I’m all recycled phrases, bullshit metaphors. Don’t read me. I’m rotting meat. Maggots in pits. I’m blood crusted under the surface of bruised skin. I’m broken teeth, cavities. I’m the fucking soup du jour. But not today’s. Last week’s. Slop no one fucking ate. That paper sheet on the chair at the dentist. Used. Never changed. I’m the fever-sweat skin flakes you left in bed. Vomit in the toilet. Bandages, bloodied. That bowl you left in your bedroom. Covered in fucking black mold. Fucking black mold in general. Those giant sloughs of rubber tires that litter the freeway. Road gators. Fucking whatever. Spoiled milk. Disposable socks at the shoe store. Those plastic sleeves that magazines come in. Fucking useless. Empty coffee cups. Kitchen-drawer, dead batteries. Broken lightbulbs. Morning eye scum. I’m that last sip at the bottom of the glass. No one wants to fucking drink me. I’m last year’s almanac. Last year’s newspapers. Last year’s trends. Last year’s date. Last year’s...what the fuck was I talking about again?

I am ruin.

In summer I long for winter

Wishing the barbecue's smoke

would coil into a winter mist

While wandering in the serpentine gallery

I glide instinctively to a stop

Instead of the painting's vibrant strokes

I wish for stains of black and grey

Within the rows of brand new piano books

squeezed into dark corners

I wish for some leathery bindings and pale prints

Though the fresh paper cuts somehow

fascinate

As waves of slow hymns seep through the gates

I only wish to hum hurriedly and headfirst

to myself

I threw my windows open wide trying to tempt in the flood that we both knew would never come. And with you digging your own grave but never enough of a stiff to just do the damn thing and bury yourself, I thought that maybe snow hadn’t been a good idea. Maybe heat rising from our skin and flurries sticking to our insides was too much of a storm. Maybe the car was too small. Maybe the night had been too long. Or maybe my raised skin wasn’t enough. Maybe sheer lace allowing everything to play hide n seek right in plain view wasn’t enough of a map. Or maybe you just never liked the destination. Not enough curves. But way too many speed traps. Red alerts and sudden stops. Maybe the shadows were too dark since we had always forgotten to bring a match. Or maybe we left our parachute and the fall was just too short. Too much speed. Too much ground. Not enough jump. Not enough air. The plane too low. Our landing too broken. But, no. It was probably the place where the curtain fell. It was probably that final bow. There’s no audience or standing ovation for players that don’t know their lines and aren’t sure which performance they’re giving. It was probably that. It was probably me. It was probably me, as not enough. My windows not deep enough to hold a flood. You should go back to the ocean. Get lost in her. I don’t blame you. It’s easier to stay lost. Its easier when the climate is temperate. It’s easier when the road leads to nothing and you don’t have to worry if you like the destination. When there’s nowhere to actually go. When there is no fall. It was probably me. It’s easier when you don’t have to memorize as many lines. Take that part. I don’t blame you. It has less surprises. The audience isn’t paying attention, but they’re all actors too. They’ll applaud. I promise. I don’t blame you. Lose yourself in the ocean. Drowning is better when no one knows you. I don’t blame you. I’ve always been not enough.

I’ve always been not enough.

“Reizetta, sweetie, please calm down, you’re doing fine. You just need to relax a bit.” My mom held the passenger seat safety handle as she smiled blissfully at the highway entrance a mere red light away. She gave the impression of yoga master who’d surfaced to a higher state of mind. Meanwhile, I clutched the steering wheel as though it would shatter if I held it any looser.

“Relax?” I looked around the car dash as if ‘relax’ was a setting I’d forgotten to press, “Oh right, relax. Yeah. I should… It’s just a road,” I muttered.

“That’s right, it’s only a road and you’ve driven on those before. The light is green, so you’ll be going on the ramp now.”

I hesitated on the gas pedal and the car lurched twice into motion as I approached the ramp. It was a turn, so this pace was too fast, I thought, but then the car behind me started honking, so maybe I was too slow?

“That’s a little too fast sweetie.” my mom cautioned, maintaining her smile through it all, “And you need to keep your speed even.”

I nodded with stiff grace, and tried to keep my foot in place.

Switching lanes was the next challenge. The cars were all zooming by so fast. “Ah! The lane is ending!”

“That’s right, you should switch lanes now. Someone will surely let you in.”

I did as my mother had instructed and was surprised to see it work; I was allowed in the lane by a nice person who understood my predicament. Through the panic, I grinned. “You were right Mummy, they let me in. They were nice to me.”

“Mhmm, see? Some people will drive you mad with their horns and their impatience, but there will always be those nice enough to accept you.”

As she spoke, I was forced to pick up the pace. Cars and trucks of different shapes, colours, and sizes cushioned me throughout my journey, so even with a speed of a hundred kilometers per hour, I felt safe. They kindly accompanied me all the way to the airport exit where I felt confident enough to venture on my own. I pulled around weaving overpasses and through glowing tunnels until I reached the drop off center, shifting the gear into park and relieving my sweaty hands from their welded state.

“Mummy? How can you be so calm all the time?”

My mother chuckled. “Here,” she reached over for my hand and placed it on her heart.

I gasped. Her heart was beating just as fast as mine felt when I first approached the freeway.

“See, on the inside I panic just like you. We’re more similar than you think, you and I.” She leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Thank you for dropping me off, sweetie. I love you always, with all my heart and all my soul.”

