Bleeding

a cup full of bleeding words
thrown out by you to me
they paced among the soils of yesterday's screams
settling uncomfortably
into the concrete pages of my heart


One Single Impression

Drunk on a daydream

He stood so close and yet so far off that she could barely hear him when he speaks. His words fly towards her like a gentle breeze, blocked only by air. She glanced at him now and them, her focus on his smooth skin and his grey blue eyes. People passed between them but she didn't seem to noticed.

As he droned on about his ill-mannered co-worker, she caressed the thought of his ruby lips on hers. She pouted her lips together as if in anticipation but then even them out. His voice kept on, barely stopping to breathe.

More people brushed passed between them and the inches between them stretched farther and farther as he continued to take a step back each time. The train swayed back and forth as if luring her into his arms. Her focus stayed on his face, a smile on her dry lips.

Soon his words was too far away, she can barely distinguished whether he what he was saying. A sudden drop in altitude sent her crawling on the train floor. He helped her up, walked passed her and out the train, his arm around a tall woman. Her lips turned downward, disappointment written all over her face.

She stared at his back as the train door closed, cutting her daydream in half. If only he was talking to her.

Fiction Friday: Drunk on _________. Fill in the blank, then write a quick description of your character in that state.

Permanent Cold

His birth was delayed by 30 hours, almost the exact time it took for his mother to decided to abandon him. Right away, PJ learned nothing is permanent. His father was unknown to him and yet PJ never once thought of him or his mother.

Raised in various foster homes, PJ knew not to step too close to the edge of things. His focus was always on target. Mistakes were never made, at least not by him.

Though he was an average student, PJ managed to get into one of the best school he could afford. When he caught a cold the same year he graduated college, he thought nothing of it. It will go away, he thought at the time.

Not until it began to invade his every waking hour even in the middle of a dream. Prescribed cold medication help stop the sneezing and the headaches but they only last a few hours at a time. Still he managed to get marry to the first woman he fell in love with - Sherry, a make-up obsessed girl with pink eyeshadows and a huge desire to be rich. Sherry didn't seem to mind about PJ's cold. In fact, she carry boxes of tissues in her big bag whenever they go out. In between sneezes and bless-you's from the wedding guests, PJ said his vows. During his honeymoon, PJ went looking for tissues and cold medicine while his wife lounged around the hotel. He was desperate enough to buy illegal drugs from the bellboy which knocked him out for three days.

It was work as usual after the honeymoon. But soon it was evident that PJ's cold had become a problem. He went to a dozen more specialists who proclaimed him to have a permanent cold - not allergy - but a cold.

Still PJ sort for ways to ease his problem but no solution could be found. Spring became fall as summer was completely overlooked by PJ. Going outside was never a problem until he had to search for tissues and excuses to stop Sherry from leaving him.

On account of bad luck and bad choices, PJ went home early from work one day and found Sherry kissing a strange man with a "w" mustache on the doorsteps of his house. He scratched his head, took off his glasses that was blurred by the cold air, wiped it and then placed them back on. Walking passed Sherry, he sneezed once and went inside his house without a sound.

PJ flipped the light switch but the bulb went out a few seconds. He lighted a match to get to the fuse box outside. It was a cold night but PJ didn't feel the cold until he rubbed his neck, feeling the coolness of his skin. He got the light back on and went back into the house. He took some cold medicine to calm his sneezes.

As he poured water into the tin pot, PJ sneezed twice. His mind a total blank. He could not think of doing anything else but keep pouring water into the pot. He blew his nose and continued to stare at the pouring water.

A week later, they signed the divorce papers in a big office with low lighting fixtures which PJ kept sneezing on. Sherry got nothing and PJ gave nothing, nothing of value to her anyway.

A few days after that, PJ, armed with boxes of tissues and cold medicine, went into the emergency room early in the morning. He was feeling feverish and the medication prescribed by his doctor didn't helped him.

Having been awake for two days straight with his cold, PJ collapsed in the entrance landing hard on the hospital's marble floor.

He awoke to forgotten dreams and lost days but somehow feeling quite wonderful. He was able to breathe through his nose and did not have any urges to sneeze. His head, light as a feather, no longer consumed by headaches and dizziness.

