there is one tear left-

from my crying-

I look up in the bathroom mirror-

and see the tear I’ve missed-

under my right eye-

the droplet exists alone-

on the space of skin below the lash line-

and this single isolated tear-

is by far-

the reflection of a memory-

strong, powerful, and great

A clear wine glass-

set on top of a green kitchen towel-

merely looking over-

and I see a terrarium-

unconventional but imaginative

the kind of brown that's not just deep-

could be considered an opposite to the dark-

as a brown of sorts-

the kind Alanis Morisette, Celine Dion, has-

that radiant sparkly brown-

light and sweet-

like honey micorwaved and poured back into a pupil from a kitchen cup-

it's opposite-

the things we live in the night-

those are the darkest kinds of brown eyes-

when we look; when we see-

we already know-

there is a conscious awareness-

that we are at the theatre performing opera-

with elegant moonlight-

an alive afterhour full of so much life

when you act the way that people say you are acting differently today-

you know, that kind of way-

the way that makes your own blood curl-

at self reflection-

and utter internal thought upon insight-

you wonder-

upon a new thought-

why you are trying to make yourself feel bad-

for being something else-

than the you that they were used to-

as you are entitlted to be a different “you”-

if you are feeling a new way-

that’s okay-

but its almost laughable to you-

at times-

and as it returns like the tide-

pulling into a new thought again-

sometimes it isn’t always nice-

it may return to-

I am the one thats the monster-

or-

I am the one that’s causing a situation-

but that may or may not be me-

and maybe I am too tired-

when it all adds up-

and then is just seen as a lot

The little ghost boy Michael-

Holds the bronze shiny pocketwatch-

Checks the time again-

Even though there is no time-

And he’s just psychotic-

and keeps expecting a time with no time-

He forgets that yet again-

as his attention diverts to the berry pie beautiful on the table-

and he goes over-

on the grassy hill-

and stands aside the sideways table-

with the berry pie-

in the tin pan-

and licks his lips-

like a hungry little ghost boy-

and says to the pie-

“You’ll be mine now”

The pie tin is left messy on the table-

as he goes about another adventure-

and finds baby squirrels following thier mother-

and follows the squirrels-

trotting along the grassy roads in his tights and attire-

like some silly admant prince baby-

on yet another adventure-

it seems christopher robin has lost every marble

I feel crazy wind

Whipping around me insane

These are my feelings

this is 5,7,5 as a haiku so im just writing this at the bottom cause it says the post has to be 15 words

I’m asking questions outloud

Questions like “Where is everyone now?”

no one will think im mad for talking outloud

cause no one is here anyways

im looking around the room

my eyes have traced the same space of wall

over and over again

and the gut that is yanked backwards through my body

is but yet another night

i accept the pure raw pain

like the craziest wind storm

that you are suffering from

and i forgot that night

when the next day

i found myself asking again

“where is everyone?”

I’m afraid to go on Buzzfeed now

Or even disney channel

Cause the one thing they share

Is the promote us girls with a creepy smile

If I tried to say- Not every boy is guilty-

It’s a battle from a famous movie-

Strong and to it’s death-

That EVERY boy is guilty.

Now going back to the girls-

Ads, Videos, posts-

That smile looks a little more creepy now, doesn’t it?

Note: The story contains graphic material and horror concepts

Mark Naferrey came home from a rigorous thunderstorm that would set the whole town without power for days. He had come from a fancy suit and tie kind of dinner. 

He was that kind of man. He owned a huge mansion is a little town called Cold River. It was funny how in a little town like Cold River, there housed this huge picturesque Cinderella type marble looking structure. A huge dome made up the ceiling right when you walked in. Looking like rich succulent gold, made out of copper. 

He had come home like any other day, except for the fact that today he was slightly irritated because of the huge storm with rough winds and heavy rain that had made it hard for him to get home from the dinner party and caused tree branches to scatter across his yard. 

He hung up his black peacoat on the coat hook in his bedroom. He took off his black shiny dinner shoes, leaving them to dry on the floor in a neat position. 

He walked off to find a snack. 

Meanwhile, and unbenowest to him there lived a group of boys who inhabitated the house. These boys were called The Death Coterie, and they were comprised of seven demons with supernatural abilities. They didn't have to make themselves visible to him, but that was an option. They chose, however, to make themselves invisible to him. He also was not able to hear them as a matter of their choice. 

