Poetry Lab

A One-Man Show

Come one! Come all! Come see the world’s greatest fool! Perhaps he’ll give you a present or a one-sided duel, You need only step up and he’ll do anything you say, He doesn’t bark, he doesn’t bite, he only obeys.

He’s been trained to act according to your demands, So come up! Go on! Take his heart into your hands, It’s not like he’ll fight back; he doesn’t have any feelings, Oh, you dropped it? No matter! He’ll do the healing.

Knighttime

Where the body’s shield fails, the mind’s sword prevails, And for every misadventure there is an escapade. The day’s zephyrs come, but so do the night’s gales, Alongside my worries, my persona is cast into the shade.

Another chance to be something, another chance to be someone, In a world where my flaws can become my saving light. With comrades of the night whose stories I dare not shun, Unlike comrades of the day who run when it’s time to fight.

A game to most, but a new life to a few, A haven from the insanity beyond the front door. With unfathomable laws which we dare not argue, So why should I live where my screams are ignored?

Reality’s hexes protect the corrupted in their seats up high, But in this world, we have the power to draw their blood. We have the power to vanquish evils that in the day cannot die, Staring at the dam of imagination, waiting for reality to flood.

Poetry Challenge Week 1: Dungeons and Dragons.

Man Down

Word Count: 3927 | By: Elawn McDonald

“Ever heard of wine and dine? Well, all those guys do is whine and die,” Hudson sighed, staring at the gray sky beyond the buildings across the street as he looked through the window. He laid upon a worn leather chaise chair with a cigarette in hand, its ashes falling near the feet of a man sitting a few feet away. The man had an expression of both seriousness and annoyance, fanning away the scent of smoke which was filling the room wrapped in dark oak wood walls. “You know what I mean, Jamison? I need to get my shit together or I’m gonna lose my job, my money and probably my next god damn meal, but these god damn kids make it impossible to deal with,” Hudson continued and put the cigarette in his mouth, squeezing half the life out of it in a single puff. His black beard, speckled in gray hairs caught some of the ash before it fell to his dirty cargo shirt.

Doctor Jamison pinched his nose and sighed, pressing his glasses up under his blond hair. “You’re a teacher complaining about his students. Next thing we know the wives are going to start complaining about their husbands… Oh wait, that’s already half my job.”

“I’ve gotta go to court in 2 hours. I ain’t paying you to be smart with me,” Hudson replied.

“No, you’re paying me to be smart ‘for’ you,” Jamison said, standing from his stool. “And quite frankly it’s not enough.”

“One hundred an hour ain’t good enough for you?”

“You could repay my entire mortgage and I still wouldn’t care,” Jamison straightened out his gray suit and walked to his large desk in the corner of the room. “Your stories are as interesting as my left ass cheek.”

“What? The other one got a fucking stick in it or something?”

“You’re not responding to treatment, you’re not bothering to take your meds, or take any of the classes I suggested for you. You sound kind of familiar to ‘that’ entire generation you spiel about every time you’re here.”

“Who are you, my wife?” Hudson said, flicking his cigarette into a nearby bin.

“Am I a ‘danger’ to you and the family now?”

“You’re a danger to my sanity that’s for sure. I almost feel bad about making you pay for this session.”

“Good. Then you’re not going to, right?”

“Oh, no, I’m charging you. Just know that it’ll be the last time.”

“You fucking serious?” Hudson asked as he stood up. He walked to Jamison’s desk with hands in his pockets, reaching for what might have been the last hundred dollar bill he would have seen for a while. “And here I thought you were the only therapist that wouldn’t give up on me.”

“Even God himself has limits, I’m sure,” Jamison said nonchalantly. He snatched the bill from Hudson and exchanged it with the cigarette bud Hudson thought he had thrown out. “Oh, and I’m glad I don’t have to tell you this anymore, but don’t smoke inside or throw away a lit cigarette, it’s a fire hazard.” Jamison flashed a satisfied smile before flicking his fingers toward the door.

Hudson took a deep breath and accepted another defeat out of a list of several. He picked up his blue jacket which hung over the head of the chaise chair and draped it over his shoulder. “By the way, let’s just say your wife was complaining about her husband,” Hudson said giving Jamison both a smile and a wave of his middle finger.

–

The busy streets of Steephaven were as unforgiving and they were loud. The cars brought with them chilling rushes of air fiercer than the autumn breezes that covered the city, especially the one that almost hit Hudson as he was trying to cross the road. “Shit! Got your license from a cereal box?!” He shouted at a red car that was too far gone to even care. Hudson looked at his watch, the shadow of the clinic behind him covered the screen and half of the road, but there was enough afternoon light sneaking through the gray sky to make out the time. “I’m not gonna make it in time like this,” he said. He pulled an old phone out of his pocket which, despite its cracks and rust, was somehow functioning enough for him to look at the icon of an application he didn’t think he would ever have to use. “Well, you lose your car, you lose your right to complain, Hudson,” he mumbled to himself while he used the application to request a personal taxi. “Two minutes away… Fine.” He put his phone away and folded his arms, sighing as he scratched his chin.

To Hudson, those two minutes felt like a day and a half. “If I miss this, no manner of bawling or rolling on the ground is gonna make them give a shit,” he said, referring to his court summons. His slow breaths of trying to warm the autumn air turned into a sigh of relief as a stylish, white sedan stopped at the curb. “Are you Finley?” he asked, squinting as he tried to focus on the figure with the steering wheel in hand behind the tinted glass window. The window descended slowly, revealing that the figure wasn’t so mysterious after all. A slender woman in a white coat, who shared both Hudson’s green eyes and black hair, began moving her things from the front passenger seat to the back seats, but paused as she looked at Hudson’s face.

“Yeah… I think you of all people would know that,” she said softly.

“Oh, my God,” Hudson whispered, walking closer to the door of the car. “When the app said Finley I didn’t even… I mean, it’s… I didn’t even think it would be you. It’s probably a popular name, or not, who knows.”

“Not really…” Finley said, making a quick half-smile. “Hi, Dad.”

“Well, you gonna let me in?”

“It’s unlocked.”

“Oh right, no chauffeur, huh?” Hudson said, smiling as he opened the door. He sat in the front passenger seat and slammed the door, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. Finley looked at him and, while keeping a blank facial expression, pointing to her seatbelt, while his was still unbuckled. “Nah,” Hudson said, catching on to what she was trying to tell him. He put all his focus into igniting his cigarette with a lighter he pulled from his pocket that was nearly out of fluid. Finley sighed and put her hand on the polished gearshift, with the other on the steering wheel. She began driving as Hudson managed to light his cigarette, which made it a good idea to keep the window down.

