caffeine pupils , this is not as professional as ian hoped it would be and he can feel his father’s disappointed glare knifing him in the back , like a ghost haunting for revenge. however , he clutches the notebook in his hands harder and straightens his back in hope that it would improve his damaged image.  ‘  i’m an arts student and i’m working on a project about human beauty. would you be interested in modelling for me ?  ’

CLOUDS SUFFOCATED BONES          hurt worse with every rain droplet that hits the ground. it is all a symphony , it reminds him of the pianist his mother admired so much , of the music his father would listen after a long day at work. these memories are a buzzing noise and nothing more. the bitterness of the coffee kept his mind anchored to this world , though the caffeine only amplified the aching.     ‘  this coffee isn’t that great. do you like it ?  ’