littlebutloud's profile

I step back, glue-stick in hand as he affixes a reinvented social stereotype over his depths. I was the enabler, to him at least. I am the reason he chose to become someone he never was nor will be. He walks away a carbon copy of everything I despise, and I, the paste. The colors change around his head from greens and yellows to browns and reds. The death and the decay of something once so clear and sure- like water flowing to a still and stagnant mire of forgotten sores. We sunk into the bog...

Eight measures of monotony chorused With four-and-a-half beats of rest that pass While staring at the immovable clock: Four thirty-five, forty-three. Three half-hour increments coupled up With twenty-seven chord progressions blurred While staring in disbelief at the screen: Four thirty-five, forty-three. One pencil broken in pain compared with Three hundred ninety-six days left behind, Missed in a single heartbeat - time of death: Four thirty-five, forty-three. Keep counting life out in secti...

I lifted my arms as she unfolded her measuring tape. I stared off into the distance, past the pink-striped wall paper and into the throngs of people passing by the storefront. I felt like a mannequin: stiff and staring, blankly oblivious to the bustling environment around me. "What size are you wearing now?" She asked me. "34B and it feels like hell." I responded. I hadn't been measured since my last dramatic appearance over three years ago, and at least that one was private. Two preteen girl...

The sky blistered red with each step I took on the cool wet pavement. The balls of my feet were sore from standing in those pretty silver shoes that gave me such confidence and composure. These flip-flops don't support the facade like the heels do, but they speak volumes. Each step another piece of advice to keep me stringing along this mindless, empty path toward a place I call home. Keep-on-mar-ching-you-are-heal-ing-step-by-step-you-will-be-strong-er. ----- "Hey Ashley! Haven't seen you ou...

Sweet droplets of liquid nectar Stream down all the window panes. Mouthfuls drain on Tuesday morning, Dripping joy that we call 'rain.' Knee-deep puddles gather, happ'ly Dancing under heather clouds. Rolling thunder spurs their frolick Faster with successive sounds. Frenzied, running to a shelter, We care not for nature's show. Many footsteps taint the beauty, Many that will never know. Soggy pantlegs, frozen toes: Our fate for interrupting so.