more terrible poetry

Raccoon city grave yard
comes alive as the heroes plan,
or alive again, the undead

you tell me that I can’t make 
a SyFy horror movie poetic but,
isn’t it interesting how

no one can escape the monsters?
not even the heroes,
not even those who created them

we are all running through
empty facilities trying to stay alive 
but something will always haunt us

and the worst part is
the hero is a monster too-
the Resident Evil will always be you

—  Milla Jovovich on Monday Mornings || O.L.
I always walked straight ahead. I never looked back to even contemplate what kind of conditions you were in. I could hear the sound of your feet dragging behind me. I just assumed you were there and i needed you there, I didnt want to be in solitude
I took bites and feasted on your mind and your heart and did not care about how damaged it became because I was hungry.
I would fall asleep in your arms and have you carry me home and not even consider how exhausted your arms were and how fatigued your legs were becoming simply because I was tired. And you would walk Miles.
I was destroying you inside out and the worst part? i think i was fully aware of it
—  Now I’m here. Alone, starving and sleep deprived because I’m too busy thinking of ways to make it up to you to care about anything else


There are trees. Many, many trees.
Trees as far as the eye can see.
Which isn’t really all that far, because, well, the trees are in the way.
But still. With the sun just coming up, it’s quite beautiful here.
Not that it matters. I like to appreciate moments of beauty like this, but right now, I have more important things to do.
Because I am at WAR.

The mosquitos are everywhere.
The air, the tables, the bathroom, the car, even underneath my dad’s leather gloves.
There’s hundreds of thousands of them, and only eight of us, but I am determined to make this Last Stand count as much as possible.
As a rule, anything that lands on me is DEAD. I’ve probably killed more of the buggers in the last ten hours than in my entire life before this trip. That hasn’t stopped them from landing a few blows, of course: My right arm, both ankles, both cheeks and my left eyebrow are all itching to no end. But I think it’s safe to say I’ve taken out more of them than they have of me.
(Also, shut up about how I have a unibrow and that it therefore wasn’t necessary to specify which eyebrow the sting is on. That joke is only funny when I make it.)

Anyways, for the time being, the mosquitos have decided to leave us alone.
This, it turns out, is because of the cold.
The all-permeating, vicious, biting cold.
Sitting outside the tent in thick woolen socks, jeans and two sweaters, the sinking feeling creeps up on me that we have invaded the mosquito version of Russia.
My toes have ceased communication with the rest of my body. It’s only a matter of time before my fingers follow suit.
And to add to all this, there is no reception here, so instead of complaining about my situation to friends like I usually would, I am forced to dump all my misery into a poem. Well, poem-ish.
Although that is, admittedly, something I have a lot of practice with.
Did I mention it’s so cold my body was physically unable to fall asleep for half the night?

My only ally in this fight is the dragonfly. She probably kills more mosquitos in a night than I can. We haven’t really talked, but I like to consider us on friendly terms.
Anyways, it’s only a few more days until we’ll be retired from the front due to school – a different kind of war. More taxing in the long run, perhaps, but at least there’s running water. And proper lights. And more places to hide in than just a tent from REI.

But really, all of this isn’t even the worst of it.
Don’t even get me started on the 27 hour long collective car-ride.


I find it
Rather irritating
The way
A lot of
Treat emotion
As if it
Were completely
You think
I want
To feel this
You assume I
Enjoy or even
Revel in
Loving someone
That will
Never feel
The same?
You conceive that
My jealousy
Isn’t as autonomous as
The way I
Breathe or
Regenerate skin
You assume that
I can control
The void
In my chest
That is slowly
My bones?
Maybe if you
Took a look
Any person that
Aches on a daily
Basis because
Their heart
Has been ruined
For a lifetime,
You would
—  Of all the things I’ve chosen, this was never one//bnc
The Lucaya Alphabet

A is for Artist, night skies and
white horses, closed doors and half-parents and fighting for her.

B is for Battle, yanked collars and war-paint, tipped hats and red roses and playing at war.

C is for Campfire, round eyes and shocked breathing, full lips and stroked cheekbones, and burning for her.

D is for Dancing, side-stepping then forwards, She watches them swaying and tries to reverse.

E is for Elbows, subconsciously leaning, infringing his desk space and grazing his heart.

F is for Friar, the Boy Scout meets Bad Boy, imperfectly perfect, he pierced through her Hart.

G is for Gaping, his mouth hanging open, entranced by her beauty, he struggles to speak.

H is for Ha-ing and Hurr-ing and Hey-ing, the words are so little, their meaning cuts deep.

I is for Insults, her constant, wry teasing, the sharpness hides softness she cannot let show.

J is for Jumping, her weight on his shoulders, it grounds him and calms him, allows him to grow.

K is for Kick-Ass, both wordplay and literal, demanding his focus that’s already hers.

L is for Laughter, through secrets and crises, they gentle the heartache and soften the flaws.

M is for Mayaville, he chooses his favourite, unknowing, unconscious, he puts her needs first.

N is for New Years, where both long to start fresh, before they can do so, things have to get worse.

I never thought that you

would know your way around the jungle.

You don’t step


with crashing footfalls, like the other men;

your body is like a panther’s

you are strong. So strong

but your skin speaks more than you do

it tells me that you are hurting

and in the way your eyes flash

I can tell

you are searching for something

something that

you’ve long since forgotten

Do you expect me to find it?

Is that why you brought me along?

You give me no answers, but

you don’t lie to me, either.

I don’t think you realize

you’re the first to do that

to me.