poetry spectacles

I’m kind of emotional about Magnus Burnsides the Mannequin’s last stand? That’s cinematic that is. “Do you need to water to breathe?” The Voidfish rises up with him with a sung denial, so with one mighty swing of his axe - not enchanted Railsplitter but his old axe, maybe as old as his memories of the planet with the purple sky and two suns, haft and blade each replaced a dozen times but still at heart the same axe he learned to swing as a boy - Magnus the mannequin DESTROYS the tank. The wave of water blasts out, wrecks the Hunger’s more robotic minions in a cloud of water and sparks, and knocks back the rest. They converge again, of course, ignoring for the moment the Voidfish in favor of their old foe, in a weaker, more wooden form than usual - but do you think they know that axe? Do you think something, that was smiling in that bright-streaked cloud of darkness with a thousand raging, starving eyes, remembers that swing, that deadly slice, that roar of battle fury as the protector stands once more over the body of a friend and innocent, a creator, and strikes until he can strike no more at those who would destroy.

And in another moment, he’ll rise again, in a better, more familiar body with a less familiar but almost infinitely more badass weapon. Oh, how it must drive the Hunger mad how these seven twittering nuisances never stay down.

I breakdown in the middle of the day every time I see something brown because it reminds me of your eyes. I can’t look at any one who wears flannel because it reminds me of you and your favorite flannel shirt. I can’t look at my camera and click pictures because my love for photography was inspired by your passion for it. I can’t talk about the universe or dark matter or sky or anything celestial because they were the topics that I only talked with you. Every time I see a person with spectacles, I can’t help but remember that I’ve only seen you once without yours and even that memory is hazy. Every time my mother drags me to a temple or someone asks me to pray for them, I can’t because you took away that faith in God and replaced it with rational thinking. Every time a guy talks to me I can’t help but compare it with the conversations I had with you at midnight.
—  i wish you didn’t affect me like this but you do and i wish you were more then my friend but you aren’t // JustScribbledWords
They told you empathy meant seeing through someone else’s eyes
So you carved yours out of your skull
Years later,
You’re still waiting for someone to find them and look after you
But that’s not how it works
Sooner or later, everybody wants their eyes back
So they can look after themselves
Everybody but you–and now you’re blind
But all you have to do is put your eyes back in
Here they are
I saw them on the ground and kept them safe for you
—  The Spectacles At Your Feet

summer storm

from storm’s glow in a dazzling light
silhouettes in bright daylight

shifting shadows carved into white
as frail illumination dances across

retinal textures lightning-etched
in a fractured second as thunder roars

all black and white, no grey tones
the storm’s light-show rules supreme

day and night rolled into one
a churning, boiling spectacle