Have you ever walked on bubbles?
Popping ignites shakey imagery
on faulty tears. The leer of your
love, explosive in a biome of
imagination, fear of falling
through tangent glass until tomorrow.
Writing, Ideas, & Stories
Have you ever walked on bubbles?
Popping ignites shakey imagery
on faulty tears. The leer of your
love, explosive in a biome of
imagination, fear of falling
through tangent glass until tomorrow.
Craddled features of
yips designed into stone.
Fallen tails of legends
tales designed into stone.
Four father’s watch the creators
tomb designed into stone.
The Arch’s of deities crisp
on mountain tops
crop top
above volcano stomps
the land below
designed into stone.
The timeline is shattered.
You were supposed to ask Susy.
Not Dillian, Dillian?
Nobody even likes Dillian,
but she is going with him
because you didn’t show
the courage. Dillian?
That guy? Your better than Dillian.
It’s cool. All we gotta do is
make Dillian disappear.
Yeah yeah it’ll be easy,
just a slip down the stairs.
Slip Lax into his lunch
can’t go if he’s shitting
his brains out. Or.
Or I’ll kidnap him
Yeah it’ll be easy, steal mom’s
car, pick him up, dump
him at the lake.
Fuck Dillian.
Susy doesn’t even like
Dillian. I’ll just go
with her sister. Get her
pregnant and get back at
her that way. Take Dillian
eh? Fuck Dillian.
Can’t go if I drowned him.
Oh shit it’s seven o’clock
Mom? Can we go now?
the high road they called it.
Speaking theory and false
idols they called it.
Beseeched a cast off to the
watery bin marked Wilson.
Ruling side by side on an island.
Heavenly winds cross along
their finger tips. Cool waves
gently brush against their timid
hides. Ooh paradise tasted like
Margarita’s.
Until the waves ran dry. The wind’s
blades cut like a guillotine.
Window showers pass the road
only to find themselves on
an island.
Field tested stone washed soles
walk the bloody truth.
Nights of transmute and
conversion into something
greater.
They laughed at your cries
of possibilities of tomorrow.
Now they stumble on the
cores you left behind.
No one
is unique.
Transferred overnight
and left in the Terminal.
Perfect dissolves into normal,
now, we are all super.
Fluent moderate could compose.
Lacking direction
a sense of where she is going
or where she should.
Standing on the map of
her district, borderline.
Raised to look left, yet,
right thee tempted dangle
in a web of their own doing.
The fluent moderate could
weave the purest silk. Tied
individual too the post
of her own accord.
She whispered in my dreams
“Live.”
Attempting to shatter these
invisible shackles from an
unhabbited being. Have I
been walking with these
my whole life? The lens
she gripped with her cream
palms brewed color streams
together like Skittles.
I need to taste that rainbow.
Been too naive for rudimentary
it’s elementary my dear Watson,
Live.
Hey hi hello
you said before the crowd.
Challenging our demeanor
for all to hear. Cries
of lost humanity on
the brink of darkness
or as you said,
the end of life.
Crying for loss
and begging for a tomorrow,
one that was promised
with these same fist.
Silent sky on a screaming night.
Lose light silently over
the peak horizon.
It’s screaming back
with red in his lungs
peak guns
red smoke
single stroke
on a screaming night.
He couldn’t pull the trigger.
Mind dancing on limbo
on a lonely island
staring the flare in the eye
below a silent sky.
“Share the chair,”
the wise woman shared.
There is room for two
it’s not all about you
she’d always tell us.
Fuck that. My ass has
been next to yours for
far too long and you can
find your own. He’d bekon
the blade in his back,
“Share the chair.”
There is always room for
two.
As the king sits alone
on his throne
he finds the knife
in his lost
chair.