rhapsody

i can hear the waves
they’re doing their thing and crashing against the shore
and making tonight a lover’s night
and making a new metaphor a fucking poet might find but i don’t, i can’t because

i can hear you breathe
and all i can think about is
how much closer i want to get,
inch my way into you,
so that maybe you won’t notice.
maybe you won’t mind.

my heart pounds against your chest
and i tell it to keep it down,
so you won’t know
how much it wants to be with yours.

now you’re saying goodbye and i’m thinking
not a chance
and i’m thinking of how i should have kissed you in the lift when you weren’t expecting it because just maybe you won’t forget then, how the weirdest date you’d ever had ended and how soft it all was and how our lungs gave out and we were dying for a breath but dying worse with one
but i don’t kiss you and so you don’t kiss back
but you pin my heart to the ground and tell it to stay
and it did, it’s still there, heaving, listening, waiting

baby, it hurts when you do your thing.
it hurts how i’m okay.

– i hated the world but you make it sound so dreamyy

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alchemy (a poem)

i died tonight. again.

this is just me grasping at straws
but fuck- did you feel that?
electricity pumps through my veins, “keep me alive”, i say
as i choke on knifes and cigarettes and galleries of submission,
but i’ll wear that smile even if it tires me out.

i tried telling you how the skin you’re in is all soft now.
my breath, warm, drugged and trembling
me, craving your touch
you, half a moon of drowning colors
you, unreachable

but this morning, time stopped.
and i kept thinking about how i can’t be thinking this
and as i say this, i’m not thinking about how
i can’t seem to shake off the feeling of being watched.
as i type this in, i’m thinking- what if it’s some sort of goodbyee

and i think about how rude someone must be to
break a heart.
i think about how sad it is to fall in love with someone
who does.

read about things that may or may not matter,
it’s not necessarily a bad thing to represent your thoughts
you know all about disruption, I mean when you count the world as a whole,
like as a precautionary measure for when there’s nothing that can go wrong,
because everything already is.

anyway, today you wasted a lot of time (yet again),
trying to make me feel better about being me.

you said “it’s okay. i really don’t mind you doing this,
your mind is fascination and I want to discover.
it’s okay. we’re talking, don’t stop”
but i don’t know what that means, and you don’t either,
but you shouldn’t stay up talking to someone so dead.

the threat of torture is torture- torture.
i wake up each night, forgetting where i kept my heart
forgetting why i need to make this a movie, make it all mean something,
because it makes for better poems.
i call this one alchemy. i call all of them alchemy.

i write a lot about the tragedy my life is,
you write about the wonder-spark i am in yours.
and you put all the complicated in me
in poems more beautiful than sunrises, just vague enough to describe me.
I love twists in meaning.
I say that too much.

(continuation)

Day 2
It was all the business of a swift minute.
I rush down, impatient as I am, to the cart that had just arrived. Finally they were here, my boxes.
Then there was a dog that might have had a momentary freak out when he saw me, and hence decided to go for my leg. Pain shot up my calf and the man whipped his dog, which then retreated to the wheels of the cart.
There was a lot of shouting as I rushed inside on a limp.
I lost my glove, and right when I reached out to a replacement, a man entered.
He saw me! He saw my arm- or, didn’t see it.
I shove him out and slam the door shut.
I hear the chaos outside, the folks yelling at the dog.
I make my way out again, to make sure they don’t disturb any of the boxes’ contents.
“Come along!” I say, as I reach the front of the Inn. “The sooner you get those things in, the better I’ll be pleased.”
“Was you hurt, Sir?” asked the dog’s master.
“Not a bit. It never broke the skin.” I say, wanting to move on as quickly as possible.

They move the first crate in, following my directions; I then began to unpack it, not bothering about the hay that scattered about on the carpet.
I took out the contents- bottles of chemicals, big, small, round and thin, and test tubes- and spread them across the room, onto anything that could balance them. Much more bottles here than in a chemist’s shop, I suppose.
After all their efforts, they manage to get my boxes in without any damage. I began working immediately.
It is a hard matter to keep track of time when you’re this absorbed into your work, which explains why I didn’t notice when that woman walked in with my supper.
Oh lord, did she go on for a while.
However, more inconvenient was her timing. I didn’t have my glasses on, you see. She took notice of that, but I am quite quick with these matters. After quickly putting on my glasses, I complain about her disturbing me that way. She complains about the state of the room- hay all over her precious carpet. Does she expect me to be bothered by it?
She puts the supper on the table and starts cleaning the mess.
I cannot stand her loud presence and yell at her to “Put it on my bill!”
A shilling every now and then would keep her quite.
The angry storm retreated with a reluctant heart.
Later on I decide to deliver back my plates. I walk into the hall and of course, the racket that was there turned into pitiful whispers. “Poor fella. Must’ve been an accident.” “Could be a loon, ya never know.”
Normalcy to me. I suppose there isn’t much else that comes to mind when you see me, what with all the bandages wrapped around my head, revealing nothing, but my nose.

