Author: shakespearian12

I'm a writer.

Passage #1

Slowly, the procession unfolds like floating through a cloud. The crystal altar where the queen, in a leafy, forest green gown, and foliate cape, and foresty crown of crystals waits. Her lush, brown hair billows […]

I'm the girl under a cloud of gray.
I'm the one who never understands
How conflict a world it is in which we live.
Time goes right and left until it collides.
Good and bad intertwine in the middle of the clouds.
Apparently, it's human to live in the leeway.

I'm the girl who measures life in sunshine,
A complete contriatidiction,
I know.
Yet, I live in the gray darkness until I fathom
what it means.
I live in a world where left is right, and right is left, up is down, and down is up.
Still, I live my life with fleeting luck.

I'm the girl who can't stand listening to her voice—
for some reason, I always have to be perfect.
If it's not, it's not worth it.
And for some reason I'm gold by choice—
Not the best word,
But you heard.

I'm the girl who questions every turn in life;
I wait for fate and destiny to intervene.
I'm that idealiste of paranoia.
I'm selfish.
I'm brave.
I'm weak.
I'm humble.
I'm hopeless.
I'm a romantic.
I'm a cloud of thunder.
I'm me.

Dear soulmate, 

The crimson rays of the sun tantalize the sand of mourning,
and yet, as the sun brushes down on the squelching moans,
I see everything, and nothing, so clearly as if the sun were white —
Tears make kaleidoscopes of hovering hearts.
It clings to this wasted game; yes, it smears the innocent ...
It smears the innocent until the light is as desolate as Sodom.
Clouds settle on the youth, draining them till they fade into shadows.
I, too, find among the shards of another broken mirror.
Wine stains the carpet, but not as much as it sears my soul.

Soulmate, when shall our darkness intertwine?
When shall we meet and declare, "Checkmate?"
Another day caresses the hopeless, the reckless, the unsatisfied.
I wither away every stroke of dusk;
at dawn, I pour into the ditch,
another dissatisfaction,
bitter like unripened cherries.

Time is slow;
Youth is pleasure;
Love is a waste
unless you find your

How shall I find you,

Until we meet ...

- another hopeless romantic.

A melody pirouettes in the darkness of my brain; 
a haze of color, ignites me, fight me, until I am tamed.
Toes pointed.
Body fluent in untold grace.
Stomach tucked in.
Legs long.
Breath, a song.
"Here the cheers," they say behind the curtains,
a drapery of velvet tears,
an elegy of youthful years.
"Here the chears," they say.
Who can hear cheers
If all they hear is their heart
in their chest,
crying in its emptiness?
"They will fuel you."
A swirl of air billows around my hollow shell,
but what do they see?
A mannequin of bottled tears,
scars of shame,
a wiry brain warped in every misdirection?
They see fire beyond compare,
A heart to control,
A skinny girl blind to their ambitions.
But no,
They won't get what they see.
They get me,
An emberish ballerina
ready to be free.

Tangled in the shadows of my dreams, 
trapping me in a web of wires,
tapping into the pulse you require,
there you are.
No words that replace time—
it was the best; it was the worst;
it was a blessing; it was a curse.
The sun would shine; thunder would roar.
It was the light of youth; it was crippled gray that unfolded before
time ran out—
But I fear your eyes—
it's hue,
the fire,
the words,
yet I tire.
Seeing you,
tangled in my dreams,
trapping me in a web of wires,
tapping into the pulse you require.
You, my hamartia,
my fatalistic ghost,
let go of me.
set me free.

Through the shadows of the hallways, 
She walks, surrounded by whispers:
"Glitch," is the her name, they say,
but her heat, her soul, never turns crisper.

Wires strung under her skin like veins,
Brain, electrodes of green code.
They say she doesn't understand pain.
Her youth is on a permanent hold.

Heart of copper.
Blood of potassium.
Brain of extraterrestrial material.

Seeing her mechanical code,
They say,
"Demean her;
She'll fall in so easily,
That alien."

And water,
Stab her,
Burn her,
Poke her,
Break her,
And rust her machinery to no point of return.

Look at that girl,
The one who sits alone,
The one you call weird.
She is not a glitch.
She is not an alien.

Little snowflakes—
The fuzzy embroidery of heaven on my windows;
Yet, when I touch the watery solid with the warm flesh of my fingers, it's not heaven at all I'm seeing.
It's purgatory on Earth: not quite heaven, but at least not hell.
The climatic pests of sweat and back-breaking labor,
The swarm of heat that pulses against the brain screaming,
As the consequences of winter unfold:
Doors erode into placement with their rust,
Engines sucked of their life as the moisture devours their battery.

From afar, winter appeals to those of a warmer climate who flock to the cold like the geese return north when winter ends;
Yet, real life smacks you in the face:
Noses red as strawberries,
Necks bundled in layer after layer after layer of scarves,
Hats wrapping around your face,
Your body surrendering to the cold.
No matter how many pairs of gloves that compress against your hands,
No matter how many sweaters you pack underneath your coat,
It's never enough.

Winter is a demon
Disguised as an angel.
Come December, 
One year since you spoke,
I won't remember
How I first broke.
Come December,
When everything changed,
I first remember
How free my soul remained.
Come December,
Ready to move on
From the November
Where it all went wrong.
It's December;
I've let go of September;
I'll ignite my ember
Into the words I remember
The world seemed to slow down
like the endless crimson sunset
we seemed to admire.
Your name—
Soft as a feather.
My name—
Sharp on he face.
Yet, the details fade;
Your face, I evade.
The choices I made
Last summer.
Never under the strobe lights,
did we dance;
Never by the firelight,
did we kiss.
Last summer,
a memory of mere words
and a waltz of quick eyes before
our own worlds returned.
Last summer,
a fantasy.
You and me.
Last summer.