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born like thistension builds, muscles begin to ache and clench
teeth grind, eyes close, fingers tighten around cold metal
fumble to untangle knotted wires offering stubborn salvation
the door slams, worn wood of the swing creaks, familiar ground
my private heaven in the midst of suburbia.
thudding bass, screaming guitars, the crash of drums
snarled words scraping vocal chords with every line
tightly coiled frustration loosens, scream it out
stress relief better than ten rounds with any punching bag
my porch is where i wage my private war, every word a weapon.
chest heaves, throat burns, a feral grin to the backyard
excess energy crackling as songs change but rapid beats stay
spitting a challenge in every word, revving for a nonexistent fight
find the edge and leap over it, shattering as the critical thoughts stop
i rip out of my skin, blessed silence reigning in my head.
slow song, old and well-known, sang without thought
drift in the peace, heart rate steadying, anger worked out
sink into the st
ficlets ftw?i don't have the answers but neither do you -- Synacky high school ficlet.
"Pssst." He's not looking. He refuses to look. He is mad at him, damn it.
"Pleeeeease, I need to know." He glances over, and those big green eyes make his chest clench. He shouldn't have looked, so he looks back down at his desk.
"I know what you know, now shush." He snorts, rolling his eyes.
They both want to know if their respective Romeo's will ask them to the dance. His Romeo is sitting so close, pestering him and seemingly unaware. He's dropped plenty of hints, and when the other remains oblivious, he gets mad. Too bad he never stays mad.
"No you don't."
What? He looks over, finds the younger boy holding out a paper to him with a quick, nervous smile. He opens it.
Brian, would you be my date to the dance?
check yes or no.
He checks yes without having to think. Then he makes fun of Zacky for asking him to the dance like a fourth grade girl, but inside he has butterflies fluttering. H
we arewe are one, we are two, we are three.
we are lines of text and context clues.
we are voices rambling about everything and nothing.
we are rocks in the storm when the harbor has gone.
we are miles distant but hands clasped close.
we are marker butterflies and damaged goods.
we are three different states and one same site.
we are the subtle hints that lead to worry.
we are the high of laughter over nothing.
we are the low of crying over everything.
we are fangirls, flailing over heroes.
we are writers, characters intertwined.
we are band kids, music and lyrics keeping time.
we are the hyper and the placid.
we are the calm and the dramatic.
we are the hurting and the healer.
we are the keyboards that give us life.
we are the texts that keep us sane.
we are the digital cuddles we wish were real.
we are the ones who aren't quite right.
we are those who have found where we belong.
we are best friends who know they're not alone.
we are three, we are two, we are one.
may as well buy another packcollapse, and breathe into the carpet:
sunday mornings are not
for falling apart, but damn
the amphorics, this
is not an atmosphere.
you fell in love like you always
wish you didn't, made all their
smiles replaceable, interchangeable,
fell asleep with shadows and kept
drinking, just letting yourself sleep
with blue pills
and tried not to scream.
(keep this image in your head:
fire and nectarines, a sudden jerk
of realization, inspiration
breaking your neck and leaving you forever
breaking bones is not so different
from breaking hearts - it's all about
the leverage, the angle, the mode
(and at least it wasn't personal;
it can color in your own guilt
for starting lines and never ending
Keep in Touch!