.sheep.wolf.
click clack
Just a place where I can dump all of my written pieces! For the sake of keeping things neat the first massive batch will be put in here in tabs below.
Hold me nicely,
For I am unlovely.
A creature of sorrow,
A cowardly thing.
Do not pity,
Simply sit.
Perhaps youโll hear a tale,
Of my many years.
Do not shy away,
I promise I donโt bite.
I may look like a Wolf,
But I am only a sheep.
-/9/3/23Silver in my hair,
Silver in my teeth,
Oh, what a way to deal with grief.
Silver in my eye,
Silver in my ring,
Who could ever do such a thing.
Silver in the moon,
Silver in the stars,
You said I'd never go this far.
Silver in my blade,
Silver in your blood,
Now look at you,
As you die in the mud.
-8/18/23The rain is nice, my love
The pitter-patter on my window.
The hazy spell it places,
Wishing for your company.
The rain is lovely, my darling
Yet not quite as you are,
For your presence beats every drop.
I can see our reflection in them,
As our gazes meet.
The rain is peaceful, my dear
As we intertwine,
Whisper to me your dreams.
And on this rainy day,
We shall make them come true.
-8/5/23His eyes reminded him of the gallows,
Void of color and bleak,
Like the day of a funeral.
Draped in black fabric,
With a thinly veiled face.
The boy was thin,
Like a flickering light pole.
And his smile grim,
Like he had come for your soul.
But he was not the Grim Reaper.
-3/12/23Delicate keys shattered by rough hands,
Creaky old wood that was once polished.
An old soul rests by the seat,
And with a plink, begins to perform a sad song.
Calloused and careful hands caress the keys,
Fingers spread, eyes sharp and keen as a wild animal's
An old soul that rested by the seat,
And with a sad song, begins to reminisce
Of all those years ago, when the old soul was but a boy
Where the delicate keys shone, and not a scratch in sight,
Woods strong and polished, intricate details engraved.
A young boy played a song while the other children played in the yard;
They'd beg for him to join, but he refused.
A teenage boy played a song while the other teens went to dances;
They'd ask him to join, but he refused.
A young man played a song while the other young adults got married;
They'd ask him to play a song, and he'd accept.
An old man played a song while the other elders told stories and retired;
They'd suggest for him to join, but he refused.
The old soul was alone, by the creaky, old broken piano
A piano he spent his life on, and nothing more.
A young boy creaks open the door with child-like wonderment,
And with a plink began to try and play a song.
-9/17/22With smoke having filled my lungs and throat,
flames erupting my mind,
Eyes turned black and plucked by crows,
mouth rotted by bittersweet words,
Face frozen and shattered by the cold winds and stones thrown,
skin torn by the sharpest words,
Bones reduced to dust by the grinding of constant pressure,
Flowers sprout from my spine and ligaments as the leftovers are put out for you to witness
And with my last breath I heave out, "Witness me, now as I finally am free"
Now let me rest my aching body in the soil of which it came from, freeing all of the thoughts into a storm
Dark clouds and threats, rain beginning to attack;
Torrents of it washing away my grudges and harsh words,
Wind sweeping away my thoughts and voice,
Clouds sheltering my shattered soul from judgement and the undoubted truth
And now I let my aching soul go, back to which it came;
In hopes it will finally be home
A place I never quite seemed to be able to find
-1/18/23
The night was cold. The kind of cold that bites your face and lungs, that makes your hands numb and the thought of a fire more appealing than it ever was. Atleast, he thought, the sky was clear. A cloudless night with the half-sliver moon drifting across, casting a soft glow onto the sharp features of the man's face. The constellations and galaxies of the black ocean reflected in his eyes.
The crunch of gravel brought him back to Earth, his thoughts subsiding like an ocean tide. Bringing bony fingers to his mouth, he attempted to warm them up, rubbing them together. It was lonely out tonight. Not a soul, not a whisper. The forest didn't beckon on this night. It was dense, haunting. Many stories to be uncovered and whispered to generations of scared children.
Lanky legs stalking the path down the road, an occasional light casting a yellowed, suspicious light onto his rusty, shaggy hair and brownish coat. Across the street, a figure stand under the light with eyes to match the casted yellow. The crunch stopped abruptly, sharp jawline turning away from the figure so the wolfish face could see.
A curled smile, yellowed teeth. A striped vest, the casted light making it look almost magenta in color. A cigarette between rough hands, brought to the wide smile. The taller of the two did not move, a simple tilt of the head to indicate a question. Cat-like eyes responded, daring the other to make a move. Shorter and softer in build, leaned against the pole. Expensive and lavish in looks, neat hair cut short under a wide brimmed hat.
If you had come across those two, you would assume old friends. Yes, most did believe they had danced underneath the moonlit sky with that phonograph playing a melody. Others whispered in the alleys and gambling houses rumors of rivalry running deep in their bones, deeper than the love that was thought of when you saw them side by side in those late nights.
-6/2/23My love,
Oh what a night we shared.
It was always so quiet in the evening. I allow my body to sway in the direction it wishes, leading me through the garden.. Until I lay my eyes upon you. Alight with the moon, washed in brilliance you smile. The prettiest smile by far, fairer than any fairytale. In the distance, the music continues to haunt us as the ball goes on without us.
But what do we care? Our hands meet, your delicate fingers intertwining with my own. A dance, amongst the soft light and beautiful flowers. Our only witness an owl, whose wise, yellow eyes gleam.
Slowly moving into one another, embracing with every moment we have, I look into your eyes. Pools of blue, reminiscent of a bright blue sky on a lovely summer day, clouds lazily roaming. My own, deep brown like tea on a dreary, clouded morn.
