BoogeymanXX

All alone, like unalatered minds... An uneven example of what could be, stays deep underground, in a delirious way. The thoughts alone sit upon unstable finds. Simply manipulating, even the fear scars... A justification of what can be won or a feeble young mind that just stumbled upon. A misuse of a sacred trust from afar. The silence itself is falsely profound... It carries like wind upon unsettling ears and burns its frustration for many a year. A simple confusion within sensitive sounds. A guilty perspective, an example of guilt... Clouds of a downpour, a shameful recourse that cries out with pain, but can heal at the source.

I just got two magical hits. They sparkled as I slowly inhaled and quietly popped. I saw the world, it quietly shook and I thought a lot. The cold air left me in a haze. The sky was nonexistant in my eyes. It was blocked by something that I couldn't even understand. The fear of something seemed as foolish as the fear of nothing. That night I couldn't see the moon. A distant expression appeared on my face. It took me a while to notice it, but I kept sitting and staring. That night I shuddered and indulged in my blindness. I hoped that it would heal me.

Along with the hoodie I bought (that I will never wear) were the tickets to that concert you know, the one I will never go to or even hear. Just like that other concert we went to, when the sound covered our ears as if wax was poured into every crevice, and we could see the rain and the smiling faces, and the lightning told us it was wet, but the thunder didn't even whisper a warning. Do you remember that winter that befriended summer and we took videos of them having a snowball fight in the sunlight, but the snowball was melting and we looked at each other and laughed? Do you remember that time we laughed so much that we w

Scattered… Like a misplaced patch of grass on the broken asphalt… The urban jungle lay in his palm… Unreachable. The envy of the perfect imperfection was alluring—the ultimate display of human affection—broken into three… A faded poet and a jaded hunter… Writing a sonnet about each other. Music in one ear… The sunset in another… The simplicity of confusion… The complications of happiness. An elaborate escape in the form of a false artistic vision—a lie more grand than the tower on which he lay—guided by error… An actor who hunts… Trophies of misery hang on his walls. Sunlight… Fading in the distant trees… The sky offers an answer…

In his passenger seat was his daughter's denim jacket, somewhat folded up. It was cold the previous morning, when he drove her to school. When he picked her up, it was too hot to wear it, so he folded it up and put it on the passenger seat. Underneath the jacket was the fiction novel he checked out from the library an hour after he drove Jennifer to school. He had read the first few pages, and even read a little while waiting for Jennifer to come out from the front doors of her elementary school, but stopped reading before she came in the car. It was unfortunate, since he started getting into the novel. On the front mirror was a parking per

A reflection in her window Smiles into her soul A rainy recollection Pours into her bowl. Dilluted preminitions Open up her eyes Only time will now surrender But still she will not cry. She leans upon the windowpane And sighs her brief hello And dreams of the occasions Of which she seems to know. As the rain surrenders slowly The sound now turns to dreams And she remembers suddenly That everything is as it seems.