acc intro

just call me skele

he/it/they

all poetry -> https://allpoetry.com/ghostinur-room

ao3 -> https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurking_skeleton

i write stuff sometimes and i like it sometimes

twitter is dying im returning to tumblr hi guys

made up by your mind

visions forever lasting inside your dreams

slowly slithering their way into one's schemes

lingering inside the subconscious

hiding like the fabled loch-ness

the monster sits there, seething in silence

planning its acts of spontaneous violence not stabbing or cutting or piercing and slashing.

nor projectile launched into the air

puncturing a man without any care.

he sits there and squirms spreading infection through words

sending its worms

to burrow towards

the connections of neurons

to shatter and slice

breaking through the protection

made up by your mind.

happy pride month everybody i am spending it writing about an aroace trans teenager who befriends an aroace dead trans teenager in the woods behind his house who wants to read it.

the gaps in my skull

do you remember?

remember when you were a little kid. probably, what, 1st or 2nd grade?

the small squares in your head would start to loosen. at first it would just move slightly more than the others would, with a harsh tug, it would budge just a bit more than the others. but soon you would find yourself using your tounge to push around the oddly sweet object. the slight stings of pain bringing great relief.

eventually it would fall out. with strings and strands of your gum emerging, atttatched to the ends before finally breaking away and returning to the gaping void. the shape, gently tearing away from your jaw, which somehow painted everything in red.

a hole left in a hole. a space inside your mouth. crimson leaking from the cotton candy pink of your gums.

as you observed the pale thing in your hands, coated in red, you notice the shape. it is less of a uniform square and more of a mashed clay sculpture.

your tounge swirls around the absence of the deformed square. it craves the relief you once felt from the pain of lolling the object back and forth inside of the cave carved into your face.

eventually a larger copycat of the shape begins to emerge.

the hunger for the pain and the eagerness of that familiar relief grows.

until the copycat takes over completely.

...and you are left with the knowledge that you will never feel that familiar relief in that same spot ever. again.

the feeling is fleeting.

never.

again.

The Man in the Moth Suit

The clock signals the bewitching hour 

A pale stripe shines in the moonlight.

Every breathing being in the forest cowers.  

The creature soon takes flight. 

It sprints through the wood, 

Screaming it's preparation for revenge. 

It cries of everything that could have been. 

It says that there’s nothing wrong, it's simply misunderstood. 

The creature leaps over a bright green hedge. 

It screeches like an ugly violin. 

The metaphorical wings it wears take flight. 

And the creature leaps deep into the night. 

Just as the silver-winged butterflies sing of demise, 

He too, must say his goodbyes.

glass house

'people who live in glass houses should not throw stones.'

i never understood that phrase.

after all, how else are you meant to get out of a glass house?

throwing a stone will destroy the fragile walls built around you. the glass will embed itself into your skin and remain there until you pluck out each piece, one by one. some may never even leave your skin.

it will take great patience to remove as much of the glass as you can.

throwing the stone will cause you much harm and pain.

but throwing the stone will also earn you freedom.

i befriended a ghost at night

last night in bed i lie awake, staring at the stars in space then upon my window i heard a gentle tap tap tap a single stick blown in the wind knocking on cold glass

i slid open the frame, and in front of me i saw an opaque boy with a white cloth

he looked no older than i, although tinged with gray

fourteen or fifteen i would say, yet he had sharpened claws.  he took the stick and pointed towards some trees  motioning away he said in a gentle tone, 'come follow me'

so the boy and i traversed across a dirt trail. roots and bumps and weeds all caught my feet yet he continued marching, with shoes covered in black. 

we talked and talked and talked and talked. he said his name was ash. no older than fourteen, he died in a fatal car crash. 

the two of us continued to walk and walk and walk. two souls without a friend, lost with no path. 

when we finally we made our way back to my windowsil, he smiled and waved and said goodnight. 'goodnight.' 

i gazed at him until the silhoutte grew small, lying down and going back to staring at my wall.

smiling now, i closed my eyes, and whispered a silent farewell.

last night i befriended a ghost. he likes strolls and flowers and weeds. last night i befriended a ghost.  he smells of soot and coal. last night i befriended a ghost. he felt cold, yet with a fire. last night i befriended a ghost.

and in the forest he will last.

alas, i remain ill after a grueling 5 days of torment (a minor cold thats just lasting long bc im malnourished and don't exercise enough). my frail weak body simply can not withstand it anymore (i don't want to have to go back to school). i fear that i may breathe my last breath upon the hour (i might take a nap to procrastinate doing schoolwork). my mama passed of a similar plague (she died of cancer a few weeks ago, a significantly different plague), and now papa fears he shall be a childless widow (he would enjoy that a lot i think actually). he has already remarried once before, and he shan't again! thoust refuses to remarry once more, oh I doth hope he does find someone to spend time with

Someone who hasn't seen The Trail to Oregon please explain this image