above, and to the right

above, and to the right just bleeding ink from the corner of the ceiling.

07/03/2024

ysa / photo by mikaela palmares

HAVE YOU READ THE NEWS... LATELY?I'm beginning to see that people are drawn to me.But only in the way that car accidents...
06/04/2024

HAVE YOU READ THE NEWS... LATELY?

I'm beginning to see that people are drawn to me.
But only in the way that car accidents have a certain charisma.
until they don't.

Gone with the 5 a.m. obituary.

I have been homesick ever since I was old enough to know what the term meant. And then I wondered why my family and all ...
06/03/2024

I have been homesick ever since I was old enough to know what the term meant. And then I wondered why my family and all the places we ever called "home" didn't cure this ailment. In contrast, it increasingly demanded hypervigilance until it became a part of my personality, and still deemed me too comfortable. However, it served to show me the opposite of what "home" is.

I have been asleep since birth. Bouts of half-slumber, a question you forget by the time the chance comes to ask it. But now, being je**ed wide awake so late, possibly too late, no, unacceptable, I refuse that notion... It is beautiful, and terrifying. It is fragile warmth and it is swollen eyes and fear and giddy laughter and thorned conversation and a shaking of the frame and a pulling out of teeth and up of floorboards and closer to love.

And I think I'm unearthing it, just as I'm finding out who I am truly, when I am not being punished for my existence. Or, punishing myself for existing, by proxy. But, big-eyed after such an endless night, I see so much possibility. Hope is in view at least once a day; I need only reach out to it when the dusk gets heavy.

I am finally home, and I am wide awake.

a fair share of the praise I receive isstrength. How well I've endured.I am tired of being admired for how well I can ta...
06/02/2024

a fair share of the praise I receive is
strength.
How well I've endured.
I am tired of being admired for how well I can take a hit. How quickly I pick myself up, or smile through a bloodied mouth.

Yet I only spit out teeth when no one is watching.

I have been released from being the State's property.And am, once again, bleeding ink from the corner of the ceiling.By ...
02/11/2024

I have been released from being the State's property.
And am, once again, bleeding ink from the corner of the ceiling.
By unpopular demand, no less.

O, comme tu m'as manqué, mon Ciel.

02/11/2024

A few years from now, I hope you're someone else.

Someone else, in somewhere else. And by I, I always meant you.

I hope you knew that.

If not, this is awkward.

I never told you, because you're already sad when you leave, every weekend, but I turn around excitedly and talk like you're still here.

Until I remember.

Cheers, to remembrance. For as long as we have it.

02/11/2024

"I need you to bite down."

"You just need someone to," you correct.

"It doesn't matter who does it," they hiss, like a faucet about to start. "I just know it requires teeth."

"Mine were pulled down memory lane and sanded to harmless nubs," you say mildly.

"Uh-huh." They sound unimpressed. "Start again."

"Again?"

"Not good enough." You can feel hot breath on your neck, and you crane it upwards to grant more access. They recoil at this.

"Just start again."

"There's no start if I've been doing it the whole time." You allow your eyes to swivel in their sockets.

"I just-" they cut themselves off, and rub at the space between their eyes. "I just need you to bite down."

It isn't good enough.

An unexpected life blooms before me. A vision dripping with beauty, is this the mirage that the desert is so well known ...
11/01/2023

An unexpected life blooms before me. A vision dripping with beauty, is this the mirage that the desert is so well known for? I'd rather give chase to an illusion than blister in idleness. I scramble to gather remnants of dreams that I locked away, the rest long morphed into nightmares. And standing before you, wounds exposed, I present my dreams; tattered, archaic things, yet much too grand. Outlandish, but ravaged with conviction. All this, poorly stitched together with deep sorrow, and an even deeper hope. I present this, for it is all I have to offer.
No plans were made, nothing was sacred; incompatible, I deemed my existence impossible long ago.

And still, half-dreams draped over outstretched arms, I ask,
'Would you, whom I hold so sacred, create something beautifully impossible with me?'

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