Internment.
#GuessWhosBackBackAgain #SelfiesBackTellAFriend #SchoolHasBeenKillingMeYallYouJustHaveNoIdea #Fiction #NewOCs
Handcuffs locked. Pinkies out. Latch. Three, two…
“We are connected.”
“Flesh to flesh.”
“I feel what you do.”
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“If you lie, I’ll know.”
“If you lie…”
“Tell me what you fear most in this world.”
Ezzie hesitated, gnawing her lip in that way she does when she knows she’s doing something wrong. “I’m afraid…”
“I’ll die alone.” Bruce smiled at that, adjusting his smallest finger’s hold. The cuffs bit cold at Petyr’s exposed wrists and every, milky scar tattooed in the skin was exposed. Petyr chuckled at himself, a disgusting lurch pooling in his insides. “I’m afraid that I’ll always be alone.”
“What keeps you up at night?”
“The fire,” Ezzie breathed, eyes everywhere but where they needed to be. “The smoke and how I felt like I was drowning. Their screams. I--”
“--Loved it.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.” Petyr sniffed, resisting the urge to wipe his eyes. “And I know I shouldn’t have. B-But it was like this--” Tick.
“Yeah…” Margot sighed hard through her nose, shoulders slumped forward to support the weight on her elbows. “It’s kind of pathetic when you think about it.”
“All of that happiness just washing over me,” Ezzie admitted, hyper-aware of each tock the far-side clock echoed. She was sweating. “It was like, for the first time--”
“...I felt free.” Bruce leaned back in his chair, keeping his arm extended far enough to keep their hold together without nipping his wrist on the cool metal, relaxed smirk resting easily on his cheeks.
“You’re lying.” Margot’s eyes narrowed and she drew forward. “There’s no such thing.”
“I want to ask myself if it’s real everyday,” Petyr continued. “If I can feel that good all over again.”
“And you can.”
“I want to.” Ezzie’s cheeks were flushed. She giggled. “I will do anything to get that feeling back.”
“But you can’t.”
“Because it wasn’t real.”
“Nothing is real.”
“But me.”
“But rage.”
Margot tilted her chin up, a distant malice in her eyes.
“What are you afraid of?” Bruce kept his contact, growl forming in the back of his throat, fists clenched.
“Honestly?” She finally smiles. “You.”
Peppermint blood
Inflamed gums
And all things diseased
Pisces squirming, fighting for the night sky
A room to share with the closest passerby
Shooting stars in the corners of my cranium
Flashing auras, headache within the brain station
Go to bed without stuffed animals
Empty shelf, no more globes to fill my dreams in
Color out of the lines, I am not perfect
Poor to the bone, osteoporosis
Aching to the core, my mantle is dismantled
Down on his luck, no store will sell his belongings
A sad cry you hear down the alley way
In the middle night
The nightmares are real
A sad cry you feel it in your ribcage
In the middle of the day
The nightmares are visceral
Intentions, to mention
A mind reader
A gain for the ego
But I don't care
I want affection, attention
Recognition, nothing more
But all of this shit has become surreal
Too hard to grasp, the simplest task
Too hard to deal, a losers hand
Doctors in disguise as used cars salesmen
Selling me parts to shut my eyes
But I can see the blinds they've placed in front of me
Open them wide
The world is a crinkled wrapper lie
You are sick of the same song
Playing in your head all night long
A sense of a feeling you don't belong
What is hell if this is where you are?
Play games to keep you sane in the maze of traffic lights, left only lane
Play games to catch the rain, drinking water that is acid rain
Nuclear war
Starving girl
Broken car
No money for rent
Happy birthday
Smile for her
Eating vegetables
I am spent.
When You Thrust Against The Curtain (Edit #2)
Instinctive method actors
Jumping at the chance to
Play
Person who floats by
The moment...
...Buried sweetness
Soon decays...
...Daily versed with
Building idols
On the
Shores of
What was lost...
When you thrust against the curtain,
'stead of shriveling with fear,
You confront these fallen angels
With the noblest of tears...
When you thrust against the common...
When you throw
Heat-seeking nets
At an object passed the
Confines
Of your cardboard movie-sets...
...You will find these
Shrines
To revel in
That the nature Gods
Have grew!...
Sculpted out of sod,
And clay...
...Far beyond
Your borrowed
View...
When you thrust against the curtain...
When you snap the whip of time,
And demand a new diversion
That's deliciously divine.
©
2017
Bunny Villaire
plastic containers.
We are pretend plastic souls trapped
in timed dolls- punching the radial pulse
in ticks to tempt. Thoughts littered
like an East coast beach. Each brain wavers
like a coiled cat thrashed
by water. We bow our heads like a slanted
roof to satisfy peering
eyes. We pretend like plastic
bags over our heads and the necks
of sea turtles. We guard our own
bodies with the care of a child
doing chores on a Friday
night. We smother each of our (own) egos
with keyboard text. We detain
our bodies with the satisfaction
we falsely breed.
“Faggot.”
It's a contagion, that's what it is.
"Faggot." The word spread like wildfire,
and it's suffocating like it, too,
it could be a rope around my neck instead,
or pills down my throat.
Words are bullets
that plunge into my mind,
bleeding me, savagely,
it's there, it's all right there.
Even my parents are saying it,
one behind my back, the other to my face,
"Faggot." A pestilence, a molestation
A murderer.
Go ahead
And creep me
Refresh reload
And peep me
Scroll down
Like and read me
Is it what you
Hoped to see
My selfie and
My family scene
Does it grow
Your caps key
Stay awhile my
Profile's free
Give my status
The third degree
Are my memes
Not your cup of tea
It's the Internet
Talk is cheap
So hit go back
And leave me
But you'll be back
To stalk me
Look some more
And block me
You'll think you
Have stopped me
But I'll be in
Your newsfeed
Your best friends
Adore me
Soon you'll be
A copy
Trying hard
To be me
But I am not a
Christmas tree
Try hard bitch but
You won't top me
Conversations with myself
"Write you lazy ass."
"I don't wanna."
"Falsehood. You do wish to."
"Fine, but I don't feel like it."
"Also untrue."
"Not so, I am not feeling it. Plus this video game is fun. And there is some stuff on Youtube I need to watch."
"You don't NEED to watch it."
"I kinda feel like I do. At least they aren't cat videos."
"Why don't you finish that story you started?"
"I lost my flow. It isn't coming to me anymore. Plus it sucked."
"I liked it."
"You would, ego much?"
"What about your book? You need to finish that rewrite."
"That sucked as well. Too much passive voice. I can't figure out how not to write like that."
"Just restructure your sentences."
"Oh! I didn't realize it was that simple."
"Don't start."
"Bugger off."
"You need to write you lazy ass."
"I know."
What I wouldn't give
To be your t-shirt
Clinging to your body
Squeezing your curves
Showing some skin
Just above your skirt
Stretched on your chest
As you dance and flirt
Holding your breasts
High and alert
Tighter than tight
Smudged up with dirt
Showing your ink from
The rock concert
Sweaty and wet
So hot it hurts