BardOfTheApocalypse

Imagine a place where tiny patches of brown, crunching grass find themselves pelted with angry raindrops. Imagine a place where green cracks of lightning within purple and grey storm clouds produce flashes of white light in absolute silence, thunder forgotten. Imagine a place where dusty, ancient cushions grow mothballs and layers of fine, feathery sand. Imagine a place where poorly lit hallways reek of stale pasta and rotting fruit. Imagine a place where tight, isolating cells are filled to the brim with the silent yells and shouts of prisoners, their mouths moving in a mockery of suffering but no sound escaping their closed throats. This is

Imagine a place where the sunlight burns the surface of skins, leaving them red and raw. Imagine a place where trees stand stock still, absolutely motionless, refusing to bend to the will of the wind. Imagine a place where shadows created by square, windowless grey ruins provoke no solace from the melting heat. Imagine a place where the beige and orange sands burns soles and bites hard enough to leave scars. One day, she found herself lost. Clutching the hand of her mother, she shuffled with the crowd of tourists, equipped with cameras and plastic sun visors. She scanned the scene in awe, a collection of ancient stone structures inscribed wi

He is inside the aquarium, in the little back room where the fish not on exhibit are kept. The secluded storage closet, tucked away, behind hallways and "staff only" doors, rarely lets go of the secrets it holds. The silent black door, with its tiny lock, is passed by unnoticed by the fascinated patrons of the aquarium, little kids transfixed by leaping dolphins and colorful clown fish, and their parents, spaced out, simply keeping their children in sight. But he, bored with his family's slow pacing, wandered off in search of something more exciting. His tiny stature allowed him to see through the moving legs of the other visitors and slip by

Imagine a massive private mansion, where a billionaire and his family live, residing on acres of perfectly manicured lawn, surrounded by colorful gardens cared for by a team of expert gardeners. Imagine a daughter standing in front of her home's double doors, sanded blonde wood, intricate carvings covering the edges, privately commissioned. Imagine her knocking on the door with the knuckles of her left hand, one, two, three raps. The butler promptly unlocks the door to let her in with a respectful bow. She steps inside. Imagine a cluster of town houses, on right next to the other. There is no space between them to even walk. They are all but

When I was young, I found out that ghosts live in my basement. I don't know how they got there. They were always just there. They just stayed with the house, I guess. They never left. The house that I live in now is the only one I've ever called home. My family has lived in this house since my birth. Every single memory I have in contained within these white walls. From the outside, my house looks like two big boxes put together. The first box is the garage, which is only storage-- there's no room for a car. The second, larger cube behind it contains the hallways and corners of my spirits. Sound travels so well in my corridors. A mouse sne

My shadow will never leave me alone. It attaches itself to my feet and copies my every move, taking my steps and making my motions, saying that I am you and can prove it by doing everything I do without fail. I'll let you tie yourself to my feet and try to wander away, but you can't move because you're bound to your creator. And when the sun calls in sick, my stalker disappears and I think that I'm finally free but then it always reminds me that I'm right here, taking your steps and making your motions even if you don't see me, you can't get rid of me. I am you. 'You're not me,' I say, 'I'm alive and you are not.' Yes I am. I'm as alive

The tv is too loud and the fake laughter hurts my ears but at least the sound distracts me from those voices in my head saying I've screwed up and it's all my fault and I'm going to die guilty. Guilty of being frozen to the floor and not moving to help when I could have changed everything, made it better, or at least tried because if I had then at least I would have an alias. It's the middle of summer but my toes and fingers are frozen solid and I won't cut them off. I want to keep them as reminders of what I could have done but I didn't but I don't know why. Who said hell was burning? Mine is frozen ov

I hate butterflies. I can see them, watch them float past in those unpredictable zigzag patterns that make it impossible to wrap my fingers around their technicolor wings. [it's even worse when millions of them are fluttering around your head, tickling your ears and gently tugging your hair and sitting on your shoulders and obscuring your vision until all you see is blue and purple and orange black-rimmed eyes.] cause you can put your hand out, and one might gently land on your fingertip, but scatter when you close your fist. [catch me if you can, or maybe just don't even try cause we both know you never will.] they leave that dust on you

Keep moving, just keep moving don't stop to say goodbye, because then you might stay and the pre-written end won't work. I stick my hand out and let a snowflake drop onto my finger, look at the white speck and say don't leave me, but it melts and lands onto the ground where I can't help but crush the fragile structure of your dreams. My eyes are black sockets in a shadowed face with a frame of wind-messed hair, and I think I cannot be this but the mirror won't lie, right? Break it, it lies. Take a crisp white corner of your unfinished fairytale and write a message for me, send it though the wind and pretend that I'll catch

It's cold, so cold that I can see your lips turning blue and skin cracking but I won't give you my warmth because you deserve it, why don't you go and feel reality without your fake fires and burning hells. I stood aside while you ignorantly knocked over the candles and scarred my hands, then I was trying to take a bit of the words not burnt and send them to you but once you touched them they turned to ash. Take a step, you don't know that your footprints go up in flames behind you, so go ahead and take a walk through the city and make it a dead battlefield of ashes and embers. And now you stand there immobile in the froz