The beginning was a love story. 

He was always touching me. He told me he wanted me. He told me loved me. He wouldn't let me sleep. He told me he couldn't live without me. I couldn't go a day without talking to him. He always wanted me to hang out with him. He said he wanted what was best for me.

Five years later and he was always touching me, even when i pleaded with him to stop. He told me he wanted me, while he went around with countless other girls. He told me loved me, then turned around and called me a fucking bitch. I was so, so tired, and he wouldn't let me sleep. When I told him this relationship was killing me, he told me he couldn't live without me. I couldn't go a day without talking to him for fear of a bombardment of texts and calls. He always wanted me to hang out with him, and would get furious if I spent any time with anyone else. He said he wanted what was best for me, even if it meant lying.

It took me a long time to realize I had lost my voice.

The fruit falls from the tree

Ground hits back, impact

Leaves not coming back

Sun burns hot, no shade to protect

Branches too far away to intersect

That was Daddy when he left

His little peach on the steps

Flame of shame, juiced up to seduce

Luring to ensnare, to use.

Left once, now to never lose

Holding as tight as the flesh on the grooves

Seed solid beneath, unseen

Break you if you bite too deep

Taste it. Sweet. Hollow underneath.

It appeared the heavens were more sorrowful for Chen than he for himself. They sniffled upon the sand in which he knelt; their pristine tears rained upon his outstretched palm, and the small capsule of poison there as well. Ampule of cyanide is a potent little suicide mechanism; brain death within minutes, and a ceased heartbeat to follow suit. It was during the twilight hours, to be exact, as the moon took the tide by hand to meet the shores of The Gaurdian Sea, that Chen knew the hour had come. He acknowledged neither seawater lashing, nor thunder barking to drown his hysteria.

There are things to be felt and seen, roared the wind. But he heard not; defeat, after all, roared with a vengeance too. As he raised the ampule to his drying lips, hope and reason aside, a flash of white imposed upon his line of vision.

"Who's there?" He called. The ampule slid from his grasp and rolled out to sea.

"No time to speak, I'm in a hurry!" The intruder replied. Chen sprang to his feet and pursued the echo of the voice, which to him sounded like a child of sorts. He happened not upon a child at play, but a short man, pale as porcelain with strange rabbit-like ears. He wore a sepia vest over a dull striped shirt, with a fresh bundle of hyacinth tucked behind one ear. Upon his head sat a lopsided, dirty hat with the phrase 'King of the Inconstant Moon' embroidered in cheap yarn. He did not pass even a glance to Chen, as he was quite occupied with his golden timepiece. He shook it from side to side in a rhythmic fashion, and each time he did so, the atmosphere began to ripple like a pebble on the surface of a sleeping pond. Chen felt his eyelids grow heavy. He stumbled backwards as the world about him spun in various directions, "What are you doing to me?" He cried.

"It's time for you to face reality my little dreamer boy. You must leave this Wonderland ."

Chen watched helplessly as the elaborate dream began to fade. He awoke to a large white room covered in black ink scribblings. Locating a patch of uncovered wall, he began to paint the unconvetional canvas with a fury of words. Behind the panes of a one-way glass, doctors looked on with fascination; it seemed their administered doses of shock therapy and medication had not stopped the young man's psychotic episodes. This time he'd written a new mystery for them to ponder:

To perish within the subconcience is a deadly thing, for that which the imagination conceives is eternal. The dreamer cannot cheat death with intellect. But how on earth do I explain The King of the Inconstant Moon?

#ProseChallenge #itslit #getlit 

Puppets on string,

the front-lines are little dolls,

the chain holding their limp spines.

Clay molded by hands,

melting ever-so-slowly,

nails digging into their skin.

Children's young minds are strung 

by the ever-so-mighty,

the wiser and the powerful.

Their minds are susceptible clay molded

after the dictators of the home.

Mirror images are the nightmares of origin.

They took me in, sinister

Little, beady eyes

Praying tiny paws like a minister

Perfectly pocket sized

Wrinkled little noses

Luring me in deep

Their fur soft as roses

As they curl up to sleep

I walked right into their lobster trap

They knew I couldn't resist

With their long, floppy ears they wrap

Me in like a closed fist

I'll never make it out of here

I'm doomed for all of time

I've fallen for them hard, I fear

Imprisoned for this fluffy crime

Purposely mold

    Turning to gold

That which you hold

    Bring out the bold

So it can be sold

Building it up

    Making the cut

Squeeze it and cup

    Train like a pup

So others can sup

Nail and glue

    Drive it true

Don't over do

    Take an old shoe

Make it brand new

Build it up tall

    Better for all

Get through the wall

    Don't let it fall

Answer the call

Put it in gear

    Grab it and steer

Forget the fear

    Soon they will cheer

Give it a year

Change it

       Play it

               Grow it

                       Mold it

               Repair it

       Prepare it

Influence it

       Enhance it

               Drive it

                      Create it

               Manipulate it

a child laughs

the camera starts recording

the camera moves back

a group of children laugh

the camera focuses

they play in a sand box while it rains

the camera stops recording.

there are guns held to their heads,

guns and men that will shoot them with no hesitation.

the camera doesn't see

the camera is taken away

the children are shot

what does the world see?

You smiled and laughed because he made you the happiest person alive.

He meant the world to you.

You wanted nothing more then to make him happy

So you cut your hair, dyed it blond.

You left your friends behind.

You changed the way you dressed.

You became a vegetarian.

You started going to the gym 7 days a week. 

Then one day he left.

And you looked in the mirror

And realized

You missed your purple hair.

 You had no friends to turn to.

You hated your clothes,

All you wanted to eat was a burger 

You hated running 

You changed everything for him

And when he left you didn't even recognize yourself.

She’s digging through the bottom of her brand new leather handbag

Seeking, finding, searching, yearning

Digging out a compact

Her lipstick

Your wallet

She’s touching up her makeup and checking her complexion

Anything to make sure someone, anyone is

Checking her out

Better if everyone is

You are

She draws you in

Tells you she loves you

Because she loves you

Tells you she hates you

Even though she doesn’t

Until you do

You hate you

You hate her

And the blur and haze

And the blaze she leaves in her wake

She smiles at the flames

Bright red smile perfectly in place

Because she’s always topping off her pain

With a damn

Fine

Face.

I had a Vodka Cranberry last night.

It told me I could dance.

When my flailing arms made me look like a joke,

I went and grabbed a Rum and Coke.

The rum said I'd get a special surprise,

if I quickly downed a Tequila Sunrise.

Tequila said I need someone to adore me,

So I found some courage in a Dark 'N' Stormy

The flaming shots promised to make me cool.

After several of them, I skinny dipped in the pool.

What at the time I thought was celebration,

now I can see clearly.

It was alcohol's manipulation.