“So, where are you going?” Finley said casually.

“Come on, you’re just going to pretend like you haven’t seen me all these years?” Hudson laughed, nudging Finley with his shoulder. Ashes from the cigarette sprinkled along the clean and finely kept interior. Finley closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“It’s been six months, Dad. Nothing special.”

“Still, haven’t even heard a word from my favorite little girl since the cops dragged me out of that house.”

“Your only little girl. And I didn’t have anything to say,” Finley said, trying her best to not make eye contact. “I’m gonna assume you’re going to the courthouse.”

“Good guess. How’d you know?”

“Psh,” Finley whispered, glancing out of the window to her left. “Lucky guess.”

“Well, since that’s out of the way. How’re you doing?”

“Okay,” Finley sighed. She was as interested in Hudson’s ramblings as he would be about taking his meds.

Hudson nodded his head and slowly looked around the car. “Doing well for yourself, huh? This is a pretty nice car… You didn’t steal it right?”

“Yes, it’s nice. And I’d like to keep it that way,” Finley said, fanning away the cigarette smoke. “No, I didn’t steal it.”

“Of course, not. Not Finley the ‘A’ student,” he said. “I wonder where you got that brain from.”

“Not from you…” Finley mumbled.

“Just because it’s under your breath doesn’t make it any less of an insult.”

“Just talk about anyone else, but me. Anyone else,” Finley sighed.

“Fine, then how about my boy Felix?” Hudson asked, resting his arm on along the window. There was a long pause before Finley answered.

“Anyone but him, too,” she whispered with an exhale.

“Then who? Your mom? She’d sue me for even using her name in a sentence without getting a license for it,” Hudson sighed. “Your brother it is.”

“Whatever,” she replied with an exhausted sigh.

“You know he was the only one that called me since? Throughout all the shit I’ve been going through, he’s the only one that bothered to check on me. He called me a month ago to tell me he was trying out for the football team,” Hudson said in an excited tone.

“That’s great.”

“Isn’t it? I’m glad he dropped that nerd shit. He wasn’t getting any attention in that ‘robotics club’. A real man fights his own battles, am I right?”

“I don’t know.”

“You know what he told me? He told me he wanted to be a man, more than anything else. Now, look at him. Pretty soon he’ll be surrounded in cheerleaders and bringing you and your mom a dozen babies a month,” Hudson said, tapping the end of his cigarette against the window. The passing signposts and light poles in the gray atmosphere caught his attention. “You think he’s getting a ton of pussy now?”

“Psh,” Finley scoffed in a low tone. “I don’t know, maybe.”

“That’s my boy,” Hudson said, taking a long puff of his cigarette in celebration of what he believed was an accomplishment. “So what’s he up to now?”

“I don’t know…”

“Call him with your phone, I wanna talk to him before I go on up today.”

“No.”

“Why, not? You two still fighting over finding out you have different moms?”

“Because I don’t want to!” Finley yelled, breaking the low tone she kept until then. She blinked her eyes a few times, shook her head and focused on the road as they entered the highway ramp. “He isn’t on the football team, he isn’t meeting any cheerleaders and he’s not going to answer the phone!”

“And why? Your mom gave you some more of her bullshit rules? You guys could have avoided those if you just lived with me,” Hudson sighed. While he stared out the window, he heard a brief sob which was soon followed by another. He slowly turned his head to see that the once expressionless Finley had her face covered in silent tears. She looked at him in the eyes for the first time during that entire ride.

“He’s dead,” Finley managed to say, despite the trembling of her lips which were covered in the tears streaming from her glistening eyes. The sky began to cry gently in unison with her, brightening the blurry, passing white and red lights along the road.

Hudson didn’t respond for nearly an entire minute; although, it was more along the lines of ‘he couldn’t respond’. His lungs might not have been the most pink, but at that moment, they weren’t doing their job well. When his body finally decided to cooperate with him, he leaned forward, looking at Finley’s wet cheeks. “You can’t…”

“He’s fucking dead. Okay, Dad?” she looked at him before focusing on the road, wiping at the tears with her sleeve.

“I just talked to him a few weeks ago!” Hudson yelled.

“That’s because he died a few weeks ago. You’re a teacher and you can’t even do some simple fucking math.”

“How about you watch your mouth.”

“Don’t give me that shit. Don’t you ever give me that shit.”

“Wh-” Hudson began to say, still trying to overcome his breathlessness. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Mom took every step to make sure you didn’t know. She wanted you out of our lives for good, okay?” Finley said. Her words were cold but her face was warm.

“Shit…” Hudson whispered, welling up tears of his own. “SHIT!” He slammed his fists against the dashboard, startling Finley and causing her to swerve the car along a nearby vehicle.

“You’re insane! You know that?” Finley screamed as she began slowing down the car. It was a shame there were no brakes to ease the beating of her heart.

“Where is he buried? Where’s his grave?” Hudson asked, moving restlessly in his seat.

Finley took a deep breath and glared at her father. “The Archaven Cemetery… It’s not too far,” she said, returning her focus to the road.

“Then take me there,” Hudson demanded.

“No.”

“I thought so,” Hudson whispered, grabbing onto the door handle. He disengaged the lock and pushed the door open, which almost forced itself closed due to the speed of the car in which the car was driving. Hudson braced himself and tumbled out of the moving car, rolling violently along the road until he stopped at the side of a car that swerved away from him.

Finley’s car came to an abrupt stop several feet away. She exited and looked at Hudson over the top of her car. “You’re crazy!”

“And you’re going seventy in a sixty. Learn to drive before you start charging people.” Hudson stood up, began limping and ran into a full sprint. Hudson was a man with more debts than fatherly traits, but even the darkest and most dangerous of men in history left a portion of their hearts as a pure chamber where they wrote their vows to protect their family. Whether it was the result of love or insanity, he ran with injured feet to where souls were laid within a bed of dirt until they were forgotten.

