Eyes so wide
LED lights force your face deep into the mirror cracks
Your eyes are so so wide you think you’ll fall
Down down into a pit
Have you always been this fat?
Your skin is sluggish yellow in the bright bright night
And the shadows look like scars gouged by a poison knife
The mirror stares back with so much bad luck
And you feel yourself falling down down into that familiar fate
You are not enough and you
Deserve to fall
Your eyes are so so wide and you are so so flawed
But child, the mirror is cracked, and you are not
The reflection is flawed the reflection is warped
Beauty pours out of those wide wide eyes
And your skin is the colour of an early morning sky
So fly up up into it’s arms
Your soul is as deep as the depths of your eyes and both are full of such bright light
You will always be enough and you
Deserve to fly
Your eyes are so wide and you are beautifully flawed
Midnight maths and philosophy
I do polynomial long division at 11pm. And I get the right answers again and again. Because I know the steps, I know the code, I know what invisible highlighter lines join each number and I know whether to multiply or divide. I just don’t know
I stare at the steps I’ve done the lines of n and try to work out... I’m dividing this to give me this so I’m subtracting these to... I don’t know. I cannot make these random steps line up in my head. Why. Why. Why.
I realise I am living life like a school child who shouldn’t be taking a level maths trying to prove herself at 11pm. That is to say. I live life like I do maths. I know the steps and I say the right things write the right numbers... But really I’m a sub par child trying to be an adult, trying to feel like a child, trying to prove to the world and to herself that ‘I got the right answer so I’m Okay’.
But it seems prolific that instead of laying down my pen besides my maths book and sleeping, I am writing speculative philosophy about equations and life.
Midnight musing/ midnight madness
We tread invisible egg shells
In our imaginary palace
Reality is slipping away from me like starlight
Humans have built their own gilded cage
The fabric of society is fake
Built on slavery and explotation
They gave life a price and called it capitalism
The earth beneath my feet feels manmade
Less and less of the world remains real
Need I travel to mars or Antarctic or the bottom of the sea
To find myself
Human lives revolve around the superficial
Humans were too advanced for this world;
We couldnt just live, breed, survive
We had to destroy, create, strive
For some invisible perfection
The universe has no agenda
So why do we
To be human
And then I hit hard ground with a force that sends pain spazzaming through my newly mortal body
There is a burning burning sensation in my chest
Tightening like snakes around my ribs
I open my mouth with a gasp of pain and my body heaves
Air is flowing into me
I can feel lungs inflate inside my chest
I feel my new body relax
And there a thump
In my ears
I run my hands over my body and everywhere there’s a pulsing beat
I have a heart
I press both hands against my chest and I feel it
I can feel the blood running around my body
Oh it is so strange to be human
So many parts
No longer an empty reflection
My chest aches and I realise I need to open my mouth again
It seems humans need to do that a lot
A name on a bright pink poststick note pushed through my door. It has come from a Client, though the name has passed through many mouths and minds before arriving here.
A quick google search can normally give me their city, work place, possibly a postcode. Sometimes I have to dig deeper, a few lines of code, a few firewalls cracked, but within ten minutes I can find out everything I need to know. Their address. Their place of work. The names of all their family members. The names of their children. The names of their childrens school.
My parents are, by nessasity, my accomplices. We move with each new job. I start at the school and change my name. Gemma. Daisy. Polly. Maisy. I tell my story; parents moved jobs, parents divorced, I was bullied in my old school. And then I infiltrate.
In a day I’m sitting with my target at lunch. In a week we walk to school together every day. Two weeks in and I invite them over for tea, three days later they return the favour.
First time is reconisance. I already know almsot all I need to know about my target; if they work from home, if they take medication, if they have any health conditons, if the own a gun. Now, between movie marathons and just dance, I get to know the house. Where the pills are. Where they keep the gun.
There are many ways to effectivly kill someone. Heart attacks are good, change their medication so they go into cardiac arrest. Poisinings are similar. Faked sucicides. Push them off a building, shoot them in the head.
Thats what I do today. I excuse myself to my friend, ask to go to the toilet, and go upstairs. I’ve already acquired the gun from the basement down stairs. I put on some gloves and retrieve the weapon from its hiding place. Then I go to the office and open the door, gun behind my back.
He looks up, perplexed. ‘Hi, uh, Maisy?’
I blush, ‘Sorry, wrong room.’
He motions that its okay, and I back away, he looks down.
I step to the side and shoot him in the side of his head. He flops like a puppet come lose and blood spills over his desk. I smile.
