IF YOU GUESSED SOMEONE WHO IS NOT ME YOU ARE WRONG MOTHERFRICKERS
edit: the story can be found right of the colon: [link]
Mottephobiamy heart is a secret I keep with myselfMottephobia by ~MissPerceived
a joke I can laugh at with nobody else
the flap of a wing in a
falling card house
another left turn from a quivering mouth
you searched like you meant it
you wanted to find it
and crush it
or cradle it in your clumsy
“a fly-swatter’s just a fan
if you look at it
and I thought I believed you.
I patched myself up after every day’s
when you went off in search of more
stony smile on my lips and a pin
in my thumb
a taste of the unpleasant everything
the ripple of cloth and the dream of disdain
the pseudo-feathers there inside once
AlluviumIn the beginning, all is sand.Alluvium by ~MissPerceived
There is a glassmaker who lives on a postcard beach, one of the ones whose water is exactly blue enough to drown in. He takes refuge in his derelict driftwood cabin, just as he’s always done. He used to have a purpose once, but his memory has long receded, like the tides.
When he’d heard news of what some called the epidemic, he found that the air became more palatable, even when the putrid scent of decay clung like fog. Deep in his heart and his bones he knew he was immune, to the virus, and to the need of companionship; in the end, those were the only two things anyone really talked about.