–

The light gray sky grew dim, leaving Hudson in the middle of the field of tombstones and flowers in the dark. The smoke from the cigarette he refused to put out, even in the rain, waved into the air before fading. He stood before a gravestone marked in Felix’s name while his tears mixed with the rain above on their way to the grass. He picked up the shovel he had tossed to the ground earlier, watched his scar-faced reflection in the metal blade, and stabbed it into the Earth. Minutes passed before he found himself knee-deep in wet soil. He heard footsteps behind him, but couldn’t be bothered to respond to them.

“What the hell are you doing?” Finley, whose voice was low and shaky from the time she spent crying, said as she slowly walked up to her father.

Hudson looked back to see her eyes filled with both fear and lament. “I heard you can make a shortcut to China if you dig all the way through,” he said, taking the cigarette out of his mouth, shaking it and putting it back in. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You need to stop… Right now,” Finley said, with her hands in front of her.

“Dad…? Just stop.”

“For someone with a car, sure took you a hell of a long time to get here,” he replied, digging despite Finley’s pleas. “I’m going to see my boy.”

“It’s been weeks, dad.”

“I don’t give a shit about the smell, not like he smelled perfect when he was alive.”

“Just let him rest! He’s had enough of you and your antics. The whole family has.”

“He’s the only one that hasn’t. Well, he was the only one,” he said as he stopped digging. He looked at Finley and shook his head. “You want to talk about family? This boy was the only family I’ve had recently! When shit started going south you were so deep up your mom’s ass crack you didn’t even give me a sideways glance.”

“I tried, Dad. I’m so sorry, but I tried,” Finley said, in a much more confident voice. “But you didn’t. You went crazy and you took it all out on the people that tried to love you.”

“I know I’m crazy. Not only have I lost all my shit, but I’m also quite literally losing my shit,” he said, tapping the tip of the shovel blade on the ground. “But this guy made me feel human.”

“I wish he could say the same about you.”

“What would you know about what we had.”

“Everything he told me before he died was about you…” Finley whispered.

“Is that so…?” Hudson mumbled, trying to keep his footing on the softening soil. “How’d he go anyways? Car crash? Pulled a muscle during football practice and tumbled into the street?”

Finley took a deep breath, clearly tired of her father’s jokes, behavior, and timing. She bit her lip and made a half sob before shaking her head, neutralizing her expression. “He died because of you,” she said.

“Excuse me?” Hudson asked, offended by the idea he would have anything to do with his son’s death.

“He killed himself because of you, Dad!”

“Killed himself…? No.” Hudson whispered. “He’s way too strong to do some stupid, weak shit like that. That’s what other kids his age do. Just cop-out of the world like there’s no solution, but they’re just too lazy to find out.”

“You and your self-righteous bullcrap…” Finley whispered angrily.

“Tell me the truth!” he yelled.

Finley made a long pause before finally looking at her father in the eye. “Do you know what it’s like… calling him to come down for dinner once, twice, three times before you roll your eyes, thinking he’s playing some stupid game in his room,” she said. “Then to see your brother hanging from the ceiling like an empty sack… I thought it was some kind of joke, but then I touched his cold skin and instantly regretted every time I picked on him when we were little… Every time I got angry enough to tell him he should die.”

“So how’s that my fault?” Hudson shouted, shaking his head in confusion.

“Because you were the last person he went to for help before he made that choice!” Finley shouted in response. “You know what he told me? He told me you said he needed just be more of a man and everything would be okay. Is that a switch a boy can just flip whenever he feels like?”

“It’s what he needed to hear,” Hudson replied in a much softer tone. He closed his eyes and winced. “If he killed himself it was because he was weak.”

“Do you fucking hear yourself right now?” Finley said with a tilt of the head. “You were the only one who could have saved him! He valued your opinion more than anyone else’s. For whatever reason, you were the coolest man in the world to him; his god damn superhero.”

“Felix…” Hudson said, biting his lip and looking the tombstone which was at waist-level to him. One could tell it was a freshly made stone by the crisp carving and flowers scattered nearby. “And how could I have saved him?”

“Instead of giving him a shoulder to cry on, instead of telling him you’d be there for him even if he had different tastes, instead of telling him that everything he was feeling and going through was human, you told him he was worthless,” she explained, unable to hide the sadness in her voice. “You insulted his ability to run, climb, pick up girls or anything else that got you into the mess you’re in…” She clenched her trembling fist, stabilizing her voice. “You weren’t being his father, you were his drill sergeant, and that soldier who was fighting his insecurities and doubts every single day is laying in the ground because he lost both the battle and the war.”

“My soldier…” he said, dropping to his knees. He crept closer to the stone and took another look at the name he had chosen sixteen years ago.

“I don’t ever ask you for much, so please, let him rest,” Finley asked with an air of genuine concern.

“I… did this?” Hudson whispered, pressing his forehead against the cold stone. His shoulder began to jerk before any sound could be heard from his mouth. He began sobbing uncontrollably, which made Finley’s face look dry in comparison. His voice couldn’t keep up with the instability of his feelings. “Felix… why didn’t I listen.” He didn’t know what to do with his hands and ended up crushing two handfuls of soil as he tried to keep himself steady. “Forget about everything I said, okay? You’re a man. You’ve got bigger balls than me. You found a solution for yourself after sifting through the options…” The sharp rocks and roots within his hands felt rough, nearly piercing into his skin as he clenched his fists. “I’m so sorry little man… I’m so sorry.”

“Dad…” Finley whispered with a chilling wind blowing through her hair. Hudson’s sobbing subsided and he stood from the dirt to his feet, looking at his teary-eyed daughter. He climbed to the surface with hands full of a shovel and wet soil. He held onto his knees, panting as he looked at the ground. Finley moved closer to him with her arms ready to embrace him, although her steps were reluctant.

He looked up at her, unable to smile even though he desperately wanted to. He reached his hands out, but shook at the surprise of a bright, white light beaming on his cheek from the left, then in other directions. “Step away from her,” an armed police officer in the direction of the light instructed as he pointed his pistol at Hudson. The officer was joined by eight others that surrounded him, their black uniforms slick in the rain.

Hudson looked around him at the sight of the men and women he assumed weren’t his allies, and looked back at Finley. She shook her head and wiped her eyes, looking away from her father. “I’m sorry…” she whispered.

“Drop the shovel, sir!” The lead officer instructed.

“How about you drop the tone? This is a cemetery, not a nightclub,” Hudson replied.

“I’m sick of seeing your face everywhere I turn, Hudson.”

“I just wanted to see my son. I wanted to tell him he really was a man all along.”