I place the gun in the dead mans hand, making sure to press his finger tips firmly against the handle, then I rifle through the desk and find some overdue bills. I place them on the table, and let them soak up blood. I take the gloves off and stuff them down my bra. I smile. The perfect suicide. The perfect murder.
I go back to the doorway and open my mouth and scream.
‘I heard a gunshot.’ I tell the police later. ‘I opened the door and then-’ I sob, and the police pat me on the back and send me home.
We stay for three more weeks so as not to arrouse suspecion. I comfort my victims child and then go through therapy, pretend to be tramautised, my parents decide to take me to a new city. There are tearful goodbyes with my new friends. Then we move. Sell our house, not that we need to, with the thousands flowing into our off shore bank account. We go to a new city. New name, new hair colour, new school, new pink poststick note.
Warm wax like honey dripping down your back
Glazed like a carcuss
Did you realise?
That your god had made you a
Doomed to fall
Slick sunlight as heavy as sin
Were you blind?
Stars in your eyes as you fell
You fell like the most perfect ending
I wonder if your god laughed
In the sky
As your pride melted to misery
Chemicals in your lungs
Coughing from the sun
I wonder if your god pittied
The mortal who flew to close
Wax like honey
Drip dripping down your intentions
A heavenly carcuss falling to someone else’s feast
But maybe god envied you
The mortal who learnt to fly
Who learnt to fall
Down down like the most perfect ending
I wonder if your god ever longs to fall
Drip dripping down your spine.
I look in the mirror and see a ghost
A pale shadow
I reach to her
And she reaches out
Our hearts contract
My soul is cracked
In every mirror I look
I leave a bit of my smile
A bit of myself
My being is fracturing
Fleeting as the
I am a ghost.
A pale shadow
Like a life bouy
In a ceasless sea.
Our Gemini world
I don't know if I am in love
Or if I'll ever be
(and if I'm asking that question
I'm probably not
Its just there's so many
So many romance films
Society taught me that we must pair of like song birds;
A princess needs a prince
Two princesses would not be so great
But at least they'd be a pair
And thats the point of life;
A lone soul
We are each one half of a whole
I have been told
So I guess its no wonder
That I feel like I'm always searching
That my eyes make me see double
Everyone in a couple
And more than anything
I want to be
Death (bringer of darkness, deliverer of souls, destroyer of life) to be continued.. possibly
Death, bringer of darkness, deliverer of souls, destroyer of life, looked in the mirror and sighed. It was Christmas day, and you’d think after all the souls he’d been collecting recently he should get a day off. But no, everyone had to keep getting drunk, and dying; getting hit by cars, and dying; falling over, and dying; getting hit by cocunuts, and dying. Some people just died for no reason. It was infuriating.
The truth was, Death (bringer of darkness, deliverer of souls, destroyer of life) hadn’t had a holiday in 3.7 billion years when he burst into existence. If he belived in a higher power, like many of the mortals did, he would probably file a complaint; as it stood there was no-one, and it was Deaths belief that the world had just appeared in some freak accident, and thus has he appeared too. Colatoral damage.
Today his infuriatingly punctual, cosmic list had 165,000 names on. Its funny that more people die on holidays; its mostly because of drunk driving or fights, but last year there were a few cases of freak Christmas tree accidents, which was fun.
Since he couldn’t pause people dying (which Death thought was a bit ridiculous, since he was Death and all), he paused time so he could decide on todays Reaping outfit.
He was wearing his favorite outfit; brown skin, blue eyes, pink skirt, fishnet tights, a band tshirt from a band that didn’t exist (Death doesn’t really live in a particular timezone). He wore a band of daisys on his cropped black hair, but now he takes them off and watches them wither in his hands. Normally he enjoys the look on mortals faces as he took his black cloak off, bowing low, to reveal this form (mysoginistic bankers were always the funniest), but now he just wasn’t in the mood for it.
He blinked, and when he opened his eyes he was tall, slim, white, with a grey suit and grey eyes. ‘hello. you are dead. welcome to the after life’ he mutters to the mirror, and his voice is subtibly dreary enough, so he shakes the battered pocket watch and watches the second hand slowly start ticking, gathering speed. He sighs and steps into the void, which will take him to work.
want your silence
to be heard?
it is the irony
we all want to be heard
(even when we have nothing to say)
and do you
want to mean something
to this world?
i feel it is the irony of humanity;
we are all searching for a cause when
we should be living
we all want to be heard
yet we are not speaking
and i want a meaning
but maybe my meaning is just