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Paper Cuts and GuillotinesPaper Cuts and Guillotines
paper cuts and guillotines
build up skin behind the screens.
these ancient shoulders of mine
are alien, quiet, and raw.
copper wires and submarines;
drink the sickness, no vaccines.
inside my head are entanglements
like accumulation rising high.
behind our eyes, we're all machines.
divots in the fields of our brains
house monsters that make us real.
under cloaks of delusional thought,
i hate you.
your slashing quips to passive words
and your uncaring, unappreciative pretentiousness
leave me feeling unwell.
and shuffling inside the muscle of my tongue
leaping and scratching their way to your ears.
you want only what will keep you satisfied,
and it's disgusting.
my Obsessive begs me to yearn forever:
sob for the past.
i feel a tug at my skin to miss the subtle pieces
of paper i recall slathered to your bedroom walls
like orbiting planets.
buried within the silence of my gum-chewing mouth,
i abhor you.
your voice stings my ears like a mosquito's barrage
of alarming sirens on a copper-toned summer eve.
my mind itches.
and meandering through the wires in there,
with half-severed limbs tied up in frayed ends of ropes.
they're all painfully gushing themselves into rinds
just for you.
my Destructive shoves me to the edge of disaster:
die for the past.
i want to drag
SCATTER novelette wipScatter - The Chronicles of Nevrak
Prologue - The Sunny Side of Truth
I am Kevada and I was born long after that seemingly insignificant Human War had begun to tear apart the vastly unknown World of the Past. I remember my father, the former Alpha of the Nevrak pack, often telling my two brothers and I these amazing and fantastic stories of the Great Journey to the Nevrak Territory and of the very strange and confusing human species. At first, I would laugh at him when he explained that humans only walked on two legs and had no tails. The human species, to most of us, was like a creature that one would only see in fantastical stories and myth. Only the elders, seeming like they were minutes from death, had ever actually seen a human. I had never seen a human before, and never would.
On many peaceful, warm days, my father had told my two brothers and I of what it was like during the Great Journey from the Human Land. He loved talking about that. He oftentimes sa
Not Here - old poemNot Here
i'm not here
the teacher speaks
but i don't hear words
marks on the whiteboard
behind me someone laughs
ignore it and focus on nothing
'do the math' she says
but i don't understand
what you want me to write
i don't know why but
my tired mind, so weary
isn't where it should be
this room is cold with
those memories i keep
it'll never be the same
the drowsy days are painful
the nights are too short
i need some real sleep
a fiery feeling, burning like stray paper
i'm still determined but is it
really worth all this heartache?
just sitting here so lonely
as the light switch is flipped
i'm awake enough to notice
a call for attention, no one cares
i see colorful shapes on the wall
it's not worth looking closer at
all i'm thinking of, all i can
is my bruising heart and if
it can ever heal for me again
math and numbers, 1, 2, 3, 4
could they somehow be symbolic?
maybe, possibly, no
the walls are pale, a glossy white
i feel like going home now
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