Hmm.

Shut up, brain.
No really. Quiet.
So?
Yeah.
And?
That's not true.
Honestly.
It can't be.
If it was it would make everything that's happened this year completely-
Oh.
Um.
Well.
...
Damn.

Twoo

Owls craft a city made from love
and beaches
and umbrellas
and synth.
That is what they are.
It's a shame most people don't see it.

Tumble

Feelings only read about in books and imagined in measured amounts.
Your mouth finds mine
and you place your hands down
and they rush in at once.
Ah.
This would be it, then.
Roll.
Sigh.
Shift.
Press.
Pause.
Gasp.
And then you are lost to it.
Exultant feelings are shared.
Dominion is won.
A vague feeling passes that redfaced looks and shy conversations loom.
But that is for tomorrow.
Shove.
Press.
Arch.
Lift.
Sigh.
Flow.
And inwardly, you sing.

Run

Her feet slip. They have found her again.
She tastes despair. They would never have lost her forever, but this is the shattering of one more hope, built so tenuously and linked with her self. It is her fault, her noise and smell, that attracts them.
They lope easily beside her, and seem to taunt her with their half-truths.
We are many.
We are endless.
We are destruction.
We will catch you.

The rains pour steadily on, and she can do nothing but run.

Slightly Mad

Sometimes I like to speak aloud.
In your voice.
Hope that's okay.

Smile

The stomach churns, settles, and calm becomes him, something like peace.
A smile spreads. The day is won.

Folly

she wags a finger, makes a change, loses a sight and it is done.
done like unfairness, and the taste of bile in the back of a throat, and a welling in the eyes.
the other walks sedately away, plots revenges that fall away as soon as rise.
unfair. but not untrue.

Paint

I wish, I wish, I wish I were a dish
A dish of paints for the lost and found and happy
I wish I could sit and paint my life 'till now,
So the gallery would show my view,
And the way I see the world.
In more colours then you've ever known there were,
I would show you my experiences,
The focus is me, and only me, but also you all,
because you're important. Forefront.
I wish, I wish, to paint, paint, paint.
Paint the day away.

Closure

The broken fang of your pride slits the veneer I create
each day
and I confuse myself in knowing why.
The light of the rising dawn slices my misconceptions and makes my sight anew, but it is not enough to slake your lust, your need to have me under the heel.
You indulge my whim but restrict my need, and for that you are not forgiven.
Much has been lost to the hordes of blindness and fools.

Ful of Wist

Ancient stirring slumber shames. Unashamed except for the eyes that meet, unwitting. Child. Stupidity. She lies in the way, and she lies, plain and true, of a sort. The two wish to meet, must meet, become as one another, but there are plain obstacles, large enough for the obvious to become obscure.
And the grind begins again. The lights come back on when you're in the room.

Silence

Haven found, they give chase but cannot smell her. She rests, but does not, cannot, sleep. The crafting, stitching, weaving, is done with, she can relax her fingers in the pockets of her jeans. She concentrates on drying her clothing out, and it is done, the work of a few seconds, and she knows something like peace.
Home is a long way yet.

Chase

The finality of it hits her, she stumbles, but regains balance. They come in waves, body upon body grabbing for her to hug her close, but she evades, she ducks and weaves. The rain makes her slip, the tiled floor underneath her feet treacherous, and still she crafts. The figures in between her fingers barely formed before they flit to being something else, her mind is aflame.
The rain pours on. She runs.

Rain Girl

She invents new ways to combat elements, tiny sculptures bracing and splitting into being between her nimble fingers, but blurred out by the rain faster than she can restore them. She fights for her life, endlessly, without repose, without rest, and without end. The wonders she creates never cease, but neither do the creatures, and even now they come for her, shambling, lumbering, but determined.
The rain pours on, the clouds burst, and still, she fights for her life.