|armed and recycled|
locutionwe put our hearts in our wordslocution by TheStoyTeller
and exchanged them.
we opened them up to each other,
showing glowing hopes
for the future, and dark clouded
remnants of the past. Regrets flew like ghosts
but I knew that with you, I could dispel them.
I knew that with you
I could stop time, hold the world still
as you captured the air around me with strength of your arms
and the loyalty in my heart.
I found myself tangled in the virescent glow
of your olive eyes, and I did not move. I was comfortable here.
at home in the charming interest that you took in me.
The walls of my stomach were tickled by the tips of the
wings of buterflies that you summoned when our eyes connected
like two ebullient wires.
sparks flew, invisible but there and
I couldn't help but think that you were something out of a dream.
when our lips first touched and our breath's connected
lightning shot through me,
and I questioned your quintessential beauty.
I wondered why a sun as bright as you
would beam so happily on a floret like me
gleamThe coffee table is chipped and dry. Sunlight trickles in through the balcony window. It's open, how she likes it. The air easy this morning. Halfhearted, listless, undemanding.gleam by TheStoyTeller
She lifts her hand to scratch the back of her head and I think of her movements as I so often do, machine-like. Unnaturally perfect. Her bun comes undone. Velvet cerise hair cascades about her shoulders. It reminds me of blood, like it always does. She looks blankly at the ground, bites her lip. I watch her, as she does everything as if she is not doing them. I stare, and she hates it but does not say anything. She seems trapped in her automation. Yes, I just look at her and she just looks outside.
She is not wearing any pants and I am absent a shirt. The sunlight tickles my chest a little bit. I can hear the birds singing. Maybe crying. Or maybe they are just being animals, she'd probably say. I can't help but think that she and I are the same. Silent, but maybe singing. Looking, but maybe crying. Disgusting,
the meaning of every human lifeWe are the treesthe meaning of every human life by TheStoyTeller
searching for forests.
we do not belong in this life
of sky scraper ambitions
puncturing our skin.
can we live
can we live to be okay
when winter finds us here.
we are the leaves
touching down on skylines
waiting to die,
waiting to be revived
with our ashes and our dreams
that scatter at the very touch
of the wind
and it scents us with purpose.
where are we going?
which way do we belong?
who can we become, this cold wind whispers
you are what you adore,
now make your own love
and find it
Guard Dogs and Dragoonsyou must speak.Guard Dogs and Dragoons by TheStoyTeller
if you can see words
then you must speak them
and by doing so cut the chains
that bind them to hieroglyphs,
stone tablets, and whitewashed laws.
you must push them into the air
that circles and circulates,
hunts and haunts the dogged mind.
you must shovel fire,
columns of beration.
you must create peace out of war,
conflict out of irony,
life out of death.
this, is the destiny of the writer.
to face hell and touch heaven,
and never know the difference.