In our story I am the bad guy. And I know real life isn’t so black and white, but hear me out.

In our story I am the one who runs away with your heart and doesn’t look back. I am always running and you are always chasing. Maybe that’s what little thrill I can get out of life.

You knock on the door to my heart and I shut you out with a silence you don’t understand. Through the walls you can hear me sobbing violently but I keep telling you to go away and it drives you insane.

Yesterday I said I loved you with my downcast eyes. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say those words without feeling ill. And you held me against your chest and whispered ‘it’s okay,’ and I felt like such a disappointment.

I know you think I don’t trust you and maybe it’s true. My mind says, keep a bit of yourself back so when he leaves you won’t be lost forever. But maybe it doesn’t matter what I’ve told you because I am a pathological liar. In reality I think I’ve given you everything and that shakes me to the core.

Baby in our story you are the one who moves on and finds a girl who doesn’t write her thoughts into paper instead of admitting to having them. And in our story I am the bad guy. Please tell me that doesn’t make me a bad person.

—  S.Z. // Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #157  // I am not the girl you thought I was. I’m not even the girl I thought I was.
You should never learn
to get used to the cold
under your skin
because that’s just
admitting to the world
that you let winter win
and that your heart will no
longer see the light of day.
Realize that even if your
bones are shaking and
your blood is freezing,
the sun is always out,
you just gotta keep on
walking towards 
that horizon.
—  I’m writing inspirational poems in hopes of finding my horizon

She was a quiet one.
She hated risks and she loved coffee with her breakfast every morning.

She’d shut out the chaos,
Choosing not to care too much for the trivial fights that raged around her.
Her eyes like calm water,
Undisturbed, tranquil,
Scanning the pages of the book she’d found the other day in the corner of her closet.

She didn’t smile too much either.
As if afraid that putting herself in her smile gave the world too much of her soul.
Too much with which it might hurt her.
Her heart was cased in layers so deep,
It might’ve been caged in a stone fortress,
She never walked on that edge.
Always safe. Always sure.

But for you, oh, for you
Her eyes raged like thunderstorms,
And her smile curved like sin.
You were a disaster like no other
And she loved the taste of you.

For you,
She was ready to crush her world,
Burn it to shreds and throw it all away
Without so much as a second thought.
Knowing all too well
That smoking ash, and a ruined heart with broken strings,
Was all she might be left with.

For you,
She was ready to risk it all.
It’s a pity you did not see that.

…..maybe I don’t want to
don’t be so blue
…..maybe my face
…..feels better this way

The day that my brother committed suicide the nurse at the hospital, who knew nothing about me, took one look at me and said, “Smile. It can’t be that bad.”
I spun around and snapped, “Fuck you,” at her.
She looked stunned and then under her breath, afraid, she responded, “How dare you?”
It took every bit of my strength not to grab her by the throat as I screamed, “This morning, my brother put a plastic bag over his head, hooked it up to a helium tank and ended his own life with the meticulous care and planning of someone plotting a bank heist, so I don’t fucking feel like smiling. Sorry if that brings you down.”
She had nothing to say in response and just walked away.

turn your frown
upside down
…..maybe it hurts
… constrict
…..the corners
…..of my mouth
don’t be a party pooper

I’d been awake for three days on crystal meth when a customer walked up the counter and said, “Smile. It doesn’t cost anything to smile.”
I looked at him with bloodshot eyes that felt like they were going to explode from my head. I felt fairly certain they were shaking from insanity. I was having some extreme difficulty keeping myself upright. I was worried that, if I moved my facial muscles at all, it might cause me to lose control and vomit all over this fucking asshole. Oh well, he had it coming.
I drew the corners of my mouth back in imitation of some distant memory of what smiling had been like. At the same time, I tried to widen my eyes in what I hoped would give the impression of warmth and contentment.
It must have had the opposite effect, however, as his expression turned from condescension to fear, he backed up three steps and then just turned around and ran.

you’re bumming me out
…..maybe you should
…..if you like it so much
you’ll make me feel better
if you

I could see that she was getting ready to leave. For good, this time. Her siutcases were packed and she was heading out the door. I f I hadn’t left work early, she would have already been gone.
“Smile, honey,” I said, “Please?”
She put down her bags for a moment as she let out a long sigh of resignation.
“Fine,” she spit, through gritted teeth.

And then…she smiled. A smile so filled with hatred and triumph and pity that I felt all the air sucked from my lungs and the tears begin to pour, against my will, from my eyes.
She laughed from her gut. A laugh that felt to me like suffocating in a bag filled with nails.
She said, “There. I hope that makes you feel better.” Then she picked up her shit and walked out the door.