“That’s nice, but since you’re out of warnings, you’re finally going to a place where you’ll meet all kinds of men much larger than you.”

“I can’t wait…” Hudson whispered. He looked at the grave to his left and dropped the shovel. His hands wandered into his pockets, looking for something he never left the house without.

“He’s reaching!” an officer shouted, tightening her grip on her pistol.

“Relax,” Hudson said, kneeling to the ground. He pulled a cigarette out of his pockets and smiled as he stuck it into the ground. He was grabbed by two of the officers and handcuffed before he could even stand up. Regardless, Hudson kept his eyes on Finley, admiring the way she had grown without needing even a speckle of his guidance. An officer pushed against his back before walking him away from the scene and to the iron gate leading to vehicles filling the atmosphere with strobing red and blue lights. He looked back at Finley, who looked at him after she bent down to pick up the cigarette. He smiled and shouted, “He always wanted to smoke.”

One of my favorite stories. An emotional battle between manhood, expectations, and mental health. 

Throne of Pity

Word Count: 2009 | By: Elawn McDonald

The sound of my frantic breathing had nearly silenced the gunshots. I did not need to turn my head to the left because I could tell from the red splatter on the crisp, white bedsheets that he, the priest, was dead. My teardrops hung onto my trembling upper lip before falling to the bedsheets I used to cover my breasts and shield my shameful nakedness. My trance was shattered when I heard those smooth words from ahead of me, it forced me to center my attention forward. “If you’re really a man of God. You’ll see him soon enough.” My husband, Adam, a man in a white, button-up shirt and soft, brown hair I remember to this day, sat on a chair only feet away from the foot of our marriage bed.

He twirled his gun around his finger, while light streams of smoke still escaped the barrel. I knew his words were not directed at me. When I turned in the direction of the one I knew he was talking to, I did everything I could to avoid looking at them in the face which was now home to several bullets. Instead, I focused on his chest, looking at the holy cross on the chain around his neck. ‘What have I done?’ I thought to myself, but not for the first time that night. ‘How could this happen.’ The gravity of my guilt guided several rivers of tears down my body. I was surprised that through all of that, I did not make a sob sound even once.

I heard a chuckle, from the man who sat upon his throne of pity. I was caught by surprise when I saw he was gazing directly at me the moment I redirected my attention to him. I did not have the energy or courage to scream at him or for help. I was at the mercy of the man I devoted my life to over 10 years ago. That was not the first time he inflicted pain upon someone. However, that person was usually me. He took a sip of wine from the narrow glass in his other hand. It was a reminder of how I got myself into that situation.

Thanks to the efforts of heroines like my mother and aunts, women who were once chained under the label of ‘housewife’ were able to find jobs in vast and interesting fields. For the past month, I was able to skip the kitchen and walk with stride on my way to work on the weekly paper. I was thrilled to see my words immortalized on the series of pages that would be on the tables and the front step of every household. That afternoon, when I was coming home, a friend of my husband’s, Father Silva, invited me to dinner to celebrate my new job. My memory of what happened then was hazy. I do, however, remember looking at his smiling face. His short, parted black hair and mustache tickled my cheek as he rubbed his face upon mine. I did not realize at the time how dense my drinks were with alcohol and other forms of intoxication. The concoction made me forfeit my body to a demonic and lustful presence.

That moment sent me on a journey which led me right to the moment I opened my eyes after spending that shameful night with someone I would have never thought would lure me into such a trap. When I saw Adam seated in front of us as I woke up, I was immediately filled with every ounce of guilt I should have felt the entire night leading up to that moment. He said nothing to me as he pointed the gun at Silva. I do not know whether it was my heavy breathing or the Lord himself that woke Silva up, but the moment he opened his eyes and realized that he had been caught, he held onto the cross upon his chest with a firm grip. His lips parted to say something, probably a plea for forgiveness, but I was never able to hear it. He was shot before anyone in this world knew what he wanted to say to justify his actions.

He was not the only one who had to explain himself. After all that had happened, I was left looking Adam dead in his crisp, ocean eyes. The moisture indicated that perhaps he had been crying before I woke up, a stark contrast to the malicious grin that was on his face. Before I could open my mouth to speak, he commenced to show me that I had no right. “Must have been fun. I can’t remember the last time I heard you that loudly myself.” He grinned as he took another sip of the dark red wine. His eyes strayed from me for a moment to analyze the glass. I could tell from the dark red shade of lipstick on the rim that it may have been the one I used that night.

He did that on purpose. He wanted me to see how shameless my actions were. “Care for a drink?” He casually extended his hand with the glass to me. At the same time, he had stopped playing with the gun in his right hand and properly gripped the handle. Both the barrel and wine glass were then pointed directly at me as if it was his way of asking ‘which would you like to drink from first?’

“I…” I was only able to let a single word escape my mouth before I was silenced once again by his sharp words.

“In my house, only my wife is able to speak to me. Any other women can keep their mouth shut. Like the good old days.” The grin never left his lips, even as he pulled the glass back to him for another drink. We looked at each other for a moment, intensely. It was then that same wine glass which set that entire situation up was quickly coming towards me, not by the gentle motion of his hand like earlier, but gliding through the air using the force of his left arm. My eyes barely had time to close before my face was left in streaks of bright crimson and the sound of more than just my love shattering. Tears were no longer the only rivers flowing down my face.

That feeling was so familiar. The feeling of him taking out his anger on me. I endured every bit of it, thinking that someday, the man my parents chose for me would soon be the man they said he was. “How does it taste?” His words sent vibrations through the few shards that were lodged into my flesh. I did not dare open my eyes. I was only moments away from losing my vision completely before, and I was not going to risk letting my guard down.

I did, however, find the strength to part my lips and no longer shield my teeth. “Do what you want. I’ve had enough.” I was not sure exactly which hurt more; the clear shrapnel which pierced my face in several places, the knife of his words which drove its tip into my heart or the thought of his bullet finally giving me the sweet surrender I needed at that moment. I could not think about anything else aside from somehow escaping. I did not know what I would do if I did, but I thought that any fate would have been better than sitting in my home, which should have been the safest place in the world for a wife, and enduring all that suffering. That feeling was able to diminish the guilt that filled me up until that moment. My stomach tightened due to the series of unknown emotions that overcame me.

