pour over

I don’t know if it’s the computer
the keyboard
the windows that face the wall
or the city lights, that pour over 
clutters surfaces
exposed legs
and untied sneakers

orange in color, 
and static to vision,
I can lay on my sofa,
and even windows open
feel downed and alone
but powerful and independant.

ten steps become the bedroom,
and open blinds 
celebrate nudity
solace,
new life, and 
strength

but under sheets,
fingers hit keys,
“Tell me anything,”
to cloud mental space,
and fill up this empty feeling. 

ACOMAF/Goblet of Fire Crossover

Rhysand: apparating everywhere with Fred/George with wicked delight

Amren: hanging out in the Slytherin common room with Draco

Cassian: playing wizard chess with Ron, delighting in the exploding pieces

Feyre: talking in the corner with Hermione about stupid, possessive boys

Mor: flying around with Ginny on brooms, super stoked

Azriel: pouring over the Maurader’s Map with Harry, completely fascinated

Lucien: compares diabolic mechanical eyes with Moody

Ianthe: discussing with Romilda Vane the merits of love potions

Nesta: tries to throttle Cho Chang in a broom cupboard 

Elaine: listening contentedly to Luna talk about wrackspurts

i cry when the pilot light goes out. when the clocks run out of battery and suddenly my world is timeless.
outside the GoTrain rumbles down the same old vandalized tracks. i wrote a poem for you on that train once (but tore it up halfway to Toronto and let the pieces fly out the window).
it is summer but i shiver. it is summer but the yellow bedsheets have frozen together.
they put me on meds but i spit up blackened tar and swallowed sobs nonetheless.
you fought for me.
so i fight-
jam blankets in the cracks of the windows, pour boiling water over my head, board up the doors, blast 70’s music.
it is only a matter of time before i find a way to wake up.
—  i will wake up, and this will have been a dream; e.d.