1: The General's Greatcoat
Tonight, no matter what the voice said, Madeleine Lavoie would not listen to it, she would not sympathize with it and, most importantly, she would not obey it. She gripped her sheets in tight fists and promised herself tonight would be different. These affirmations had become the bedtime prayer she repeated every night, while her mother extinguished the gas lamps and her brother tied her hands and feet to her bedposts.
The restraints were for her own good. Maddy understood that well enough. How could she expect to survive in the world, if she ever managed to escape? She was the secret disgrace of her family. Her m
Today, you are beautiful.
Your parents tell you that you’re beautiful on every other day, too, but no one else ever does. The only time you matter to the world is at your shows. When you’re not beautiful, you’re nothing.
Today, though, you are shining. At least, you think you are, but you’re not feeling great. Your stomach hurts, just like it does before every pageant. Your dress is brand new, and you haven’t gotten used to the way it itches yet. You’re sure your wig is gorgeous, even though the hairspray smells bad.
Your teeth, though, are hurting the most. You know you
The kid was quiet for the first several hours after he had picked her up. Obe glanced at her occasionally, particularly when he changed the radio station, looking for a sign that he had found the one she liked. She was quiet, but expressive, and she wrinkled her nose for the first five that he tried. When he found a classic rock channel, she smiled slightly and her shoulders relaxed. She was staring out the window at the endless dusty desert, but he caught her stealing glances back at him several times. Obe was patient, and waited for her to start the conversation.
“I don’t remember how I got out here,” she sa
I am the buyer and seller of souls. I’ve bought them all and I sold you yours. For the world must run like the gears of a clock, and sometimes you tick or sometimes you tock, but everything given will be taken away and for every silence kept, a word must be said.
Naturally, you must assume there is cost. For everything gained, a penny is lost; of course this life can be no different--when the check arrives, you must pay the difference. But not all who ride on the sunday train pay the same price to get out of the rain: a king’s ransom might obtain far, far less than the pauper’s cheap pain.
Your father paid
I had life for breakfast
And a cup of reality to wash it down.
Death was my lunch,
It was a pill.
And I swallowed it whole.
I felt dirty.
So I showered in sorrow for a while
And dried off with support, and religion
But I was still a little damp.
I layed in a bed of thought
and confusion
before dinner time.
I cannot tell you what was for dinner.
But I can tell you that it was fantastic.
She ate her French fries as if she were high society. She cut each one into small pieces with her plastic fork and knife, then pierced one with her fork and dipped it into her side of ketchup. Then she raised it to her mouth and nibbled it. When she went to take a drink from her small Coke, she did so with her pinky raised and only drank in small sips. She set her drink down gently, as if it were a delicate china cup she was afraid of breaking.
I looked around and sighed. The burger joint reeked of humanity. Grease hung in the air like humidity, and there was tension between everyone, as if all the customers were negative magnets repelling e
bitter hug of mortality by orangecloudsraining, literature
Literature
bitter hug of mortality
so you sit there,
your awkward little hands folding awkward little birds,
as if you could inhale your own paper wings.
so you sit there,
and you think
about you watching the people and the people
not watching you.
and i whisper darling,
darling the only thing you're good for
is reading walt whitman out loud
to your used-to-be-white walls
until your throat chips, and your eyes dust over.
and you just shift your weight
and shake your head
like something
buzzed in your ear.
there are valleys
in your earlobes and jungles in your irises, but i
was never one for love poems
words fall from my lips like
cloud-happy pebbles drop to
an ocean
wave-tossed & then sinking through the thin
liquid miles
& we, we two
miles of skin & bony fingers stretch between our
hearts
beating calmly within our dark, cocooning chests
the darkness presses upon our arteries like
sleep on heavy eyelids
weight like watery fathoms, leagues of
conscious lulled to lightless
like a man who drowns himself loves the sea by consolecadet, literature
Literature
like a man who drowns himself loves the sea
the teeth of choice barely rubbed at you through your clothes,
while i was scratched and scratched and scratched deciding
and the scars grew roots in my brain, thick and keloid white,
patterns i can't erase
i loved you like a murderer, like a hurricane
i loved you like a man who drowns himself loves the sea
i loved you like the two-ton anvil of responsibility i thought you'd handed to me too young
as rough your skin,
as rough
as
i worried just as much for you as for all the little sheep i left behind.