Of the laughter that you keep

Hidden deep within ,

Somewhere where you want

But you cannot reach in,

Pull it out and redecorate

The walls you've left barren

And stark for so long indeed,

Find your voice bouncing off

The corners of your silent screams,

See the shine it brings with it

Making you seem

A star studded reality,

Even when everything around

Tries to rebel against

i flinch, then laugh and say, “yes, i live in this filth.“

you tell me you’ll step on every cockroach for me, that this city is our personal New York. 

i want to tell you that this place is something else entirely, that my heart broke somewhere on these streets two years ago and i wandered around clinging to the pieces. i spun around helplessly under dingy neon lights, let coffee and other people’s fingerprints stain my memories. 

here, i fell in love again. found quiet places and kissed under the trees, flowers falling through the air to land perfectly on my hair. i found art and beautiful words tucked away in corners, put them in my pockets to save them for a rainy day. i pulled out my boots when the rainy days did arrive, laughed and laughed when the wind pulled an umbrella out of my hands.

this is where i stood in the midst of a crowd and closed my eyes, swayed to the sound of a piano and a thousand different voices humming, feeling like i’d placed my fingers on the pulse of this city. where i finally felt like i’d found something to save from the wreck.

Wattpad // Fictionpress

Episode one: I

Not to brag, but Carthy was not your regular contract killer.

For starters, her apartment was a colossal mess. Far from the impeccable arrangement she'd sworn she was going to maintain (new year’s resolution, anyone?), her abode was a cluttered muddle of discarded blades, receipts, whiskey bottles and Polaroid photos. It was a heathen den of paraphernalia. She couldn't make a blind move without risking tetanus, though she swore to her friends it was all a ploy to practice her agility and perception.  

(Or she would, if she had friends. In this at least she thought herself fairly average.) 

Another thing that was far flung from professionalism, was the alcohol. Day, night... oh, her sweet stash of whiskey, she got drunk far too often. Kill a target, take a shot. Kill a contractor, take a shot. Decide not to kill at all, down the whole bleeding bottle.

like the lights of the night sky

guiding the captain's hand

lighthouse let ships get by

land and find a way home-

its fate be safely known

vanward - through waves and foam.

Beacon

- e.j.l |"fate, lighthouse, star"

Recycled wax and a black wick

I lit it quick to burn the facts 

He can never know the wrong I did

So I hid the proof in a pile of ash