Suko-chan

Theme Forty Seven Dirt Rain pattered lightly onto the shutters, leaking in through the little slits and dripping onto the window sill. Obsidian's fingers trailed down his sleeping lover's face, admiring at the smoothness, and even lingering at the corner of her lips. His fingertips traced the outline of her lower lip and he breathed a sigh. She hadn't smiled in so long. There was just too much stress, too much responsibility. To her, it must felt like the whole world was resting on her shoulders and she was expected to hold it up all on her own. But she took it as it came, simply widening her stance and refusing to complain. With the rash

                                                                Theme Eighty Three                                                                              Heal “And how did you get yourself into this mess?” “Shut up, Citron, just shut the fuck up.” Citron sighed and tucked a lock of red-gold hair behind a pale complected ear. Something wet smeared over her skin and she yanked her fingers away from her face, examining the sticky crimson substance coating her hands and lodging under her fingernails. “Jesus Christ.” She muttered under her breath. “I said shut the fuck up. I don't need your smart ass

                                           Calamity XIII I could still remember those days. The years of my childhood. The days spent as an oblivious little girl. A girl content with her carefree world; where the only thing I could ever want was to be able to fly as high as the little red Robins that passed over our blue-roofed farmhouse. Its all I ever wished for in this world. I could still remember when Daddy would push me o

Theme Sixteen Spit Teeth Fractured Jaw cracked. My knuckles were a bleedin' 'gain. Didn' matter. I still won. His blood and spit had gone flyin' Pretty sight, ain't it?

Her red, red lips formed a pretty little 'o' Then she smiled at me As though pleasantly surprised. My spider-web fingers wished to caress Over those perfectly formed petal lips. When I first met her She was a little black widow With a kiss of doom But afraid she would be captured for study Or stepped on in fear of her poison. Her eyes were mirrors of her insides And I saw a weakening fire in their depths As though she had been burning From the inside Out Her soul was ablaze. My heart made its abode Settled among her charred organs. And upon her skin, I could still scent cinders And sulfur tears. She was terribly transpa

Theme Forty Seven Dirt Rain pattered lightly onto the shutters, leaking in through the little slits and dripping onto the window sill. Obsidian's fingers trailed down his sleeping lover's face, admiring at the smoothness, and even lingering at the corner of her lips. His fingertips traced the outline of her lower lip and he breathed a sigh. She hadn't smiled in so long. There was just too much stress, too much responsibility. To her, it must felt like the whole world was resting on her shoulders and she was expected to hold it up all on her own. But she took it as it came, simply widening her stance and refusing to complain. With the rash

                                                                Theme Eighty Three                                                                              Heal “And how did you get yourself into this mess?” “Shut up, Citron, just shut the fuck up.” Citron sighed and tucked a lock of red-gold hair behind a pale complected ear. Something wet smeared over her skin and she yanked her fingers away from her face, examining the sticky crimson substance coating her hands and lodging under her fingernails. “Jesus Christ.” She muttered under her breath. “I said shut the fuck up. I don't need your smart ass

                                                                   Theme Thirteen                                                                            Misfortune Misfortune had always found a way to smile upon me. Warmth to the soul, it felt like. Because, I guess I always mistook it for luck. Especially the first day she smiled at me. She was beautiful, after all. Like spring flowers after fresh rain. Rainbow drops lingering on her petal lips. She always had new-day sunshine in her eyes And promises like candy on the tip of her tongue. She worked at the old cafe At the corner of North and third. I always sat in her sectio

Theme Fourteen Smile When you smile. Baby, my heart implodes. And my world erupts into fireworks. Make me melt.

Theme Twelve Insanity I have this obsession with spiders. . . . They have this beautiful sense of grace, Spindly legs dancing across Their gem-encrusted webs, Skitter-scattering the light. . . . I watch them daily, Meticulously studying their craft. Murmuring praises For their tiny ears. . . . I just don't understand why People fear these little creatures. They're majestic. They're gorgeous. They're perfection personified. . . . I get labeled insane at times. As soon as those humans step foot Inside my star-and-dream-woven home. I just lift my shoulders in a shrug. We're lovely, and they are not. . . . At

Theme Eleven Memory He was going insane. . . That's all he knew. . . . Bit by bit he was unraveling Like old yellowed string From the seams of humanity. . Splinters of his mind he finds Dabbled here and there. On the page he reads, Scattered across the floor like diamonds, Tucked away like dirt in the dishwasher, Or even placed in the fridge like leftovers from last week . . . He was a collector. . . At least that's what he considered himself. . Going through life One step at a time, Gathering the pieces that are left. . Because everything was broken, His life, His mind, His heart. . . . Oh, that's right.

                                                     Theme Ten                                                        Breathe I was choking on bursts of white And mouthfuls of bitter, metallic blood. Blindsided by severe pain. . . . . . I wanted so bad to hide my face behind my hands, Play with forgiving darkness And linger in webs with cob spiders. But, my arms wouldn't move. I couldn't control my own body. . . . . There was shouting. Incomprehensible words And lyrical, if frantic, tones. Something was slammed around my mouth and nose Plastic and biting. . . . Air breached my lungs, Forcing punctured structures t

Theme Nine Cut Heure au minuit . I can't seem to breathe I can't seem to speak . Fissures find their way to the skin on my lips. It burns. . . . I'm staring wide-eyed into the mirror. My silvery image weaves stories Of large blue eyes Doll-like nose And too small hands. . It's such a liar. I'm ugly, not pretty. . . . My flesh is crawling. I keep finding parasites tucked away beneath the layers, Scurrying along my nervous system In chaotic spasms. . . I feel like bleeding. . . . Minuit . My lungs have (finally) collapsed, Displaying my translucent heart to the world. ('Cause we all know I'm not that deep.)

                                                Theme Eight                                                    Away Gunmetal The lighting was perfection

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