A beautiful doctor with long black hair named Mel Brooke had unintentionally cured his cold but even she had no answers as to why or how it happened. PJ took this as sign that as usual, nothing is permanent. But one thing that made him changed his mind was Mel Brooke. He took one look and knew something must be permanent.


3WW: this week: Blurred, Illegal, Match and the week before: Average, Neck, Scratch

Kiwi Dreams

upon a shifting plate
perfectly oval and furred
a tiny jade kiwi
its surface carved with sunlight
completely full of
wonders of a luminous life
which lasts just long enough to reach
the afternoon's setting sun
until darkness dust over it's appearance
green becoming violet
by the light of the moon
the kiwi dreams of becoming
a berry or even a beet


Patchwork Poetry: lines in red are from poems by Emily Dickinson, Alfred Corn, Maxine W. Kumin, Pablo Neruda, Ogden Nash and One More Believer.

Reflection

reflections deceive
two of you
two of me
for a moment
a match made blurred
colliding in the double glass panes
under saturated graffiti and dirt
I glance over
you're no longer in view


One Single Impression

Yellow

her shoes
shaded in bright sunlight
stands just a few inches away
across the platform
silent in her movement
yellow warmth
replaces the cold concrete
each step
momentarily brightens her path


One Single Impression

Gone

she left without leaving
packed a big suitcase with tiny locks
all her small possessions
blank books and empty wishes
traveling through a jungle of new land
she slipped farther and farther away
placing new distance between us
sheltered in a small box with walls
she dreams of yesterday's voyage


Totally Optional Prompts: Absent Friends

Bent

the wind and rain press you against the walls
you held onto your umbrella
your precious fingers bent
fragile in their silent crusade
volatile echoes of your thoughts flutter in the air
having no way to clarify what they are
you chase them away
into the fantasy withheld in your mind
even the reversal of time
could not find you peace


Jigsaw Poem using words by commentators at Poets Who Blogs

Digital Daydream

spring drifts away
spiraling into a digital daydream
into the land of summer blues
a million pixels of aluminum quivers
tucked under the white folds
of cross streets and vanilla skies
a crowd walks
sedated in their task
without care
without knowing
a zephyr soon to send
them into another dream


Monday Mural

Date

love falters
on the edge
a smack on the lips
a kiss of no reprieve


Mad Kane's Poetry Prompt: Dating

Postcard

Veering towards land, a seashell covered in vines and rubber soles sits between the sand and the edge of the blue sea.

As I gathered up discarded soapboxes, comic books and magazines into a box, I saw the postcard that you sent me hanging by the fridge. Just as I was about to reach for it, it gingerly fell to the floor sliding underneath the fridge. As I crawled on my hands and knees to reach for it, I am reminded of the dental appointment that you will miss today.

I can feel the rough texture of the paper as I pulled it out. A few bits fell off, landing on the Spanish kitchen tiles that you so eagerly installed last spring. I opened all the cabinets and drawers but found no scotch tapes. The echoes of the drawers slamming shut rang through the air. And I knew then that it was finally over. It was only yesterday that I thought of you.

Spots of water fell upon the blue edge of the postcard as I stared at it. I realized they came from my eyes. For ten minutes I stood there crying, unsure why the tears came. But they soon stopped. I tucked the card into the back of my jean's pocket and proceeded to carry the box outside, dumping them into the silver trash can.

The postcard was the last part of you - which you have sent to me while you were on a business trip. I received it in the mail the day before you told me you've found someone else. I pulled it out of my pocket, stared at it for a moment, then tore it to pieces and dumping them into the can.


