Shades of Youi.Shades of You by pullingcandy
When I was younger I used to stand with legs akimbo, breathe in gasps and wheezes, state formally and without hesitation that I was surely dying of cancer. Eating its way through my insides, purging itself through my system in the way of sunburns and scraped knees. I was dying, dying...fading.
The monkey bars were my witness, the entire Grade Five class my jury, presenting me with the guilty verdict, the dodge ball the gavel.
And now here you are, in your shades of violet and beige, you speak to me in concentrated whispers about your lungs, how they are folding in on each other, this vile disease rampaging through your body, sucking your insides clean of your health and spirit.
Your sweetness, combined with your cancer, creating a melodic crescendo, a tidal wave of emotion and acceptance.
I sit by the phone and wait, ticking off hours like X's and O's, never winning. Since crosswords amuse me for only for so long, I notice the walls are chipping like teeth, little gaping holes t
on displayon display by thetaoofchaos
Circling the display case in Victoria's Secret,
I am a fish born to space,
pinions drawn for elsewhere,
some socket full with ocean planets.
Anywhere but here.
To wit, I succumb to conventional wisdom: I am nothing
more than a hot spanner
in a globe of impossible machines.
Each fantastic demise, hung like a contingency,
slips onto you like papier-mâché,
or rather as a broken lip
spilling out like clown confetti over blistering enactments;
I've leapt the balcony's breastwork and escaped!
I made off with the latest in straw women.
It's time to make your peace with intellect;
I commission you to pose for the end of civility.
Offing the WhelpPeter Williams (age 16), dead from a self-inflicted gunshot woundOffing the Whelp by SitkaReign
His dark toes protruded from a flowered yellow sheet,
hastily pulled from the hallway closet
where mother used to toss the laundry.
A blotch of blood and brains
stained the weave where a child
once curled in bed listening to stories.
There is no consolation for this,
this severing of ties,
a shot fired in the war between pain and reason,
a war without prisoners.
“Tomorrow I will rise and fix his oatmeal
and send him to school with a kiss to the forehead
and take him to the dentist at the end of third period.”
How To Be Lonelyi.How To Be Lonely by pullingcandy
The first step to acceptance is to be like others. Like a flower, almost, in your pleated skirt and saddle shoes, starched white blouse radiant, you stand in the coat room of Mrs.Lund's first grade classroom and wish you had worn something, anything, different. Afraid to venture in to the snarling maw of children that would encompass you and swallow you whole, you stand shivering in the musky stench of rain boots and plaid coats until the teacher, fed up, steers you by the arm to the office and insists to speak with the principal. You know he'll phone your mother, but for some reason you don't care as you gaze in to the sticky circular patterns in the wallpaper and glance at the stack of manila envelopes on the secretaries desk that she meticulously sifts through while humming underneath her breath. She doesn't look at you. You're blending in.
You lose your virginity in a coat room, soggy from an afternoon shower, fumbling with his zipper though your hands are numb from the cold