I felt trapped. I was not tied down by a single rope or chain. It was the weight of that tension and fear which cemented me to the bed. Even after the solid defense I had set up for my eyes, I soon felt the need to look at him one more time. My eyelids parted and gave him the opportunity to truly take my vision. I looked at the barrel of the gun, while the man holding it was blurred out of my focus. I could tell he was drunk from the smell of his breath and shakiness of his voice. “May I have another?” I asked boldly, not fearing any more incoming attacks. The only glass object left in that room was the bottle of wine seated on the nightstand to my right.

His posture relaxed, as if almost surprised and amused by my lack of reaction to his last attack. I was not in the mood to drop to my feet and sob for forgiveness, because I knew that was what he wanted. It was then he made the fatal mistake of casually swaggering off of his throne and onto the bed. He sat on my thighs with his legs on either side of me. I was truly pinned down at that moment. His head began to near mine. Along with it brought the scent of strong alcohol and the breath of a man who never cleansed his mouth before leaving for work. His hair covered his eyes as his lips aimed for my neck. I could hear him whispering. “I only do this because I love you, Abby. You’re such a good girl when you’re quiet.” His tongue began to trail on the mixture of blood and wine that dripped from my chin.

“How does it taste?”  I whispered to him while his hair on my face danced to the words. Both his drunk and sober nature disgusted me, to the point I could not bear another moment in his presence. My right arm whipped itself out. My hands hardly had the time to fully grip the neck of the bottle before my arm sent it crashing into the back of his neck. Perhaps it was the work of the demon that possessed me earlier that night, or maybe it was a strength I had all along. Nevertheless, the sound of his licks turned into a sharp scream of writhing pain as his whole body lifted off of mine and his hands grabbed onto the back of his neck. Whether it was the wine or his own blood which poured onto the bed, I could not deny the satisfaction I felt giving him only a fraction of the pain he caused me.

With his resolve weakened, I was able to tumble out of bed, grabbing onto the gun he dropped in his panic. The tables had turned. I was left standing above the bed, while he laid there screaming far more frantically than I imagine he heard me not too long ago. The bed was soaked in a bath of everyone’s shared blood and wine. Even as I held the gun in my hand with the firm ability to end his suffering right there and then, I smiled slightly, then lowered it. My head tilted as if in order to let out the sigh of relief that left my lips. I picked up the bottom fraction of the bottle which remained on the bed. It was still intact and had some wine left in it. I sat down on his throne with my sweet beverage and looked at the pitiful display. I couldn’t help but laugh every time he winced.

The moment I lifted my hand to point the gun directly at him, sirens began blaring and circling the house. I looked up and sighed while noticing the ceiling fan was dotted with crimson. Right then, there was only one way to get out of that situation, and it was not going to end without handcuffs. I leisurely wrapped my index finger firmly around the trigger. “I’m only doing this because I love you,” I said before I ruined my life in the best way possible.

“A friend asked for my reasoning behind this piece. My theme was essentially to work with something that tried to embrace the contrast between guilt and shamelessness. Working with a female perspective and a character that is drowning in guilt from the very beginning was fun. >:)”

A Cold Reminder

Word Count: 686 | By: Elawn McDonald

The pain never stopped, even while I waited for her. The pills from earlier were some tough ones to swallow. The doctors should have given me golf balls — I’d have an easier time. I grasped my forehead and felt my headache finally subsiding. After a wince, my eyes opened after being thrust upon by a rush of cold air delivered by a passing black car. The road was a wide, open ocean, but the horizon was blocked by a series of towering buildings, shops and figures traveling left and right. I leaned onto the glass partition of the bus stop, checking the time on my phone as a newspaper tumbled across my feet. I ignored the occasional sound of waves made by the tide of vehicles and grunted at the fact she hadn’t called me yet.

Through the piercing cold, her words tunneled their way into my head. “I thought you liked surprises.” My lips parted as a smile boldly made its entrance — enjoying the warmth she gave that frigid atmosphere. She stopped me in my tracks when I tried to turn and throw my arms around her. “Not with those hands.” She winked, knowing they’d be cold enough to freeze her through that thick red sweater and plaid scarf. Another passing car brought a rush of air. Curtains of her frizzy, brown hair fluttered, revealing crisp green pearls. “Good thing I came when I did. You look like you would’ve frozen on the spot.”

“Basically.” I chuckled as I began warming up even more. Her humor was like a furnace to me; it still is. “8 years together and nothing’s changed. You really need to stop hiding from me. I always find you eventually.”

“Yet, you had no idea where I was until I just hopped along. Ace detective, aren’t you?” She teased with a tilted smile.

“The feds would probably recruit me if they weren’t — you know — hunting for me.” I tried to lighten my situation with enough humor to counter hers, but it only proceeded to make my mood colder upon the realization of how fragile my life was. My mind ran back on the pills that were still traveling through me.

“You know me. I’m into the bad boy type. So I looked for the worst of the worst.” Her words were followed by delighted chuckles. I was almost surprised at how lightly she was taking all that.

I began to feel another pain entirely; the guilt of always bringing her into every mess I run face-first into. It was funny how she always happened to be there when I needed her. It was even more amusing that she always knew what to say and pieced together the shards of my brain every time it fell apart. Then, like every other time, any frigid thoughts I had up that moment were melted away as I remembered that she devoted herself to replacing my bloodline. My brothers and my sisters were either dead, wouldn’t look me in the eye, or even my part of town. She filled in the gaping hole my family left open.

“I love you,” I admitted easily, knowing that I’d get just the response I needed right then. A childish cough echoed behind me, shattering my focus on her and forcing my attention to them as I turned my head to see them staring at me. They squeezed the hand of their mother who towered over them. Her gaze on me was just as intense as her child’s.

“Mommy, who’s that man talking to?” The child spoke only moments before his mother bent over to grab onto them tightly. She shuffled away with her child as if running from a fire. It was odd, but it wasn’t enough to steer my attention away from the response I was waiting for. When I turned back to her, I was only greeted with a face full of frozen air. The newspaper rolled along the sidewalk, showing me that it was the only thing alive in front of me.

She really needs to stop hiding from me. I always find her eventually.

Bed of Rails

Word Count: 1760 | By: Elawn McDonald

“Could she be dead? No, perish the thought,” I whispered to myself. The stairs creaked as I descended to the dining hall, looking in both directions on my way down, hoping to glimpse Sera at least once. In my distraction I almost tripped over the bottom of my dress; if you’d even call a used tablecloth like that a dress. The other orphans poured down the stairs and scattered once they reached the floor like sand falling out of one’s hand. I had to hold onto to the railing for dear life or I’d be roadkill. They hungrily assaulted their meals upon the wooden dining tables, the clinging and clanging of their spoons and plates sounded out their sword fight against hunger. I knew Sera desperately needed to fight that war as well. I needed to find her because a girl as stubborn as she was would lose the battle simply because she was too proud to pick up a weapon.