Max Mundan, :)Smile(:

© David Rutter 2014

I smoke ‘I love you’s’
like I can’t live without
them and so when my
lungs finally collapse,
can you blame me for
doing something that
makes this world a little
less painful— is it such a crime
for wanting to come off high
when the life you live is
nothing but broken dreams
and ugly lies— I know I should
never tell a one night stand
that I love them but man,
some people are like cigarettes
and if you’re too cold to love
yourself, then damn, they will
burn in your hands.
—  After you lost it all and find comfort in the room across the hall

Your body next to mine,
your chest against my spine.
You wrote spells on my skin and made me yours.
I carved my name into your bones and made you mine.

You were my sun and moon and sea and sky.
I was your light and dark and heart and soul.
Living in the corners of each other’s minds,
shadows marked ‘private’ and ‘keep out’.

I swear we were the ones they write love songs about,
the ones they sink ships for,
the ones they fight wars for.
But my bed was our battleground,
the records got scratched,
and our ship sank.

—  Josie, “or: How I felt about you was as obvious as sky writing.
Your words taste like ice cream melting in the heat of the summer, quenching and sweet nonetheless. Your touch is like comfort, a home where I never feel alone.
—  And I think I’m addicted, sweetheart

Do you remember that day we
Walked through North London
In the misty, falling rain
And we went to that vintage shop?
You bought that Rolling Stones t-shirt
Damaged and thin
It was worn and old and had seen better days
But you had to have it
You loved it so
And we both loved them
We made love for the first time
To Beggars Banquet
And you fancied yourself a young Jagger
You thought highly of yourself
To be sure
But you weren’t wrong.

Of all the memories of us
I miss that Rolling Stones t-shirt
And how it had that tear in the fabric
By your left hip
Near that tattoo I learned to love
Oh your exposed skin
I used to kiss that spot and drive you wild
And I know you remember that
And that night we went to the after party
After the show
In Marylebone
And the liquor was flowing
Trading whiskey kisses
My Jameson soaked breath hot against your ear
You wore the Stones t-shirt that night
My fingernails on your back
Through the fabric
I’m afraid I may have added a new tear or two
My apologies, love.

Oh how I miss that t-shirt.

Original Work: KH 7/17/14

What Happened to That Girl?

What happened to that girl
The one who was so strong
Who didn’t let stuff get her down
And could handle life when things went wrong

What happened to that girl
Who didn’t let fear hold her back
Who liked the reflection she saw in her mirror…
And faced her problems with full-on attack

Though she’s been dormant for over 15 years
Hibernating under layers of despair
She hasn’t left, she’s still within
Make no mistake, she’s definitely there

Working her way through all of the layers
Shedding each one as she goes
Some are harder to shake off than others
But one by one getting rid of her woes

That girl deserves to come back out
And shine her God-given light on the world
I’m proud to say, she’s well on her way
Just watch out…here comes that girl!

Copyright 2015 Marie T. Cauley

I scatter the paper cranes; gold, blue, orange, green, red, yellow, white, purple and black. They tumble, like cherry blossoms in the fading days of Spring - beauty is both preserved and transient.

Symptoms of decay nuzzle against their pretty flesh; the concept of ‘moving on’ and becoming whole again is an abyss devoid of scraps for the cranes to feed upon - so they starve and die and decay.

Nonsensical, nonfunctional, self-driven, self-deprecating selfishness founded on the value of a thousand paper cranes - fashioned from origami paper I suppose the value is nothing, but when formed from dollar bills suddenly the world is interested, suddenly the world is fascinated by the jagged silhouettes with broken wings and beaks bent out of shape. Worst of all, they are flightless; the ultimatum in undesirables. Paper wings and paper beaks, all made from paper just like me! Not a heartbeat in earshot.

Not a beating heart; I can bet all one thousand cranes that I have the best being heart in the world and I can swear to you that I do really have the best beating heart in the world, but I’m telling you that it is not part of you so keep your smile concealed - well concealed - for there is more than just a flightless bird out there for you to find; may you one day find your muse and with it, your wings.

—  paper cranes | achromaticfox
chase then mixer

He placed his arm over the back of her bar seat. It was obvious what he was after in his drunken state of mind, though she didn’t find him threatening in the least.

There was a certain cuteness to this young fella.

"You must be no older than 24!" She exclaimed with a laugh.

He brushed off the comment with a stammer of words that would have only seemed like the blather of a pathetic drunk. But there was something endearing about it all. As if he was after some type of warmth and affection.

Perhaps it was the red dress which she wore that helped magnetize him. Despite it all she was amused and invited the lovelorn fellow to dance to the live karaoke band playing. 

The young man was off rhythm and couldn’t keep his balance. But he still could twirl the woman with no problem. All it took was his continuing to hold her hand and just raising it above her head.

So simple, who was the one doing the twirling? Him? His hand? Or was it just a move all women knew how to handle when their dance partner just ran out of ideas.

Suddenly the hands went from above to her waist, in which he held her close and went in for the tongue