It was always this quiet in the evening. For us, heaven. The night sounds were our symphony. The moon our lights. By the fountain we sit, quiet murmurs. You sigh, and I knew it was time to part.
Standing, we intertwine once more. Breaking apart, I feel my heart grow heavy. As I watch your elegant silhouette grow smaller, I feel the silence more. It was always quiet, in the evening. I sit again, and sit I shall until I receive your next letter. Perhaps I will send a flower your way, for your collection. Until our eyes meet again know I will never forget this night.
Yours until end times,
M.B.
-8/4/23The dust had settled, leaving the barren plains looking more empty than ever. He sat at the table, coffee long since cold. Heart heavy and eyes sullen, the figure stood and grabbed his boots. The silence had already begun to eat away at him. Young once, now growing older by the moments.
The longing to see his partner ride back in from the mountains. Having taken a job, he had been certain that he wouldnโt be coming back home.
Outside was the same as inside, desolate, dim, and quiet. The pastures closest empty and the coyotes lay in wait behind the line of trees furthest to the river that flows nearby.
The period of mourning was over. It had been weeks and weeks by now, longer than that damned job would ever last. No phone calls or letters, nothing. Left here by a haunted soul and left forever.
Picking up the saddle and hat that sat next to it, he headed to the barn. It had faded red paint, chipped away and repainted several times before. The roof had just been repaired a week ago. Having to learn things alone without the person to teach you left him bitter. Brown eyes, shining orange by the sunset swept over the ranch. A month ago he would have broke down at the sight of a sunset, knowing it was their favorite time of the day.
But since that day those headlights turned around, and he had longed for them to turn back, those moments cherished had been stomped into the earth. He would go through the nightly routine alone and without complaint.
Saddled up and paced fast, every memory they had shared left quick like a banished ghost. Poison ran through his heart since the day he knew that it was just him now.It had been a long time since he needed to hear that voice. Or feel the brown curls on his cheek as the weight fell between his collar and jaw.
He had stared at the road leading to civilization for hours at a time. The orange had spread like a disease, infecting the lands all around.
โTo you, Iโm just a man.
To me, youโre all that I am.
Where the hell am I supposed to go?
I poisoned myself again.
Something in the orange tells me youโre never coming home.โ
-8/7/23
(Context: This was for a challenge me and some friends did, where we made a story based off of a song. The song is Something In The Orange by Zach Bryan.)The sunrise spread pinks, yellows, and reddish oranges across the sky. Shooting out like fireworks and painting the clouds. The morning roads were desolate, a lonely truck dragging itself down the road. There was no civilization in sight, the only sounds being mine and yours.
I always did love to hear your venomous tongue fight my own.
Your protests went straight through the thick curls on my head. Clad in my favorite outfit, I sit in the driverโs seat. Your voice crackled through from the phone on the dash. Pictures of us were stuck to the ceiling, memories of past summers.
The tall grass served to herd the truck down the winding trails of concrete. My reddened eyes paid no mind to the phone, eyes straight forward like a horse beaten into submission to walk straight and nothing else.
โYou know, I tried my hardest to give you everything. I gave you my all.โ Cracked voice, never trying to smooth it down. The sounds of disbelief from you, your own shouts grown desperate.
โI know you havenโt thought about me, not once this summer.โ
The disappointment in my voice, hard to hide. In fact, it wasnโt hidden at all. Blatant and sorrowful. But what to care? You didnโt.
As your shouts diminished into rambles of anger, I knew you would hang up soon. โThe sky looks like diamonds. Your favorite.โ My own rambles, a shaky sigh as the pink spreads in the sky, contaminating it. In the rearview mirror, I spot that familiar twisted pink vehicle.
โIโll be waiting for you on the other side.โ
The call failed, electric lines and trees collapsing into the tall grass, all consuming. The feelings fade, last breath taken. The phantom was on the way, closing in.
The road crumbles.
The world fell silent on that peach blossom highway. I was no where near Atlanta.
The thin line, sheer and reflective had been crossed by both as the cool green tall grass consumed. The last feeling, cold and wet.
GASP.
Shaking, soaking wet, and cold as sweat drips down my wrinkled forehead, eyes wide. My hands grip the sheets around me, hazy lighting filtering through the halfway-closed curtains.
A dream. Reminiscent of a time of highschool summers and dumb, one-sided love. Tears clogging my throat I collapse back onto my bed, creaky fan flowing frigid air towards my body.
She was long gone, left behind in Georgia. On this particularly sunny winterโs day, it was her birthday. A day to forget. To block out, just like she did to you.
And for the first time since that fateful summerโs end, it felt as if the dreamโs spell had been broken.
-8/24/23
(Context: Same as above, just different song. The Pink Phantom by Gorillaz, Elton John, and 6LACK)
Thin, long bones stretched out, sunlight creeping up in the shadows. Pitch black nails curl into themselves, those spider-legs for arms stretching beyond what they should. Bare boned feet covered by tall, cool grass. Vast, sharp wings extend to the awakening sky like a greeting to the dawn.
Beautiful electric blue eyes flicked upwards, as if they were about to soak up all of the colors of the new day. Sunlight painted porcelain pale skin in warm light, reddened lips pulled into a charming smile. A constellation of beauty marks spilling over the body, limbs swaying gracefully like a willow as the legs carried long fingers through the grass as if it was a caress.
Reddish brown hair spilled over pale shoulders as a hand running through, making sure to avoid the slender black horns running from just above the forehead to about half-way down the top of the mane.
-1/7/23