Friday 5: shell, comic book, discarded soapbox, rubber soles, postcard

Waltz of night

a virtual memory delayed
her mind diving close to the edge
catching rays of terrestrial impulses
in the deep end of her bi-ocular mind
dreaming in an ocean full of alien words
moving through an unfocused waltz of night
soon to be waken by the daylight of tomorrow


3WW: delayed, edge, focus
Writers Island: Impluse

Faces

photo by Frances at Blogjem, who kindly let me post it here

they stare but they don't look at you
their faces crimson with lonely joy
their bodies pressed against the wall
happiness escape their lips
as their eyes looks downward
hoping for you to notice them
hoping they would be caught
before they fall
downcast into despair
hoping every day
to be taken home


Writers Island: Liberation

The star

Abstract by Haironie_91

She was built among the stars to shine upon the millions of humans below. The day will never meet her. The night fumbles alone without her. Her colors are infinite, spreading across the universe, shining where there's no light. But she was alone and uncatchable even as a falling star. She burnt with only one desire - to be among the humans. As she sailed across the sky watching over everyone, her sadness could not be contained. Her tears fell to earth like rain but they evaporated before they even touched any surface. And yet even as her heart longed to leave the sky, she stayed put knowing her desires can never be set free. She knew her purpose and leaving was never an option.


Monday Mural

Fingerprints on my lips

I re-dream your face
lights flickering among brown skin
eyes swallow in shadows
a kiss of static bliss
fingerprints on my lips


Monday Mural
Monday Poetry Train

A Blue Heart

a wish
I pulled from the moon
an invisible light
sliding down my mind

a piece of the night
cut me with the bitter blades of what
I thought was my blue heart

perched upon undemanding dreams
I settled into nothing
hoping for everything

untamed is the symmetry of my mind’s tigers
I tossed them away into the sea
knowing they would come back

to haunt me
to beat me against myself
the me that I have always known
but never tried to find

a wish
I sent to the stars
I bid myself farewell


Patchwork Poetry - I did make two small change to the other poet's line - 'cut me' instead of 'cut you' and "my mind’s tigers" instead of "our mind’s tigers."

Thanks to these poets for letting me borrow their words: Lirone, Gautami, Paisley and Writerwoman. 

Her other self

On a good day, Zoey Elizabeth Wolf can have some moment of clarity and a touch of happiness. On a bad day, her mind and body would get garbled up by her other self – the uncontrollable one that always emerges when she gets extremely frustrated or angry but often helped her when she was in trouble. But sometimes she wished she could be someone normal and human then maybe she can be like everyone else.

Growing up, she was teased enormously because of unexpected hair growth in unexpected places and sometimes even under her fingernails. Her family knew what she can do and yet they would always teased her. Whenever they pointed out hair where there shouldn't be, her eyes would glowed a bright red and their faces would froze in fright. She would calmed herself down and smiled mischievously without even realizing it.

Now with her family long gone, Zoey tends to keep to herself. It's easier that way, she keeps telling herself. Being cautious keeps her safe. She does not want to lurk in the shadows like a creature of the night but you would never see her pouncing around in bright clothes and a smile plaster on her face. Oh no, not her, not the girl who's too stubborn to care.

It was not her intention to saved him — or her — but that was what happened. BJ was his name though she could never remember what they stood for. He used to made her cry every other day in elementary by making fun of her facial hair. She grew to fear showing her skin by hiding her head in books and wearing long sleeved shirts even in the heat of summer. Even when her facial hair began to disappear she could not stopped herself from laying on the clothes.

Zoey was on her way home from a long day of serving tables and certainly couldn't care less about saving anyone not even if they are innocent. A dark group of shadows was in her peripheral vision and she could not help but take a look. Three guys in dirty business suits were beating some guy to a bloody mess. She walked quickly hoping to pass them unnoticed. It was just a two second glance but she knew they had saw her.

They chased after her with hunger eyes. When she heard their fast footsteps beating behind her, she ran as fast as she could but they grabbed her waist and pin her down to the ground with their dirty hands. She screamed but it was muffled by dirty fingers stinking of liquor. Their faces looking feverish and mad as they pulled at her clothes and searched through her bag pulling one thing after another. She started to scream again and one of them punched her stomach. She bit his hand a bloody red. He punched her face causing blood to spill out of her mouth. Anger raised into her subconscious rewiring her thoughts as her body began to react. Hair began to grow on her face, hands, legs and feet. Her eyes fermented into a deep red. Her teeth stuck out in sharp points and whatever she still had on got ripped to shreds. Even before her transformation was completed, she threw one guy away from her causing him to yelled out in pain. The other two guys were backing away from her. She stood up, towering over them. Their faces full of fright as she growled at them. They started to run but she was faster. She grabbed them and threw them around like rag dolls against the pavements. It was a blur to her, watching her hairy arms and hands and yet she could not stop herself. Her rage continued until their bodies had all gone limp.