I gripped the remains of my stuffed mouse tightly, knowing he’d be the knight I needed to help me on my journey. His cute sword and missing eye told the story of what he had been through to protect me. I ran silently to the back door, not wanting to alert any of the caretakers to where I was going. My footsteps were easily masked in the sounds of the ongoing battle. I couldn’t blame the poor kids, I too would have wanted to get my last meal in, not knowing when the next bomb would strike our would-be safe village. I closed the door behind me and run along the worn dirt path to the hole in the fence, covered only by a wooden pallet. My tiny arms gave into the weight of the pallet, causing me to jump back as it slammed to the ground. I couldn’t imagine how someone only slightly taller than me moved it to sneak out every day. I jogged along the grass, looking back to make sure I didn’t attract any unwanted attention, and hoping I didn’t step on any glass bottle fragments drunk soldiers to left lying wherever their feet touched. Running barefoot might not have been the best idea, but shoes were expensive.

My knight fell to my side as I gripped my knees gasping for air. I looked up at the empty wooden swing, swaying in the gentle wind just as my brown dress did. “She’s… not here,” I panted, looking left and right. My diminishing energy made me want to ignore the obvious sight of a similar brown set of rags in the near distance. Sera was laying on the train tracks with her eyes closed and a smile on her face. Her brown hair which blew in the wind made her almost look completely like a set of rags until the wind subsided and revealed her pale skin; a skin tone I felt familiar with. Confusion, as well as fear, started to set in. Needless to say, it gave me the energy I needed to continue galloping along the grass.

“Nice day… Right, Emily?” A voice traveled to my ears, coming from a mouth then covered in several strands of hair. She laid using her hands as a pillow, leaving her hair completely at the wind’s mercy. I walked up next to her, clearly confused as to what she was thinking.

“What are you doing here? This isn’t a bed,” I said, stating the obvious but feeling the need to sit down next to her. Something about how strong she was always seemed to calm me down. She was my big sister, she was all I had left.

“You’re so cute sometimes,” she teased, opening her eyes. Her head turned to me, revealing the deep brown eyes of our mother. “It’s easy to think when you lay down like this.”

“What on earth are you thinking about laying on train tracks? What happens if a train comes?” I asked, my voice peaking as it overflowed with worry. I reached my hand down to offer a lift to her feet. She shook her head slowly in response.

“Then let it come. It won’t just stop for a lonely girl,” said, smiling as she looked up to the sky. “Mom and Dad used to take us to the park. We’d see if we could come back another day and see the same cloud. It was silly, but it was nice.”

I was confused about why she’d bring up our parents then of all times. It was nearly half a year ago. I still cried myself to sleep at the memories, but I had my knight with me at all times. It was then I noticed I had left him up on the hill. He sat, looking at me before tipping over in the wind. I couldn’t just leave him after all the battles he fought for me, but my attention was drawn to Sera when I heard her voice once again.

“He couldn’t save them. Neither could you,” she said calmly. A sudden change in her tone filled me with the same fear and confusion as before. “But I could have. And they know that.”

“Don’t be silly!” I shouted, stomping my foot at the wooden beam next to her body.

“They knew, but they still chose to let me live. Our parents sure were something else,” she whispered, smiling as she closed her eyes, dragging her voice out into a hushed tone.

“Why are you saying this? Get up, Sera. Please!” I begged. I knelt and tugged on her arm, but my strength was as potent as a breeze.

“They told me to be quiet. But I was such a little scamp, wasn’t I? I just had to rebel. I made such a fuss…” she whispered with her eyes still closed.

“Get. Up. Get. Up!” I cried, pulling her arm as if she were falling off a cliff, but it was pointless. My malnourished body was in no condition to do more than take five steps without tumbling.

“You were such a good girl. You kept quiet through the whole thing…” she said, turning to me as she opened her eyes. She chuckled at my futile attempt to lift her from the ground. “And then there was me…”

I knew exactly what she was talking about, but I had no intention of hearing her finish. “Enough, please. Please. Please. Get up!” I pleaded desperately until tears found their way through my eyes.

My voice was silenced. No one could have heard a thing I said over the loud, blaring horn of an oncoming train. The rolling thunder of the wheels along the tracks grew louder. My eyes widened as I saw a tower of steam and smoke coming up from behind a thick set of trees, moving quickly. My cries grew more frantic and the small droplets of tears began to burst into heavy streams. I used every ounce of strength I had left to lift the slender body of what felt like a fifteen-ton sack. “Sera! Sera! Please, please, please, please, please! The train’s coming!”

“You think I’m stupid?” she yelled, her voice rising as her expression molded into one that had absolutely no fear or emotion. “They were truly something. Shielding my pathetic body from those bullets…” Her expression finally cracked, she began to imitate what I assumed was my face at that moment. “Bullets from the soldiers that I led to them! They heard me yelling like a pathetic child while mother and father begged me to hush! I had no idea why, but… I don’t deserve to be here. I don’t deserve to eat while their bodies starve.”

“It’s not your fault!” I screamed in response. My arms, however, were silenced as my strength gave out and my head hit the dirt. I sat up quickly to see her looking at me.

“Remember how we hopped a train to get here? You were so scared, but you were a good girl,” she whispered, curling her fingers. She turned her head to the left, also drawing my attention to the huge steel plate, bending around the distant corner. Her gaze was followed by a loud series of horns that sounded nearly as frantic as my voice just was. “I think I’m going to take the train again.”

My lips trembled at the realization. My heart squeezed itself into a ball under the pressure of me fearing the loss of the last part of my life that held any value. “Let me come, too!” I begged, not being able to move at all. I felt weak and pathetic. I was the opposite of healthy, and it was revealed as she saw that I couldn’t get back up.

She turned her face to me. What was once a pale field of white, was then a flooded plain of tears. She pointed to my knight upon the hill. “He’ll take care of you. Just like he did while you were in the closet,” she said. I had to feel her words because I couldn’t hear them. The harsh screech of iron rushing together burned my ears, and it was only getting louder.

