Comments Posted By Bodies of Ink and Water
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Do you know, how lonely it is, to live in a world like this?
» Posted By Bodies of Ink and Water On 09.20.2018 @ 6:38 pm
I bestow insincerities as if they are wildflowers – spots of impermanent beauty amongst the opposite, excesses of concrete and glass.
And just as I pull them by their roots, I pull these words from my throat, spurs embedded deep, a single branch left unscathed to grow anew.
» Posted By Bodies of Ink and Water On 08.11.2018 @ 5:01 pm
Did I ever ask you, back before we got into this whole mess, whether or not you were following me out of some sort of strange sense of self-sacrifice, thinking ‘oh this pitiful thing I have indulged would surely wither away without me’ and so stayed by my side, saying not a word on how you despised keeping your footprints beside mine?
Maybe I did ask you, once upon a time, when this whole thing started out, and maybe I didn’t want to hear the answer.
Still, did you even think to ask me whether I wanted to play your tragic Helen, whether I wanted you to throw yourself into years of exile and metaphorical war for me? Or did you just think I’d be pleased that you thought of me with such objectifying regard.
» Posted By Bodies of Ink and Water On 02.04.2018 @ 5:52 pm
In the evening
– not the earliest hint of morning as the sun finishes visiting the other half of the world
– nor the way our artificial lights cut through the darkness the sun attempts to abandon us with
No, it’s the evening, just as we leave our chains of routine and schedule, when the night begins to hound and nip at the heels of day, it’s then that we enter into a world unseen.
» Posted By Bodies of Ink and Water On 02.03.2018 @ 10:35 am
We were never afraid of the dark as children I think; something about it comforted you, and I was too proud to be afraid of something you weren’t.
It was strange though, because even as I thought myself brave, I would still stick a leg out from the covers, thinking if a monster were to grab me maybe it would be satisfied with my foot and spare the rest of me.
And so, in the middle of night I would test my worth – crawl out of bed for a glass of water, a cookie from the jar away from the accusing eyes of mom – and you would be right there with me, as a good younger sibling should, drinking out of my class and stealing tons of chocolate chips.
Now, I pretend to be brave. With the loss of childhood came the loss of courage, or at least the loss of any innocence.
I still think back to those times, the memories faint with aging but the general feeling still there. Unlike you little brother I am always afraid, but at least now I bury all of me under my thick blankets, bedsheets. Monsters would hardly stop with my right foot, so I might as well pretend they wouldn’t come for me at all.
» Posted By Bodies of Ink and Water On 11.11.2017 @ 6:12 pm
I lay in bed, with this heavy blanket the same weight in the summer, winter, spring. The walls are gray and the floor carpeted white, the only sound the ticking of a plain black clock – not corrected for Daylight Savings time of course.
As I have done in recent years, this past Sunday I spent watching the clocks on my phone, computer, waiting for 1:59am to reverse back to an hour behind.
See these man-made chains. How we force time to bind us, less of a force of nature but simply a force to be conquered. What a war-mongering people we are.
» Posted By Bodies of Ink and Water On 11.06.2017 @ 7:24 pm
Last night, she stood on the rooftop, walked over tot he edge and glanced around her. Beside her was the entire city, imposing spiraled cathedrals, reaching for the stars. Helicopters and stars alike creating bright spots in a night sky, cars and people all smaller than ants.
For a moment, the world was small and comprehensible.
But only for a moment.
She turned around, spun in a circle once, and begun to dance.
» Posted By Bodies of Ink and Water On 11.03.2017 @ 9:47 am
I am an empty person you know.
Where there should be lungs instead is a space, a gaping hole, some nuts and bolts, a veritable collection of dust-mites.
Where there should be a brain instead is a frozen sea, ice concealing something deep and submerging, saltwater overflowing from my nose and ears.
Where there should be a heart instead is a sky, infinitely unattainable, clouds quietly out of reach.
» Posted By Bodies of Ink and Water On 10.30.2017 @ 6:02 pm
When I was younger, I used to give away my love like it was a renewable resource. And so I’d give out bits and pieces of my heart, hands outstretched with twitching tissue.
Now, I am still young, and my heart is a shell of what it used to be, slivers of afterthoughts and clotted blood.
And without that energy, blood no longer moving under my skin, I find all of myself frozen now, petrified not by any outside force, but by the sheer stillness in my veins.
» Posted By Bodies of Ink and Water On 10.14.2017 @ 8:02 pm
If I were to reach out my hand right now towards the sky, the dimly-lit stars, do you think they would see it?
Do you think the stars, those dimly-lit stars, are reaching out for us?
We are too small, but maybe they are too big, unable to find solace or company without fear of devouring it whole.
» Posted By Bodies of Ink and Water On 10.01.2017 @ 11:25 am
He’s a cantankerous old man, angry at anything and everything, voice so loud it repels all forms of common sense and decency.
The night is much older though, so it waits and waits – for his skin to turn blue, for his blood to seep into the ground, for his bones to turn to dust.
» Posted By Bodies of Ink and Water On 09.23.2017 @ 8:27 pm
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She spoke all of her words and watched them fly away, red spots against the distant pale sky. To her left was a scarecrow, the right, nothing but vast lands far past what her eyes could see.
“What are you doing here,” it seemed to ask her, “still, and afraid, and oh so lonely?”
“I don’t know,” she thought, crushing a ladybug beneath her boots.
» Posted By Bodies of Ink and Water On 09.23.2017 @ 3:26 pm