I heard them talking that evening. They talked about my leg being black. Someone said I might be colored like a piebald horse, from the evidence of my pink nose.
Little did they know.

Griffin’s perspective

Hello, guys! I figured since i had homework due on Monday, updating this blog with my “story so far” based on H.G Wells’ novel, The Invisible Man, i just might finish re-writing this third person perspective book on time! I also decided to write from the antagonist’s perspective, because why not? 
Good practice, and something to blog about. 

I will not waste time, as a matter of fact, in telling you why it is that I write this. However, I will make it known the circumstances that have led to this moment.
It was a miracle. A perplexing, unprecedented miracle that I happened to discover: A geometrical expression involving four dimensions. A method by which it would be possible, without changing any other property of matter, except color, to lower the refractive index of a substance to that of air.
In other words, I had discovered the key to invisibility; to power, fame and glory.
Oh! What a wonder would it have been to have unparallel ways to control the very fabric of the world- the irrational minds of ordinary human beings.
I had big plans for my discovery. I had dreamt it all, but never once thought of the possibility of it all unfolding this way. Much to my dismay, these may be my final hours of peace. But I must make my intentions clear. I must make it known to someone out there that I have reacted as any sane man in an insane situation would, that it is not my fault that I suffer.
My name is Griffin, and this is my story.

Day 1
I arrive at Ipping Inn only to be greeted by an extremely taken aback woman at the counter. A natural reaction from any of my encounters, I think. I demand a room and give her a shilling. She takes me to a neat little room, free of any light as we enter, and rushes to open the curtains, remarking “It is such a wonderful day isn’t it, Sir?”
Small talk. Why does anyone bother?
I tell her my rather eerie requirement of absolute privacy and ask her for whether supper could be arranged as immediately as possible.
When do you suppose my boxes ought to be delivered?”
“Why, nothing sooner than ‘morrow, Sir.”
Tomorrow! How am I expected to spend time away from my precious research.
“Why Sir, there was once an accident that occurred on the steep slope up Bramblehurst station. A carriage up- settled. Accidents happen, don’t they?”
Not this again.
I decide to brush her off by asking her for matches for a pipe that wasn’t really out.
However, she was still curious. That’s probably why she thought she could try to know my reason for a visit to Iping by bringing along “a man wanting to take a look at the clock.”
I rush to let them know that my sole reason for a visit to Iping was my desire for solitude.
I believe that they understood, but their curiosity remained.
This clock jobber and woman seemed to be suspicious of me, as anyone would be, I suppose.
The woman’s cold attitude to my question on the positive delivery of an earliest of tomorrow forced me into a defense.
“You see, I’m an experimental investigator.” I say, trying to sound kindly convincing, “They contain my apparatus and appliances- and that is why I am in dire need of those boxes. They will allow me to continue my inquires.”
“Ah, of course, Sir.”
“In addition to my need of quiet, my accident-“
“Thought as much.” Said the woman to herself.
“- has left me with sensitive eyes, which is why, as you can see, I am fond of the dark.
”You will also be good to know that I do tend to lock myself up- sometimes for hours together- and even the slightest disturbance, be it a stranger’s arrival, renders me in a state of extreme annoyance.”
“Certainly, Sir. But might I be so bold to ask-”
“That would be all.” I rush to end our prolonged conversation.
She leaves, but the clock-jobber seemed to only have just begun. I saw him undo the works to delay his stay. I stood, silent and still, while we stared at each other for a good minute or so.
Once he realized, perhaps, he looked down.
“The weather-”he began.
“Why don’t you finish and leave?” I ask, anger finding its way to my tone of speech. “All that needs to be done is fixing of the hour hand on its axle. You’re only bugging-”
He interrupts me by saying he was almost done. Then he leaves.
Finally, my quiet.

Unfinished

i want to live.
i want to take the world in, bit by bit.
the heart wrenching truth about this is that i only exist.
i only walk about, more mind than soul.
more talk than feel.
but i want to be so much more.
i want to be a reason to be happy.
i want to be all the wonderful things like daisies
and summer night skies and constellations and a good read and
fairytales and magic and daydreams and heart-shaped candies
and hope.
i want to be colors so bright they almost break hearts.

omnipotent lover

i want to trace your thighs to your lips to your thoughts
to the time you first kissed me to when you made me feel complete
to the first time you put your hand up my skirt and felt the scars,
and unveiled what i hid myself in
to tell me i don’t just talk pretty,
to tell me i’m the prettiest.
to tell me you wanted
more than my heart.
to tell me you wanted more than just forever.

you said “you always take me to paradise.”
you said “we’re two sad people in love.”

i believe we are whole, eventually.
i believe all the sad things are needed to keep me interested.

someone asked me to describe you to which i said “i cannot.”
i can say you smell like the softest entropy.
i can say you make me weak.
i can say that when i’m with you, time doesn’t fly
and laws of physics don’t exist.

we’re just a little bit bigger than infinity tonight.