“Sera! What am I… What am I going to do?!” I asked. I know I had no way of controlling the situation, so in my desperation, I begged to know what a helpless little girl like me could have done in a world where you could be greeted by a bullet at any moment. The screeching was at the peak of its sound.

Screech…

“Close your eyes,” she shouted. Without any further direction on what to do or how to live, I followed her command and covered my drenched face with my dusty fingers.

Screech…

“N… Now?” I said with a shivering voice. My eyes were closed, but I could just imagine her face lighting up with satisfaction at the fact that I did what she asked. I could hear it in her voice.

Screech…

“No wonder you were their favorite…” she whispered, speaking with the sweetest tone of voice I had ever heard her use. We were young and she knew that. “Don’t cry, follow orders, stay away from soldiers…” Her pause made the following words hold only that much more impact. I bit my bottom lip with all the strength I had in my fragile teeth. I braced for the impact of her words the same way she braced for the impact she chose to experience. “You’re such a good girl…”

Screech…

“A girl and her sister both battle with their weaknesses, after losing everything that they had in a world which is engulfed in the flames of conflict.”

Foolish

Your fingers whisk your hair as you gently cage your bottom lip in your teeth.

You were about to do it again, you were about to make a fool out of me.

Your lips arch as you unsheathe your teeth, knowing the sharp edge of your words can very well pierce me.

Those soft fingertips near my chin as your hand reaches for my trembling face.

You knew I was broken, but repairing me wasn’t your intention.

You wanted to use the parts of me that still functioned, then toss me into your pile of discarded toys.

Like a fool, I ate every dish you served without question.

You knew my heart was starving, and that I’d return the favor with love.

Yet, when I try to explain why my heart starves — why it pains, to begin with,

you seal my lips with that same finger and whisper, “Hush, you fool.” And I listen.

“When you’re trapped in a relationship with someone that knows you’ll come crawling back to them anytime they hurt you, they have all the power they need.”

Little Boy

‘Little Boy, why are you afraid?’

‘Are you worried about death? Leaving your debts unpaid?’

When asked, a dry silence unravels from your tongue.

Your only response to the fear that haunts you while so young.

Even as the wooden chair creeks, you remain seated.

The safety of sitting means the risk of walking shan’t be repeated.

The mere concept of taking those steps chills you to the bone.

You see others, leg after leg, with stride and wonder how they do it alone.

Stand up, Little Boy, for spectators are left behind.

Those who sit, shall not eat; the hunger will soon starve your mind.

Your meal is on the table. Stand up if you would like to be fed.

I know you long to taste the dish of temptation once before you are dead.

‘What’s that? No one has taught you how to walk?’

Ah, that’s right. There lies your childhood’s corpse, outlined in chalk.

It is in the shape of a boy who has fallen time and time again on his face.

No hand up from his superiors. No love. No brace.

Little Boy, you are among the uniquely handicapped; be it their arms or legs.

Stand up to meet them, even if you’re upon wooden pegs.

While unknown, the era one learns to walk varies from soul to soul.

It may take you years longer, but stand up, Little Boy. Make that your goal.

“Dedicated to anyone and everyone who has ever felt hopeless, depressed or devoid of any reason to live. Hopefully, this will give you one to add to the list.” 

Grey

White; The unshaded canvas known as I.

An empty, bottomless glass with naught but pity to drink.

My tongue shivers daily at its taste, leaving my throat to run dry.

The cycle continues. I pray. I cry. I think.

Black; The radiant darkness known as you.

Two strong hands stretched out to all, filled with seeds.

A cup made of skin — a soft pot in which my emotions brew.

The masses come to you daily. They smile. She laughs. I feed.

Grey; The foggy, disheartening image outside the window known as reality.

The curtain of my eyes blocks the light from soothing my heart’s abyss.

I know the warmth for me between our fingertips for you will be pity.

When you and I realize we create a color as uncertain as this.

“An uncertain romantic tale.”

Join Me

The days have ended — or will end by the time my words reach your eyes. While it beat, you cradled my heart in the soft blanket of your presence. Your arms wrapped around my soul, your words wrapped around my body. There is no one else I would ask to join me on this voyage.

The same smile I delivered to you when our paths first intersected, was the very same I used to mask the pains of breathing. Each day, my lungs sank under pressure as the air became heavier. A simple invitation for air turned into a series of gasps.

Won’t you join me as I journey to a place that has no need for effort? Where our breaths are endless and the air is featherlight. An infinite cage that will not restrict the depth of our bond. Does that not sound tempting? It does to me.

I quickly grew guilty of having you collect the fragments of my mind. Each time it shattered, your hands would mold the shards into something new. The pain only intensified as it continued to remind me of the futility of my own fingertips, in essence to yours.

Their only purpose was gliding through those bright rows of hair — the strands that would glisten in the light as we lay still in the simplest moment. Our gazes would lock, darkening the atmosphere and brightening your eyes. The final smile we shared will be forever cherished.

Join me, as I save us both from the weight of this relationship’s labor. You need not bring anything. Leave the shards of my heart behind and take my hand. It may be cold, but I know your warmth will create the balance we need. Follow the whispers on the back of this note, if your decision has been made.

It may be a selfish plea, but rest assured that my choice leaves me smiling. My heart only asks that you pull the knot that makes air pointless. I no longer need to bear with that burden and neither do you. Please, follow the road mapped out by my heart. Join me.

“A dark, romantic tale about a special note”

Upon a Shelf

Lost in a library of thoughts — an archive of dreams and questions. I walk to the broken shelf; a shelf I somehow feel familiar with. I glance upon the books, all damaged in their own way. Some are torn, others opened and left out. Yet, all are incomplete. Sifting through the options, an object glistens far into the shelf. Its exterior gleams as I wonder what lays within those ivory pages. How could it appear to be so bright amidst the dark shelf? I carefully placed both hands on the covers and embraced them as I pulled them apart.

To my surprise the pages are brittle. From corner to corner of its dusty edges, words are plastered without any form of finesse. The pages with the most horrible scenes fall to the floor like tears. The realization as to why this book seemed so clean finally strikes me. Its delightful exterior deluded readers, shielded them from the harsh material within. It wanted to be read while remaining hidden.

A genre that no others can comprehend. A plot the average person can’t follow. A depth of development so refined. An interior that made readers frightened. I, however, am astonished at the detail — the relatable material. I find myself engaged for days and eventually months. I can not put it down, unlike the others who attempted to read. The pages, while strong, were brittle. My hands gently hug each page as I turn. It’s the only book that I would spend my entire life reading.

