I love the smell of late summer,
It’s cold mornings dressed in white mist,
Decorating spider webs with gentle tears.
I love the rustling sound of dry leafs,
Dancing in circles with the warm wind,
That strokes the wild bushes of nettle.
I love the smell of late summer,
It’s warm colors, gently decorated with the shades of the death of upcoming autumn.
Kinesthesia (title suggestions welcome) by Nullibicity, literature
Literature
Kinesthesia (title suggestions welcome)
i.
I’m in a car, watching the scenery fly by
until I’m not.
I’m still in the car, but the scenery
hasn’t moved for years.
It’s somewhere abandoned,
where I can count the clouds,
trace the mountains, and I’m lucky
if I've seen the same jogger twice.
It’s the happiest place on earth
until it’s not.
Everything falls down in the same order;
everything is a loop on a record, more grooves
by the day; everything is a tick carved onto a prison wall,
and I'm running out of space; everything becomes
a calendar heading retraced to the point of illegibility;
I’m tired of shouting warnings
Only Sometimes (part 2) by Nullibicity, literature
Literature
Only Sometimes (part 2)
Sometimes, I long to be known,
a bus stop habitually visited
by someone who wonders over maps,
by someone who stays for a while
to keep out of the rain.
Sometimes I sit with novels
in the skin of my fingers, and I want
someone to smooth the pages out of a fist,
to lay a while under summer stars
and read with me, fizzy-laughter that we sip
and let float up to the moon.
Sometimes I want someone
to hunt me through the woods -
barefoot drums and bleeding fire.
Shoot me through the aspens and replace
the sun, exhilarated howl deep in my skin.
~ Catch me if you can. ~
she was born with arctic lips
and overcast skin.
her hair fell like fresh snow
and she was far too thin.
her bones in locked closets,
joints creaked and shrieked
like a rotten floorboard
under gossamer feet.
Who is your prince charming?
Is he the one
who unravels the enchantment
Or is he the one
who gives you the tools to break it?
The one
who sweeps you off your feet
Or the person
who teaches you to stand?
The one
kisses you senseless
Or the touch
that always grounds you?
The one
who carries you into the sunset
Or the artist
who teaches you to paint one?
The one
who lives happily ever after with you
Or the man
who helps you build it?
Ever notice the further we "progress",
The fiercer things seem to get;
How things once thought unspeakable,
These days, won't break a sweat?
It's because the most aggressive ones
Are the ones that stay alive,
While your passive, easygoing sorts
Don't, usually, survive.
Human history’s a bloody business;
That’s a mild interpretation.
And all outcomes are direct results
Of the feral effect's causation.
That we’re the spawn of savagery
Is no hypothetical leap;
This well of "civilization" we’ve dug
Ain’t really all that deep.
So praise the new god, technology,
Tej nocy, gdy zamknę oczy,
W śnie swym, ciemnością spowitym,
Nie odnajdę już Ciebie.
I z ciężkim sercem, bezduszna,
Zabiorę z sobą wszystkie te emocje,
Przed Tobą skrywane.
A Ty pozwól mi odejść
Gdyż zabieram je do lasu,
A tam bez słów niepotrzebnych,
Winna i zaszczuta,
Ukryję je w igliwiu sosen,
Szeleście paproci.
A Ty w swym milczeniu
Pozwól mi odejść
(Bo mnie nigdy nie było w sercu Twoim)