They naturally just traveled to go wherever they pleased. They were in a sort of cult or pact where they believed in killing and or harming others was fun and a way of life. Aside from two boys, Silas and Elvis, the other five hurt and killed others. Silas and Elvis did not agree with this and became prisoners to the group, forced to live forever with them and be around all the horror and grotesque. 

The other two, Dexter and Magnolia were demons as well, creatures of the undead. Magolia, better known as Magnolia Mime was a demon girl who chose to live there but was not part of the group. She made an agreement with them that they stay out of each others way but could both live there peacefully. 

Dexter was a demon boy who could shapeshift into a cat. He has half the time a boy and the other half a cat, and often he was happier being a cat. He was also held prisoner in the group and forced to live alongside them. Both Elvis, Silas, and Dexter had a spell put on them that made it so they could not leave the grounds of the mansion. Wherever the group decided to go, to travel to, to live, the boys had no choice but to follow. 

The group had specifically gotten very comfortable living in the mansion in Cold River. They had been there for about a year. They'd gone on watching Mark come and go from the mansion, hosting fancy parties, fancy dances, bringing over girls, and never actually falling in love with anyone. He lived alone and the empty rooms made for more places for the demons to live in. They could have lived in the same rooms as he did, because they can make themselves be invisible and silent to him and go on living thier lives without his interference, but he only lived in one room alone so they left him alone. 

Winston, one of the demons of the group had gotten tired of Mark and his lifestyle. He didn't want to see the sad lonley drunk mad anymore, with this big elegant mansion to himself. Winston simply felt bored with Mark and his lifestyle, that barely affected Winston at all. 

And it was a game to him, killing and or harming others. So as the days came and went, it was not a big deal to Winston to brutally end others lives, or mess with them in the worst possible ways. There was an option when killing humans for demons to either kill them and have them become a spirit/ghost or to kill them in a way that they would become a demon after they died like them. That's what the others did to Silas, Elvis, and Dexter who happened to be in thier path unfortunately at the wrong time one day. 

On this particular night, Winston's unnecessary aggravation tied well with the raging storm, that seemed to be getting worse as the night carried on. 

The winds howled outside, the sound of slashing and slamming and brushing, with the tree branches sliding and hitting on the sides of the mansion. The thunder boomed every couple of seconds. The power went out, altogether. 

It was ten o'clock at night. 

Mark took a book off a shelf in his den and went to read. He sat on a couch, and flipped angrily through the pages. 

"I can't see a damn thing!" He growled. "Where's a flashlight when you need one?"

Winston walked slowly into the room. His eyes became affixed on Mark and they never left him. He wouldn't smile. 

But then he did. He cracked a small and easy smile, as if offering some sort of comfort. However, inside, in his mind, there was red chaos with black blood.

"You really are that stupid aren't you?" He said, with a smile, coming up close to him. "You own this fancy big mansion, all to yourself.  You inherit money, not make it. You get this biig fancy life and for what? For being the moron you really are?"

He wielded a knife through the air. His eyes twinkled as the object came into form and he gripped the shiny silver knife in his white gloves. His eyes became energetic, full of dizzy stars. He gripped the knife harder. His eyes set on his throat. 

"Goodbye Moron" He reached over and with one slice, he drove the knife across Mark's neck, choosing in that moment to physically do it. Mark made a gagging helpless sound, grabbing his neck quickly as the blood spilled fast down his bedtime shirt. 

His eyes became bewildered. Winston made himself visible to Mark. He wiggled his fingers playfully at Mark as if to say "Surprise, I'm the one that did this, Bitch"

He then watched as Mark struggled for several more seconds, then collapsed slanted over the couch, going completely dead. 

He sighed. "That's enough of that now" He said in a breath, stalking out of the room to go tell the others. 

Lost of the skies

And dragonsnap seas

When I saw her skirt

Shizzle Trizzle cause she sashayed

And the skirt was long

It was a cool medium blue

With a pattern I intended to study

I am the chipped wall paint

I feel like that now

Because inside I'm dead

All I did was study her skirt

Then look back at the corner on the wall

Where the cieling met it

And stared at that, too

And it wasn't as fascinating

But I can't keep staring at the skirt

It's our first date.