Muse 31: Tinkling

found via flickr

I wanted every copy to remind me of my youth. Every unbroken page, perfect before the breath of adulthood, would be just as fresh to the touch, like the very first novel of Barrie's I took up. My eyes flickered frantically across the page, consuming each word with a fierceness only age could give a person. As if the pages, the story, the magic dust could disappear as easily as youth. Budding with excitement, I straightened my back as the island invited me deeper into plain Indian lands and jagged Skull Rock. Lost Boys weaved me through the twisted forest, and I ran for miles without every growing tired. I flew across oceans on kites, with no fear of death, to greet the sun with a loud crow. Then, like the stabbing daggers of Hook's evil, the knowledge that every page led me closer to the pending ending wretched my stomach with bile, but I could not stop - I do believe in fairies, I do. I do. Surviving whips and lashes of the battle on the Jolly Roger, I cried as the pages brought me back to the darling window. The tears fell incessantly when Pan returned, just as he did each time, never to remember Tinkbell and the adventures that had been had. To die would be an awfully big adventure, but to die is better than to forget. Maybe tomorrow, there will be another copy sitting on the shelves for me, for that is all how far I dare to travel when it comes to Neverland.

Muse 30: Heartbreak Method

found via =Soyismyhomeboy

I don't want to tell you, but if you look into my eyes you can see it. I don't want to break your heart now - but understand that our relationship is built on the medication I feed you. And so, you ask me why I'm gone all the time, why I only fickly come and go so, lasting only as long the bewitching hour of twilight. Why, there's a reason I cannot keep my promises, cannot let you trust me completely, and this reason is a knife that tears scars.

But for now ... we have so many more years to go before the red sea crashes back down on us, so I won't break your heart now. It will mean breaking mine in the process, but I'm already so gone, so broken, it hardly matters anymore. For now I'll just silver spoon you with happiness before the time comes for me to fade away. And then the spell will work, and you won't notice that I have left your future. This coming and going is permanent. And you will learn that I am slowly preparing you for a life without me.

Muse 29: Redlight

found via =L-N-E

Stop. I want you to just stop.

Can't you just see that I am standing here, lying here in this emptiness waiting for you to notice? My head bangs, echoes against the car's hood, and the echo is repeating softly, the sound in my mind. Without you, without you, without you. It's like you are driving at the magic limit where all traffic lights stay forever green. The glowing emerald brightness haunts me because I am standing at every block, watching you pass. This emerald city is not what everyone seems, what a lost world. Stop. If you stop, you can see me. And even if you do see me, will you stop? I don't want to know the answer.

Muse 28: of God

art by erica altosaar

She had asked, once, long time ago, "Did you know that beauty could be separated from the beautiful?."

....

He put her arms over his shoulder, and she rested like a babe swaddled by its mother. With a rough bump, her body jumped up until her buttocks rested gently in the crooks of his arms. Then he proceeded to carry her still-warm form over the fields, where the tall grass brushed against her pale, blueing legs. His hands caressed what it could as the body slowly grew cold, and the colder it got, the more he found himself trying to run home. To save her before she froze, to save her before she was completely gone - the blood ran freely from her wound, like the fragrance of a flower slowly separating away, like the silence growing louder with sound, like humans living on the outskirts of humanity.

Muse 27: Interlock

found via liebemarlene

Sometimes, when the park is desolate, we are inseparable. Sometimes, when the park is overflown, we walk apart like secret strangers. But now, all the time, I keep my hands close together, letting them kiss and touch with gently flurries to remind me that you are consciously near.

Once, I have missed you during the in-between days. They are the spaces between my fingers. The spaces between us compliment the way we spread apart only to bring more of us together. In a compacted fist, the net has caught only love, desire and longing.

This distance is bearable - like the way the Atlantic Ocean are the fingers for Europe and America to touch - the only distance is the one that melds our soils together into one wholly pure foundation where the most heavenly garden will grow.

Now the abyss between slumber and silence is the one I recall. In the twilight of my mind, before I drift away to the nights, the world, in its entirety, urges me into a trance where I find you, waiting for me beyond the reality of this world. I see you in my dreams, I will meet you in my sleep, but not until this separation is incomplete will I fully kiss you, once more eternally.

Muse 26: Rexia

found via fuckyeahskinnybitch

She had a theory that if she never ate or ate never enough she would digress in form. Her body would shrink to fit into the boxes that people put her in, and it would contort to shapes unknown to man. In this way, she could be uniquely beautiful and rarely seen, rarely noticed by the curious onlookers, the pretentious bystanders or simply voiceless friends. The stars would continue shine in their permanent positions as the world revolved with trickery. She would become the forgotten idea that everything seen first has already been seen twice.

Maybe if I don't eat, she decided while staring at the blinding fridge, I will disappear.

And she never disappeared, faded, not ever physically with her frail, spider limbs hauntingly placed in the coffin - but I remember that I can hardly remember her after she was determined to starve.

Muse 25: Existence

found via weheartit

In a sea of shapeless, shadeless greenery, the brown box dropped slowly into a hole of oblivious existence. The finality in the wires creaking, the ropes itching and worldly physicality itself threatens to let the coffin drop with a disrespectful thud. But what is inside is not human. He is alien. He is a wax replica of the man I love - a filtered, massacred replacement to comfort my soul, and I must reject it. My attendance is merely symbolic; my mind is distantly near - Do you think that when people die, their corpses shrivel up because something beautiful has been forcibly sucked out of it? It's like the form itself suffers an inexplicable loss, so complicated and violent, like the shape has been raped and must be reassembled by human hands for the sake of soothing the human mind. We make, we exist, and we lose.