sounds.

screeches and groans and the echoing sound of skittering claws.

my stomach twists. the night is dark, so dark. my parent's room is just down the hall, yet it seems miles away. and i doesn't dare to leave the bed- the monster might get me.

i can't pinpoint exactly where the noises are coming from, they're too chaotic, too overwhelming. but my guess is that the monster is under my bed. right where it can get to me.

a roar, and the frame of my bed rattles, nearly tossing me off. i grip the sheets until my hands turn white. i look from side to side, watching the wall, my eyes tracing the floor.

all of my stuffed animals are on my bookshelf, they can't protect me from there. all i can do is wait and hope that the scary noises will go away, that the monster won't kill me.

i want to have tomorrow.

minutes tick by, the red of my clock burning into my eyes.

the sounds go quiet.

legs trembling, i crawl out of bed. the silence, it hangs like a heavy fog. i stand by my bed, not moving.

the tension inside of me snaps, and i get down and look under my bed. there's nothing there, only a gap that shows the bottom of my bookshelf on the other side.

peace fills me. things will be okay.

and then there's one last sound.

the creak of the closet door opening.

bubbling thoughts

rising steam

about to boil over

almost to the edge

but not quite~

a peaceful front

chaos in the background

possibilities are just

possible problems

unspooling a ticker tape of memories

that will soon be erased

do you know what this is?

a worn down shelter

for lost thoughts

and dreams.

where whispers

of hope

and golden threads

of longing

reside,

glowing

and

exhausted.

rain clouds

and sun beams

bundled up

like a bouquet

of thornless roses.

a secret

or two

memories

of lies.

silence,

occasionally.

hold this.

hold my heart and make sure that

it doesn't break.

You can't convince me he wasn't divine

Because to have so many

Looking at him like that

Could only mean

He was too special

For someone like me

At five foot three

I am

an oblong shape

finding a way

to love

the space I take

inside

there's a

tiny box

wrapped in

knotted ribbons

and waxy paper

layers and layers

torn away

until one day

what the

box's delicate

walls hold

is released

and then you

just

know

I suppose it’s sad to know,

that our withering stories fade.

The love we found so eternal

Was nothing other than a charade.

Like the rose enamored by lust,

Born only in the darkened mud.

Colors of a feeble hold,

You called it ruby, and I called it blood.

We were made of daggers and knives,

Holsters hidden upon my thigh,

Whispers of kings and queens,

Echo softly as they die.

“The young eternal rose,

The kiss of a dying light.

The lies, they petal away

Fading fast into the night.”

I can’t recount the day,

When I saw a stranger in your heart,

yet I fear it happened slowly,

A glass sword tore us apart.

Darling roses are to die for,

but what I always said was true:

I’d rather have white dahlias,

and simply die for you.

Oh the knives in my eyes and the glistening daggers in your smile,

Made our fates a little more bearable.

For through veiled blackness, a glimmering, blood dripping rose

Made our ending less terrible.

#poetry #poet #poem #story #fantasy #love #roses #writing #prose #knives #daggers

I don't like roses,

a beauty too grand.

A fragrance I can't enjoy.

I don't like roses,

but I do like thorns.

They mingle with the stems,

lie in wait

Ready to stab

and bloom flowers of blood.

They say every rose has its thorns,

every beauty has a curse.

But sometimes beauty gets tiring.

Yet curses never get old.