iDEAD98

I dreamt of you for a thousand years. Put you together from the dust and longing I found between the beats of my heart and built you up from the ground up. But I am no god. And my try at creation was doomed at best. It seems dust and longing makes for poor clay.

Was I born a shape? Or did I come out in just colors Yellow, pink and blue. Was my skin mosaic? Was I born a mass of clay and water Sand and glass and dirt? Did I smell of the earth and taste of salt? Where was my soul while my body fermented in the womb of my mother? I do not remember. I feel I was not there. Even when they pulled me from the dark And brought me into the dark I was no where to be found. And when they held a flame to my face There were holes where my eyes should have been. Did I swoop down from the stars Or rise up like the kalo peaking out from the mud? Did I break the skin of the sea Or fall like fruit f

A man can be many things. He can be a father, a brother a son a husband a friend. But then there are men who are not men And they can be things as well A spider A snake A wolf A shark There is a man who is not a man. He does not sleep. He does not rest. He waits. He watches. There is a man who has no face. He has a smudge. He has tooth and claw. He keeps a nightmare where his heart should be. There is a man who is not a man. He is a monster.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and let out a low moan. I hate my job. Some huge stupid ogre things slipped through a Rip and killed some cats. Now don't ask me why they attacked cats and to be clear it was only cats. It was hard to get them to come at me but what can I say? I guess I just piss everyone off. I was on my back, Shakespeare would have made an innuendo about that, and one of those things was headed over to me. It made these awkward grunting noises as it ambled forward. I could just imagine all of the poor kitties that they had murdered. That made me angry just angry enough to push off my elbows and… get knocked back on my

"What do you dream about?" Her voice is even and measured but the question is still obvious in her voice to me. She was always monotonous. She was always trying to hide because she was scared that if she seemed too eager, too interested then I'd take advantage. So she all she's willing to give is monotonous questions and blank stares. I don't mind. "Nothing," I reply and it's true.   I don't dream or maybe I just can't remember my dreams not even the wet ones. It's very frustrating. "Liar," she says in return. What she's really saying is 'okay I believe you'. She almost never says what she means.  She tucks a strand b

I fell in love at eighteen with a canvas blank and breathing. I could shape him and break him a thousand times with no fear for his well being. because he did not love me

Angela twirled and hummed in almost childish satisfaction. Her long dark pleated skirt fluttered around her as she turned. Her actions were so silly and innocent, things that Tate rarely ever was. "Whatcha think?" Angela breathed as she did another twirl. Tate smiled at her ways. It was her second day of school. He hadn't been able to see her off on the first day. There was room with mirrors on the walls and floors and ceiling; it kept him away but he got to see her off on the second day. Angela seemed completely fine either way. "It's a bit," he began a look of thought on his face, "well stupid really." A grin broke out across his featur

"Are you scared?" Tate asked suddenly as he sat at the base of a large ash tree. From above him Angela called back, "What, of falling?" "No, I mean if that's what you're afraid of then yes," Tate said as he ripped a still-green leaf in half then again and again, "but I don't think it is so no. I mean, like, what are you afraid of in life?" "Well I'm afraid of birds I guess," Angela called down from her spot in the tree. "Birds?" Tate said as he squinted up through the branches hoping to catch sight of her but the sun blinded him and returned his gaze to the leaf. Now the tree was very old and very large. It had been around for over a hun