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TrainThe walls have faces.
They are blank faces; they are muddled and aged, wholly expressionless. They reflect their emptiness back into our eyes, scarring us.
They are alarmingly clear. It is alarmingly bright in here.
The light shudders out in dots and dashes from the windows, the windows that reveal nothing. The light scatters and bounces off the walls. Here, then there.
And now it is dark. The shadows claw their way up the faces in the walls, revealing a twisted countenance, a new vacancy.
The lights are shining once again.
They are spotlights, glaring down from above and behind and everywhere. It hurts. I can hardly see the walls in their astonishing sheen. I can hardly see the ghastly contortions amassing on my fellow passengers' faces.
The dark smothers us, mercilessly.
I shut my eyes. I can feel the wheels reverberating beneath us. It is undeniably a phantom sensation. We are still.
An abrupt and miniscule sound comes to my attention, and I open my eyes. A silhouetted man stands be
How to Let Go"How deep is a lake
If it goes on forever?"
You ask me as
We tire swing over
Our feet painting the waters
A crisscross of ripples,
Too afraid to let go,
Release our hold and dive
For fear of never resurfacing.
I do not know
And I wish to never
The answer to such questions,
So I keep quiet
And speculate as
You loosen your grip
And fall back,
Letting the depthless
Catch your fall
To find out for
SlippingWhat happens if I go mad?
I do ordinary things. I type essays on steadily crowding Word documents. I visit friends' houses, wait until they leave the room, and then down a glass of vodka--pour myself another glass while they're away. I pet my cat. I watch TV and surf Wikipedia. I say hello to people on the street and thank clerks when they give me my bags and blush when I visit the gynecologist and apologize when I bump into people.
But at the same time, I don't know if I'm sane. Am I the appropriate person to gauge my sanity? Perhaps there has to be a second party, a person to examine me and bop me on the nose and tell me it's all right, there's nothing wrong. There's nothing wrong with me.
Or someone who smiles and then frowns and drifts into uncertainty, tilting their head and furrowing their brow and saying, "Perhaps you should visit me again tomorrow...."
I don't want there to be a second party.
If I lose my mind, will they let me still do my ordinary things? My pleasant things. M
MothI'm caught up in the funny
accent, and the rugged
A smile wide and
White, straight teeth,
Illuminated dully in the
School is dull.
And yet, again, I find myself
Frowning, in something like
embarrassment at the
glare of your green eyes
on me, your face
too close for comfort,
There is something like
In your eyes, taunting
subtly, as you laugh
Such charm is
Enough to draw the
Am I a moth?
I hope not.
what love is not.it was a s l o p p y first kiss where
my drunk lips fumbled against yours.
the dull thwack of my heart,
locked behind curved ribs
cleared my groggy brain,
clouded with lustful premonitions.
it was an e l e c t r i f y i n g first kiss where
you entwined your hands in my hair.
your mouth encompassed mine and
my breath became lost in the steady
of your chest.
it was a s h y first kiss where
i pulled away before you could explore.
your tongue grazed my teeth,
searching for a way past the ivory gates.
i dug my finger into the stubble along your jaw,
my nail lulling your carnal desires.
it was my first kiss with you.
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