Muse 122: cat and mouse

found via iamabilliontinyfeathers

They said to never let them catch you skinny-dipping. Don't let them catch you; don't ever let them, they warned ambiguously. Frankly, we didn't give a shit. The three of us went to the lake and stripped for the other three boys to see. We dared them to follow us into the cool collection, staring at the clouds while keeping an eye on them. That caused our eyes to go batshit for a while before they splashed into the water, coming after us, swimming underneath us for a good scare. The boys caught us, by choice. And no one else did, so we went again.

Muse 121: the worms we eat

found via inspireme

If we were made of the objects that we loved, the emotions that we sleep in or the thoughts that we share, we'd be an unfortunately looking bunch. We're ghosts imprinted from the skeleton of others, under different coloured skin. Make myself fifty percent translucent, underneath this body is worms from the same can you were from. I would say more, but that is all I have thought about today. It's enough. 

Muse 118: Loveliest.

 found via Second.Daughter

Your back. Oh my god. Just.
Your back.

I think it just may have been the loveliest thing I've ever seen. Your hair is intrusive, and your bra delicately frames all the space I have to explore. Your body is - yes, yes - a canvas, but that is an overused metaphor. Your back is the hills of misty, untouched sceneries, the new floorboards where my ballet fingers dance. Your tones are muted like pastel chalk dust, curdled milk with a hint of lemon shades. Anyone else would find your skin pale in comparison, but your back - oh my god - shines against the world's colors, which are pure and refined.

Muse 117: pursuit

 found via hondasniper

These days it's so difficult.

I am not endlessly searching for the words anymore. Those perfect words that make a story more beautiful than it should ever be are written by someone else. I am not pursuing the joie de vivre as properly as I should. I am not moving. I am not fresh, but a stagnant fish in a farmed pond. The flesh you eat is rotten and full of worms. A headache of black swamp water that is not even drinkable.

I am not inspired. I am not in love. The worms I want to consume are supposed to take a heart of me, the part that will turn rainbows black and white and the monotonous flashes into color. The drenched world will come back to life, and I will find hope once more. But I am not inspired. I am not in love with these words. I have no one to write for, not even myself. Not when I have never loved myself properly.

I am frightened. At most my skills have been dulled to the senses of bullets and cars. In awe, I am the deer in the headlights, and the buck desensitized to danger. I have become a plaque on your wall, where I am worth more never living than barely alive.

Muse 116: Bathtime

found via playgroundlover

Sitting in the shower, staring at the white tiles as water embedded me slowly, I leaned back, enjoying the contrast of the cold porcelain tub on my heated skin. The comfort of baths must be universal. I couldn't think of one person that wouldn't enjoy a long hot soak. No, not as I closed my eyes and gave my thoughts away to nothing. For the first time in a long while, not a single thought inspired me to wake up and write, not a single murmur or hum interrupted the calm. In the bath tub, nothing inspired, nothing sparked and the swishing of water was just the sound of my body shifting around. To most people it sounds dead and wish less, but when you've suffered and heard nothing but the rushing cars, beeping phones, click and clattering keys, non-stop talking, shouts and calls inside your mind for desperate inspiration... Nothing is the best medicine around.

Muse 114: Karma

Everything comes back. It's not hard to believe. Everything comes back in a full circle and you feel deja vu hit you like an earthquake. Spots like your heart, spots like your pulse, places and parts of a body that were never known to exist suddenly hurt. Either simultaneously, or in sections like orange slices, take it whole or take it to pieces. Where the feelings are the same but could be reversed, where the situation's the same, and somehow I'm still on the suffering end.

I can't complain. This is the only way I'll see you again.

Muse 112: Until they died.

found via tumblrpost

The first set of scans said he was okay. He was lucky. His wife replied thank you before she brought him home, bandages wrapped tightly around his ribs for support. He was asked to come back in a two weeks for a second check-up; for another x-ray scan that would rack up the numbers on his credit card. So when his wife asked about the coming appointment, he told her he felt fine. He didn't have to go anywhere, not when it cost so much just to stay alive. He reassured her that he felt fine, even pressed onto his ribcage and held in the cough to delay the illusion, and smiled. Smiles work for everything as long as you hold them up long enough. He waited a few more seconds and refreshed his lips with a strain. 

She believed him until he started coughing red.