I watched her back away, out of the car. She held no bags or luggage; no jacket or sunglasses; nothing for the trip. Like a magnet, I was drawn in the moment she began to depart. “Don’t go…” I told her, but no voice came out. She didn’t hear me, “Wait!”

“Goodbye.” My mother’s smile was already sinking into a fog that was too bright to be natural.

“Don’t go.” This time my voice had surfaced, but I was no longer staring at my mother, nor was I behind a steering wheel; I was under cloudy sheets, hugging a pillow, horizontal, on an empty bed, watching a lone picture frame on a desk, while coming to the brutal realization, that I didn’t know how to drive.

Aze sat motionless and crumpled in the centre of a lone bed. His teeth were grit, his elbows and knees clashed, and his palms lay stretched and pressed over his eyes, pushing so hard, colours sprang like sparkles in the darkness of his mind.

“He was cursed,” said the healer, “perhaps in his sleep… It must be the workings of an Un-doer.”

“But what can be done?” his mother’s pleas tore at his heartstrings.

“We’re doing whatever we can. Though the spell, or rather, the entanglement of spells is unfamiliar to us.”

Together, their voices spread harm worse than toxins through veins; this nurse spoke of unknown curses, but the true one was cast by her words.

His limbs fell limp, and any remaining senses were dimmed.

What purpose, he wondered, lay in coming days equipped to a bandage blocking his life from his mind? He found no answer. And as they poked and prodded his temples, and as healing arte heats blanketed his face, his hours filled a week, only so they could verify the futility of it all.

All that bred from their help was a masquerade’s mask clinging to the bridge of his nose, harnessing whatever vile powers rotted his sight.

Fingers brushed off his shoulders with the hollow echo of condolences. A door closed.

Then the Zing of a violin came to life, playing the melody to an old inside joke and queuing the arrival of an equally old friend.

Aze moved a fleeting smile in her general direction. “What brings you here?”

Star’s tune stopped. “’Was wondering why I hadn’t seen you around. Then heard you were cursed... Now that I’m here I still don’t understand.”

“What can I hope to do in an unseeable world?”

Star’s voice relocated, “Don’t off your future because some lady in a uniform gave you bad news.”

“You can only say such things standing on your side of the mask.” Aze struck a nerve; he felt Star’s magic surge before the brittle-

Thwack.

Star had flicked her instrument. The strings twanged. A pulse of her power zipped forward and split the mask clean off Aze’s face. He clung to it, “what are you doing?”

“Making you live your life. Judge for yourself what you’re capable of, unmasked.”

The temptation outweighed the fear; his eyelashes rustled, then gradually pulled apart. The weeklong blackness made a violent change, but before he could asses it, the healer had re-entered the room. Aze’s eyes drew to hers.

Under a heavy purple hue, with black bubbles dotting the view, he saw her. More than saw her, he peered into her, catching speckles of corruption concealed just around the corner.

Tilting his head slightly, he uncovered it. The healer fell to her knees looking defeated, and whispered word-for-word what Aze read inside; “I’m not fit to heal. I can’t do this.”

Aze backed away. In abrupt understanding, he realized he unwound her will the same way the Un-doer did his.

~~~

Song: Unravel by Jonathan young (originally sung by Toru Kitajima - AKA TK). In this version of the song, if you treat the song like a story, it’s about a person who is lost and alone seeking answers. The person is broken and suffering and hiding their true self in a world that doesn’t make sense to them. The character/singer/narrator-person describes how they’re broken and turning into a monster and how they’re scared their own corruption will hurt those that go near. They think by 'Unravelling' they won’t harm people. The original song has a slightly different story, but they both more-or-less cover the same themes. Also the lyrics are super mega powerful...just saying.

What exactly is victory?

Championships?

If so, how come they're forgotten in less than 2 years?

Is victory only for a moment?

What exactly is success?

Waking up? Because technically you didn't have to.

Cars? Clothes or Jewelry?

Is that winning or success?

What exactly are you winning at, and will it last?

I ask, so that I can better understand.

We must examine the minor things that we claim as victory and compare it to the only thing that will last forever.

Is it worth it?

We all deserve to lose, especially when we fail to realize that nothing was gained on our own.

Not true?

Then how'd you get here?

Ask that question with each answer and it'll lead you to only one.

~ The Enigma

#KSW #Poetry #Enigma #youtube #Victory

I see the clock

watching it Tick~

tock—

looking into your eyes

You’re my gem

sweet ’dame

Come closer darling

I see you laughing

Ev’r gleefully

With you,

is where I always

want to be.

#Jubilate

"I'm a vegan, and meat is murder!"

"Don't you think Thomas Brodie Sangster is sooooooo hot?!"

"Ugh, what do you mean, you've never read Harry Potter books? They're like, the best books out there!"

"Don't you think Tom Holland is soooooooooo hot?!"

"Geometry's not hard; I LOVED geometry when I was in school!"

"Let's watch a Hallmark movie!"

"It's 2018--you can make babies by yourself! That's what being aseuxal means!"

****I'm sorry, but I did laugh at the person who said the last one, because that's not at all what being aseuxal means... If someone is truly asexual, it means they don't feel sexual attraction to anyone, not that they can reproduce on their own. Biology, folks. The year doesn't change basic biology.