Fuck the fancy words

and fuck the pretty phrases; 

I want to write I love you 

until my lungs collapse 

and my fingers 

bleed with the weight of it

I want to empty every ink cartridge

of every thick-smeared pen, 

to wear down laptop letters 

until they fade and fall apart.

I love you

I love you

I love you

I never said it enough. but 

I loved you

I love you

I’ll love you

until the very end. 

I am in a pit of darkness,

and fighting firmly to crawl out.

I see a glimpse of happiness,

when my foggy mind

is clear of any doubt.

Then, I feel the light within me glisten & shine,

and for a moment, I am all fine.

For a moment, I can softly breathe,

and feel my chest become bravely light.

I can sense and smell life’s delight.

I yearn this feeling thus to last,

this intense desire,

so my lips can feel the kiss of fire.

When this elation,

this invigorating bliss

however, takes a flight,

I am fully back to the deepest chasm again,

to dance with the same lonesome pain,

slithering back to the dark light,

where there begins,

another dreadful night.

Mamma always told me that I wore my pain like I wore my clothes, form-fitted and too close to the skin. The melancholy always clung in layers across my ribs and at the corners of my mouth, my eyes reflecting the knives that had skewered me through.

She would preach for me to swallow those bitter pills. "No one will love a sad, broken girl," she'd say as she handed me the needle. And I'd stitch wounds and powder scars until I was the perfect illusion of whole. But the stones thrown always found their way back home, chipping armor and weakening my bones.

And I would crack.

And crack.

And crack.

#microwrite #flashfiction

Good Afternoon Fellow Writers & Readers;

As you may have noticed (or will soon notice) the Prose web app has undergone a bit of a cosmetic update. Hopefully nothing will be too jarring. Our goal with this update, along with the obligatory under-the-hood performance enhancements, was to simplify. We wanted to simplify the user interface of the website, make navigation easier and more intuitive, and apply a more consistent design language across the entire site. Further, we wanted to make better use of space, both for desktop and mobile users.

Like any software update, this one will likely give rise to a bug or two. Please let us know if you encounter any bugs by commenting on this post, tagging us in comments, or shooting us an email. We hope you enjoy the update, and find the whole Prose experience just a little bit fresher.

Happy Writes.

Ask any Gypsy worth her crystal ball. Seeing into the future is not all it is cracked up to be. In fact, I would take the clear 20/20 of hindsight any day.

Even though, let's face it. I mean...

RIGHT NOW.

Let's just pause for a minute to think about it.

Looking back at what happened a minute ago, yesterday, years before, even back before time was anything more than a matter of light and dark and light again, there is no clarity in it at all. Just recollections that become murkier by the minute, more faded and distant with each... and every... passing... second...

Because, like the cataract covered eyes of an old crone whose alzheimers has finally reduced memories to haunting visions, looking back means looking forward to nothing more than a good hunch about what might happen... next.

Like the dinosaurs. It might be an educated guess, but it is still just a good hunch about what sort of cataclysmic event resulted in their running out of time. They heading off into the sunset of extinction, where time is nothing but a speculation and a point of occurance, lost in the infinity of other moments gathered and tossed to eternity. But at least that is something to go on. At least speculating about it is a way to pass the time.

At least...

That might provide some insight into the future. Because anything at all would be better than knowing tomorrow, the next day, a year from now, a million generations from now. Those moments in the future will come but seeing them coming feels like being tied to a train track. There you are... tied down to the inevitable...

Because this train is always on time. Every car it pulls filled with your dreams and aspirations, with a caboose of longing and hope hitched to the back. You lie between it and the station. No way to stop it... as it rolls... closer... and closer still, where you feel the rattle of the track and hear the humdrum of death about to roll over you.

So all you can really do is look down at your watch. Guess how much time is left, if any, before everything... past... present... future... all are passed.

As time rolls on.

Dear Writers and Readers,

We noticed some less-than-exemplary behavior on Prose today, which forced us to take action against some users. This is a gentle reminder that, while we try to remain as uncensored as possible, some forms of content are simply intolerable. Please note the following passage from our Terms of Service, under Prohibited Content:

Content that is unlawful, libelous, defamatory, obscene, pornographic, indecent, lewd, suggestive, harassing, threatening, abusive, inflammatory, fraudulent or otherwise objectionable, or invasive of privacy or publicity rights;

In today’s case, harassment was the keyword. We have taken steps to punish infringing users, and prevent future infringements. Note that we will not be adjudicating arguments, disagreements, or squabbles between users, unless we deem the language used to be grossly abusive or inflammatory.

1. We have added a report button to all posts. You’ll find the button in the lower-right options menu (indicated by an ellipsis icon) of every post. If you encounter a post that violates the Terms of Service, please report it.

2. We have instituted a temporary posting restriction policy against first-time offenders. If we find that you have been harassing folks, spamming, or posting any other sort of Prohibited Content, you will be prevented from posting, commenting, and sending messages for a minimum of three days. Repeat offenders will be permanently banned.

3. We have added an internal feature to remove offensive posts. Posts that violate our Terms of Service, or that provoke grossly abusive or toxic comment threads, will be marked as such and removed after 24 hours. During that period, commenting on such posts will be disabled.

Refer to Section 10 of our Terms of Service for all forms of Prohibited Content: https://theprose.com/p/legal/terms

Happy Writes,

The Prose Team

Touching your skin is heaven's most sacred greatness,

I marvel at my hand running down your face as some never come to meet love's true substances.

Go gentle out upon what you seek,

By angels watching each night and day,

I remember when we said forever,

I opened all my heart to love

Like autumn leaves that drop down to wooded steeps, our world hath chang'd to bitter scorn and mock what we thought fares with eternity's stream,

Now you hate every part of me and

Bid farewell to life with our hearts completely,

Perhaps I never touched you as you touched me,

Dearest love, you grip the sun in my world, Truth matters not in your sculptured thought; how sadly i call to you now,

How long before this dream is banished?

Death be more contented than this cruel decree,

Long years are measured against barriers now gone, neither sneer nor hell had taken us apart;

it is irony not lost on me that a dreadful fiction crumbled our affinity,

A star interrupts the heavens as night holds you,

I see your reflection upon this river where memory claims our lives entwined;

What has happened here?

You were happy with love. but now thou fall beneath waves that pull you away

unto death’s mournfull sight,

I have promis'd thee always to fight for your sake,

If indeed abandon ship should be the only answer found to make you rise above the sea, I wont let you drowned now,

Even if it means endless shadow below the depths for me.

He Writes Love,

-Xtian