If you say one word,
I will forever retreat
back into myself!
If you say one word,
I will forever retreat
back into myself!
the walls are crumbling
as seasons pass and time fades
in the end, nothing-
silence remains, all have fled
all the leaves have now fallen
Perilous distraction crept
On Forbidden turf,
he confessed his love to be true.
She bled tears of despair and
jubilance, the only residue.
The dared to be real, desecrate delusion.
trials and tribulations.
Enchanting chapters are never read.
The best poetry is never said, but felt in
Fleeting moments now dead.
Illusion is life.
Imagine your way through
You wonder about her sometimes, about where it went wrong.
The week before you remember sitting together in your office's mismatched chairs. She'd sounded better, and you had commented on her progress.
She cried but she talked too, and you knew she was holding back, but that was okay because getting better was a process and she was trying.
She seemed optimistic about life, looking toward the future. You remember noticing that.
You recommended she watch Midnight in Paris before next appointment. She told you she would.
You talked about her life: she had finals coming up, and then she'd head back to her parents. She said she didn't want to go home, but she was looking forward to leaving school after the semester.
She'd asked about your plans. Most people didn't ask - so you told her about finishing grad school, maybe opening a place of your own. She said she thought that was cool.
You exchanged pleasantries after scheduling another appointment - next Tuesday at 10 - and she headed out.
She didn't show up that next Tuesday, because by then she'd been dead.
They told you this was part of the job, and that there was nothing more you could have done. They told you it was by hanging.
This surprised you. You had expected it to be pills.
They said it wasn't your fault, but somehow you felt like it was. You were suppose to be helping her.
You knew more about her than her family, friends, or anyone in her life. You weren't invited to her funeral.
You think about her a lot, like you are now. You think about it on good days and bad days and strange days, and you think about how trapped she'd said she felt by all these people mourning her.
She was your one, like most in the profession have. The case they got attached to, the one that went wrong.
You open up your own business, like you told her you would, after you graduate in July.
You try and make a difference. That's all you can do. Maybe you couldn't save her, but it's not too late to help other people struggling. At least, that's what you tell yourself on days like these.
Your mind always comes back to that last appointment. God. You should have done more.
You know it's not your fault.
But you still fucking wish you'd done more.
flooded with your ghost
spirits lurk in my doorways
my psyche, haunted
They were children back then. She was only five and he only six years old.
She finds him hurt, with a knife in his hand and he is shaking. There is blood running down his leg; that is being washed away by the cold rain that drizzles around them. He is barefoot and she offers her shoes to him and he smiles.
Her family takes him in after that. She learns that he was tortured as a child by his uncle. At night when he has nightmares she comforts him. Laying in bed beside him and singing the lullabies her own mother taught her.
They go to school together, and while she enjoys playing with the other children he sits on a bench and simply gazes at her. There is no smile, no emotion in his eyes except when she looks at him. His face soon lights up and she can only smile back.
They found a dog once. A small scruffy little thing. She'd taken care of it, cared for him and then. He promised her he'd help her find him a home. One night he was gone. That cute little golden retriever ran away. She could never understand and at night when she'd cry herself to sleep he would comfort her.
When they're fifteen, girls begin to disappear. First, her best friend Rachel goes missing. Her parents have a search party for two weeks and then; they find her. Dead by a creek, her feet have been cut off. Rachel's older brother Max cries in her arms without consolation vowing to find whoever did this. But the trail remains cold.
A few days later another girl goes missing. She begins to suspect only after the third girl.
She had seen him talking to her after school and when she asks he gets angry. She begins to observe him and the day before they find another girl at the creek she sees him sneak out of their home. He comes back in the middle of the night trailing mud behind him and watches as he cleans the floor before going to bed.
There's a sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach; because she now is more than sure that he is the murdered. She pretends to be sick that morning and when their parents leave and he goes to school she writes a quick note and places it under her bed. She doesn't tell Max about her suspicion; afraid of what he'll do, but when he finds her ransacking through her own brother's things that day he helps her search only to come out empty.
They place everything back in place and Max stays over at night. Another girl has gone missing and it's only a matter of time. They wait for him to leave. Watching him cross the threshold.
"Are you ready?" Max asks with a wary look.
They follow him to an old cabin just outside of town. She recognizes this place. His uncle's home. The door is open. When they enter there are hundreds of child shoes on the floor. All similar to the pink little flats she'd given him to wear.
"He wants me." She whispers in realization. When they walk further in they see him. The girl is tied up. He has a knife in hand and pink children shoes beside him.
He's not yet heard them come in; Max has grabbed an old bat just outside the house. The girl screams for help and before he can turn he is struck in the head and falls unconscious.
"Why?" She asks him.
A piece of gum had stuck to Thaddeus's shoe; long strands trailed up as he lifted his foot, and disgust flashed across his face.
The crime scene was a mess. Chewed gum littered almost every surface, empty bottles rattled around corners that hadn't been cleaned in decades and the smell of rotten food rose from the sink.
The body was neatly laid-out on a clean table; it was dressed in a tuxedo, pocket square perfectly folded and tucked into the pocket in a way that infuriated Thaddeus. He had spent ages trying to get his own kerchief to fold in the same way. He had long ago given up in favour of the disorganised spill of cloth that now adorned his chest.
Looking at that kerchief Thaddeus knew they were dealing with a deranged mind.
1. Leave home
2. Go for an adventure
3. Encounter a misfortune
4. Be wrongfully accused
5. Grow tired of the chase
6. Surrender to authorities
7. Solve the case in jail
8. See the criminal intentions
9. Take the blame for once
10. Get hanged the next day
Everything has their very own beginning.
In which it can be beautiful,
Or a nightmare.
Yet usually, it is both the mixture of the two.
Until days turn into years of living,
Suddenly, it begin to create an art of itself.
That can be vague–meaningless,
Or worth for infinite words or shapes.
But for these two canvases,
They created it in a tormenting way.
Where she is the calm before the storm,
And he is the dawn before the sunrise,
To which their life didn't begin with such vibrant colors.
Therefore, theirs was just a shade.
Note: @U I used your poem as an additional prompt within your prompt.
The yin and the yang
Matter and antimatter
We are entangled