“A Valentine’s Day request made for someone who was a bit rough around the edges. It’s been almost two years since then, but the meaning still remains.“

Midnight

For every bright sun, there is a dark moon which follows it. The sun bathes us in her radiance before hiding behind the horizon as the fearsome night sets in. It brings to us a cold, lifeless body. You spend your life wishing the day would never end, but the night constantly reminds you how futile it is to dream. You wonder why the night seems to come sooner when your days are at their brightest.

What should be your brightest day lies mid-December. A time when the ground lies pale and the wind carries knives. You once carried the hope that perhaps 'this' day will be different. Yet the night continues to pry it out of your hands. Each morning you tried to heal from the merciless night. You wish that timed imprisonment within the darkness didn't come every day.

In the land of the living, night falls upon us all. You wondered why it seems to fall upon 'you' so quickly -- why it doesn't seem to fall upon others. Night falls upon me as well. So much in fact that I can hear almost every time midnight approaches. I can feel when it's ready to tap my shoulder and ask me to hand over whatever makes me happy.

It's why I worked so hard to lengthen your days. Even as the cold claws of the night eventually grab us all, we would spend those days making the night seem short. Anytime you look up to the stars and you begin to count every time the night has made you its victim, I will count every day of mine you've made brighter.

What should be your brightest day lies mid-December. A time when the ground lies pale and the wind carries knives. You once carried the hope that perhaps 'this' day will be different. Yet the night continues to pry it out of your hands. Each morning you tried to heal from the merciless night. You wish that timed imprisonment within the darkness didn't come every day.

“A poem I made to comfort someone who feared the night as much as they feared being lonely.”

As The Water Thickens

When they thought I was ready, my parents brought me to the lake. I had no idea what the crystal clear prison off the shore was. Throughout the years, they lowered me deeper and deeper into the water in hopes that one day I would soon be able to swim on my own. Once I was in, I was clueless on how to move or which direction to go. I looked back to make sure they were watching — to see if I was still safe. They smiled and told me that I shouldn’t fear the water. They said I was trained well enough to swim. 

 We came late, I saw many of my friends swimming ahead. I grew envious and let go of my parents' naïve hands. I was confident that I could swim — I had to. How difficult can a journey be if others seem to do it with ease? I stretched my arms out to stroke; with each paddle, my heart raced faster. I heard clapping; applause coming from behind. A thousand cheers for the thousands of swimmers, and none of them for me. 

Time passed quickly before I realized how far from the land I was. There was no turning back, and I only had enough strength to reach where I was headed. It was then I wondered, ‘Where exactly am I headed?’ I was swimming in the direction they chose for me, but was it the right one? I panicked, I began to struggle and lose control. I turned and shouted for help, but the land was no longer in sight. I could no longer hear their voices of support, nor could I see a trace of where I came from.

Aimlessly, I swam in search of an answer; in search of any land that would accept me. There were times I felt like stopping — saving my energy. I knew, however, the moment I did I would drown. As I sensed the suffering’s end, I was washed up into a marsh. The water no longer looked crystal and only one direction became clear. Was this the destination they sought after? It was a destination, nonetheless. I felt neither accomplished or disappointed, just relieved. 

 The water thickened. The harder I tried, the stronger its resistance. The water which kept me afloat now seemed to be brawling with me. What seemed like a clear, endless and fruitful road was now merciless prison and I was the only fugitive. My only crime was the possession of hope.

 No one taught me how to swim out of the marsh. I swam in myriad directions, but I couldn’t escape — no one could. When I reached the point of no return — my arms gave in. My legs cramped and my heart began sinking before I could. I tried grabbing at the muck that was slowly pulling me down. The more I hoped, the darker it looked, and the deeper I sank. 

 Eventually, I was tired of trying to escape. What kept me afloat was regret. I let go, hoping to hasten the pain. I sank deep enough to see my vision being screened. I didn’t have the energy to fight back, but I had enough to think. I was taught to believe, but I was never taught to escape.

“A friend challenged me to use a swamp theme to resemble life in any way. He said I couldn’t do it. Well, I have some news for him. I probably still can’t. But I tried :))”

We’ll Be Alone, Together

Everyone we know is boarding the ship, ready to depart. Yet, I choose to remain grounded. Not because I don’t have a ticket, but because I’m afraid of drowning. The ship is about to depart, regardless of who it leaves behind. You and I; we look at each other, knowing this fate is what I chose. I ask myself why I’m so afraid. I ask myself why they aren’t.

You look to me and ask why I haven’t left. You know I have a ticket. I tell you that the only thing I fear more than drowning is seeing you drown alongside me. You try to hide your smile, you try to stay strong. You can say it; just say I’m a coward.

You tell me that you too are afraid. You shyly admit that you would do the same. I smile to comfort you, but my skin sheds tears. We’re both going to end up with the same fate if I don’t let go of the fear of being left behind; the fear of moving forward. Our pride will one day leave us stranded. Alone, together on an island of regret.

When I look out at the sea, I see boundless, dangerous waves. But the look in your eyes reminds me of that same mesmerizing blue. I was stuck in a loop of fear and uncertainty, doubt and regret. But, as the days pass, you point me to the old forest. 

We arrive at a dock, you ask me to describe what I see. Nothing but an old boat and the same fearsome blue. You walk me to the edge of the dock. You tell me to get aboard. Sensing my terror, you assure me that you will join.

You begin to row us into the open blue. 

The open blue, the epitome of abysmal depth; a reminder of how instant its unpredictable waves can sprout. A grim message of how far we are from happiness. 

You see the beauty in the gold reflection in the distance. 

The open blue, filled with life and wonder. A reminder of how infinite our lives can be. A calm message of how far we are from disaster.

You awaken my senses with a simple question. You asked me what it was keeping us afloat. My eyelids part as my body is now overflowing — my heart drowning in realization. 

The open blue that is capable of drowning us is the same open blue that is keeping us afloat. While the waves that come could knock us over. We only need to let them move us forward.

You hand me the other paddle and tell me this is a job for two. Now I’m beginning to see the hope you had for me, for us both. I believe, that you believe we’ll stay afloat as long as we’re alone, together.

"Back when my poetry was really abstract, I wrote this for someone who struggled with a simlar sense of loniness and fear of jumping into adult society.”