An hour later, she was on the ground, feeling weak. Her memory was fuzzy but lacking no knowledge of what she had done. Laying around her were the three men in a pool of blood. Dead, she supposed but then she didn't want to check. She saw the last of hair disappearing from her hands as she gathered up her things and the pieces that were her clothes and stuff them into her bag. It's a good thing she remembered to keep some clean clothes with her. After all these years learning to control her anger, there will still be moments like this when control would escape her grasp just when seem to be in trouble. But the guilt of dead bodies remained in her subconscious.

Zoey put on a clean shirt and jeans and walked towards where BJ was laying. His eyes flicked open suddenly and she was ready to run but he pulled at her hand. Only then did she realized there was someone else beside BJ. A girl with curly blonde hair, blood spilling out of her head.

"Help Rachel," he said pointing at the blonde, before falling back into unconsciousness. It was 2 am and not a single person in sight. What was she to do?

She woke up BJ with a slap on the face that she throughly enjoyed even at that moment. Together they carried, mostly dragged Rachel to the hospital. BJ fell a couple of times and Zoey had pulled him up and sometimes dragged him along.

When they were finally at the hospital entrance, they fell to the ground in exhaustion. Zoey watched as the nurses and doctors took them away before dragging herself home. She will certainly not gonna stick around for the cops to ask questions that she could not answer. One thought ran through her mind as she walked home. Dammed it! She needs to buy new clothes again.


3WW: Cautious, Human, Maybe

Message

underneath golden sands
inside an undiscovered bottle
an infinity of tomorrows

Tagged by Candid Karina. Go here to create your own message.

The dollar bill list

Was it destiny that led you to me or was it the dollar bill?

It was a shopping list that I had written onto a dollar bill when I couldn't find any paper. I hadn't noticed I had dropped the bill as I rushed from one level of the mall to the next, trying desperately to find those perfect gifts for my nieces and nephews.

Two weeks before Christmas and the mall's already completely full. It required acrobatic maneuver down the highway of isles among the crowd of hurried shoppers in order to get anywhere.

I've been taking the list in and out of my bag due to my bad memory. I was on my sixth of the seventh gift and was much too distracted to even notice anyone was calling me. Near the toy store where the shelves were nearly empty out, I heard my name flowing around but didn't think it was for me. Forgetting what the last item was, I dug into my bag for the bill. But I couldn't find it. I checked my bag again but still it wasn't in there. I tried to recite the list in my mind but couldn't remember. So I decided to traced back my steps.

I must have been running around the mall for three hours at least. Yet you followed me having been ignored so many times. Up and down with millions of other voices overlapping in the thick air of Christmas. I felt a hand on my right leg while I was going up the escalator and without much thought, I rushed towards the top not looking behind me. Then I heard a scream and a few cursed words.

I turned around and I saw you laying on the ground looking very much like a man in agony surrounded by a few people. A large lady had swayed her bag at you, sending you crawling onto the mall's glossy floor. I stared at you for a few minutes before recognizing you from my brother's Christmas party two weeks ago. I rushed down the escalator but I wasn't sure what would happen.

The crowd dispersed as I walked closer to you. Your green eyes stared up at me, smiling but in pain with your right hand holding your stomach. I helped you up and laughed wondering what you must had gone through the whole three hours chasing after me, bombarded by perfumer pushers and mall employees.

I said nothing as I waited for you to speak. It took a while but finally you stuck your hand into your coat pocket and pulled out the uncrumpled dollar bill. This is yours you said. I smiled as I took the bill and said thank you, quickly checking the list before tucking the bill inside my bag.

I offered to buy you coffee as an apology. That's when I noticed how your eyes sparkled among the colorful mall lights. Your ruby lips curved in such an inviting smile that it made me all gleeful inside. I thought it was kind of romantic but at the same time kind of insane. What guy would go through such an ordeal just to return a dollar bill? I guess you would.


3WW: Empty, Highway, Ignored