|My memories are a glorious mess and I just can't stop bleeding out all these words.|
Time machine"What have you expected?", your lips were torn apart by the taste of tears, your cheeks were puffed and red.Time machine by Megilar
"That it would hurt less."
My backpack weighed a ton of hurtful things and memories while your smile was a gravity I couldn't deny. We were standing at this old train station, one of my hands formed a fist, in the other hand I hold on to an one-way non-refundable ticket back to the past and all its funny times.
You nearly touched my face, but then you just waved in an absolutely unsure and absolute gesture - your gaze a loaded gun pointed at me.
This was the moment.
[A Do-or-die-decision. A dead man's switch in your hand, our hearts the hostages of this fatal crime.]
B o o m.
'Never', I thought, 'Never am I going to forget this sound. I'm going to rewind this scene so often, till it's tattooed in to my efferent nerve fabrics, till I had to skin me with my own teeth to get rid of this memory.'
The sound of a bullet, which damaged my vascular system, mi
Of monsters and closetsStreet lamps were glinting unsure about their brightness and my need for their light. The concrete was dark and so were the shadows over the face of this woman.Of monsters and closets by Megilar
"Don't come any closer.", my breath smelled like booze, bad intentions and an empty purse.
(Full of dust and smoke.)
She stepped inside my range and I couldn't see the look on her face. Tough I saw her small lips, her white teeth exposed and her throat slightly covered by a jacket collar.
Maybe I was afraid. That she would trigger something that couldn't be undone.
- Maybe I couldn't cope with anyone but you.
"I am not all softness." The nerves inside my mouth shivered.
"And what If I favour your edges?"
Us being here is not an accident. It’s a well-planned car crash. Ignoring all the consequences to take and all the things I had to bear.
Her smile was as sharp as a scalpel and as brutal as a butcher knife. It managed to cut through my apotropaic words, through my halted breath and into
Viking sunset[This is not another pretty sunset, this is a burning ship.]Viking sunset by Megilar
From where I sat, sipping some cheap tea, I could hear the waves crawling up and down over the dirty sand. There were so many things in the water, half-invisible hidden in the blue depths.
Feathers. Plastic caps. Fume. Rolling stones. Fish. Oxygen. Oil. Waste. Rings. Holiday memories. Dead seagulls. Broken planks. The moon at night.
I couldn't quite get rid of the thought that one part of me was going to join them soon, the rest of the thing I called heart. The rest of this unsteady thing you left inside my chest.
When you approached me, on this pier during this sunset - which was a Viking funeral after all - your words sunk deep, past the bones and into something that wasn't physical. A bit located over this 300 gram-muscle, under my ribcage and close to my spine.
Nowhere near my brain or my lips.
This ache, this longing you talked about should declare my name but I heard nothing.
I couldn't hear my own thou
Knocking Shop (Act One)„Do you still love me?“Knocking Shop (Act One) by Megilar
A moment of sweet and delicate, sharp pain.
„No.. Do you?“
„No.“ She smiled.
And the saddest part is.. we both were liars. This is the past. We both were nothing but the echo of something that happened many years ago. Like a soft shock. The aftershock of our heartbeat.
„Do you really love her?“
A moment of harsh and ugly pain.
„Yes.. do you really love her?“
„Yes..“, she smiled.
Still we're bickering in this hotel room bed. This is the present. The way you're moving against my mouth. Your gaze, when you're pulling my hair. The sweet sound of licking the wounds we both hammered into our skin.
I can't take my eyes off of you. Knowing that this is possibly the most hurtful thing I'd ever do to me.
Fucking you. Kissing you in the full knowledge that.. [Sigh.]
This is you. This is your life, the scars you wore like a silk scarf, the sadness on y
A few things I came to like in these past few months
- the world smallest hips
- the taste of cheap booze
- the new feelings I’ve got to discover (Like making bad decisions after midnight and having sex with a girl I barely knew.)
The thing with the edges and the softness.. I'm pretty sure I've heard it before. I'm not sure where or when or maybe it was in one of my dreams? I know, that there was this girl and I told her to not come any closer and she laughed. And then she stepped inside my range and.. now it's a different girl. This story isn't as good as I wanted it to be, but it'll do for now. And dealing with people might be my kind of pornography. And now it's late and I'm longing for long, hard good-bye-forever-kisses.
Flash Fact: All known antidots for cyankali are poisonous themselves.
I’m somebody who is born with an anomaly. I have ink in my veins and on my skin. I spit, bleed, puke and piss Ink. If Ink would be my fuel, then words would definitely be the oil to keep this whole machinery of gear wheels in motion. They’re keeping me alive.
I love tea, books and good conversations.
My stories often rotate about ghosts by daylight, unexpected gatherings and memories which aren't so distant by looking closer at them. Train-stations and all about them, Cafés and bars, small flats and fascinating houses.. these spots are my zero points.
Raise your teacup.
|"Well, this is the craziest tea party I've ever been to!"|
With this donate-points-thing I would like to get as many points as possible to support newcomers who deserve every help. Every noble donor that gives me an amount higher then 5 of this lovely, yellow points, can wish for something for me to write. And every other gracious giver get's a llama.