3.14

three parts of 14 small angels

159

digits of something incomparable

265

perhaps there are multiple incomparable

358

who knows? it's not like we can tell.

979

its not like it would be easy.

323

it would be rather hard

84

to find something we only just believe in

there’s things nobody talks about.

the way grown men take little girls

rip them inside, outside, across

but i’m here to stay on topic.

i’m here to say

exactly what you want to hear

at exactly the right time

to pertain your attention.

im here to draw blood

and im here to make you feel

Because hearing about a topic you read about everyday

isnt making anything better for anyone.

but that isn’t going to be an easy thing today

there are people higher up than us

who would rather my finger be on the trigger of a gun

then turning the page of a book.

twenty two to forty eight cases of rape occur every year in asheville

there was one last june

it was a calculated attack

and he knew what he was doing.

and he was not the only monster here

there are so many

and its impossible

for them to remain unknown forever.

and while no one experience is the same

theres always a fundamental element

of backlashing emotions

and they’ll taste like bile as they creep up the back of someone’s throat.

you don’t want to think about it.

taboo. not for public conversation

we shouldn’t talk about those who are victimized

in case something may happen to us.

you don’t want to think about any of it

the double standard

that every person can be broken

ripped inside outside across.

one out of four girls and one out of six boys

experience some sort of sexual trauma

before the age of eighteen

and it’s not like you should know that off the top of your head

these statistics aren’t acknowledged

because there are cities like here

where everyone is all about “stopping rape culture”

but nobody does anything and it continues to happen.

its not like people are asking for it either

i dont want my finger on the trigger of a gun

i dont want to be scared of my city

god forbid i were to lift my head

and say whats in my little dangerous brain

because words are the dangerous ones

and knowledge is the sharp blade of a bowie knife

god forbid i were to lift my head

and i know im taking a risk right now

because words are dangerous

and knowledge is the sharp blade of a bowie knife

People often say in the beginning that there was nothing. In this case, it is quite the opposite. There is no way to quantify what there was in the beginning because in the beginning there were no numbers and no such trains of thought to be dreamed up. In fact, there was no such bed to do the dreaming in.

If there ever was a beginning, I would know nothing of it, for I was not there, as I was not something if there was nothing. When there was something, it all sprung out of control. And it wasn't beautiful- it was crashing waves and sizzling of molten rock and flashes of red hot lightning like the streaks of pain that occur during the worst of headaches. I digress.

But when there was something, there was also turning slowly of soil, there was slimy, unaesthetic creatures pulling themselves from the depths onto sodden rocks that stank of sulfur. And, overtime, as that creature progressed and managed to bring itself to the trees, to it's feet, to it's paths, I also had my own beginnings, deep in the brains of the infant race like a tulip bulb near a fence.

There also is no feeling until one is sought out and thought of, no thinking without a definitive understanding of pain. Pain, in it's infinite glory and wisdom.

For I am pain, of it's own sort, the kind that sinks in slowly and hits you in the middle of the night at realizing the bed is too cold for comfortable dreaming. The pain that comes with a phone ringing at three A.M., the kind of pain that would strike every time the Grandfather clock does. I am the pain that some take days to seek out, devote their lives to, ruin their lives for.

a dark twisting night

holding nothing to the beauty of your eyes

a breath would shatter this silence

i think

but i breathe in anyways

i heard the way you breathed in as i did

and looked over

but you didn't really smile a lot

anyways

so i held my tongue

If there was ever a desolate landscape, this one would have to do. As the sound of resonating anvils filled the hall, dust rolled in through the eastern-facing window. It coated the floor with such a thick brown powder that perhaps as a boy I would have written my name in it. I am no longer such a boy.

The roaring sea to the west, perhaps, would bring me consolation. I was snapped from my thoughts, of vast sand dunes and saltier waters, when I heard a squire’s voice, warning me of the upcoming trial. I sat up, regaining my posture, and leaned my left cheek into my hand. The trial was trivial; a local farmer’s boy had stolen a knight’s wine barrel for his family. The boy was dragged in by his wrists, legs scrambling to find purchase on the granite floors. New flooring, put in as soon as my father passed. I have the throne of a conqueror, I told the builders, I should have a throne room that is equally fitting. Decorated with flowing red banisters and supported by beams that had depictions of knights riding into battle, I could tell the room was working terror into the boy. I paid no attention as his crimes were confessed, my eyes tracing over his familiar cheekbones and fine golden hair, whiskey-brown eyes seemingly begging for mercy. I finally spoke up.

“The boy wanted a drink.” I stood up, strolling down the silken red path to bend down in front of him. “Shall we give him one?” It hit me. He was the farm-boy I played with as a child, my father leading me out of the castle’s walls to interact with those of a lower class society. His name, I could not recall, but I could recall the face he had on. Men wear many faces, but within the castle walls, fear rears it’s ugly head most often. His head lifted up, eyes focused on me. Tears sprung to his eyes as I waved a hand to have a wine barrel brought.

He was drowned, that day, in a barrel very similar to which he stole.

I looked in the mirror as I awoke the next morning, guilt weighing at my stomach and pulling it down as I strode to my dresser and pulled on my robes. I refuse to let the servants dress me- a King dresses himself. I examined my features briefly, noting that fine black hairs were covering my chin. Finally. Powerful men have beards, I recall, chuckling to myself. I walked out into the hall to be greeted by my guardsmen. Once my fathers, and their fathers were his guards, so on, so on.

i can hear my breath in your ears

im sorry i didn't brush my teeth

they’ll sink into your knees

blood will bloom and get rid of my uncertainties

i am the epitome of

pain in all your dreams

it's no issue to me if

i get to smoke all your screams

one day i will see you breathing

i come from this family with this string of bad

a string around my upper arm

a string around my neck

a string around my knee

i breathe in fumes i can't not do

im waiting in the bathroom for you

my makeup smeared and you just sneered and now i forget the color of your eyes

i was never a prodigy. this is all so terribly difficult to me.

sunshine and green

shining through your window

the city lights breathe

i see your words catch in his ear

in the corner i sit and breathe very quietly

in a silent-ish moment the disturbed come alive

a shuddery noise rose from her throat as he grabbed her neck and she started to choke

i stand up, feet softly, and cry at the door

nobody tell him what he’s waiting for

oh! a hospital wall!

a breathing and living oddity

taking my heart and breaking it on the floor

breaking your back and youre making a war

oh! a hospital wall!

the pain of the shocks and the smell of the rot

my teeth will fall out and my toes all chopped off

my blood in a goblet and my body on a cross

im not saying you’re mean im just saying im not good enough for being around you and i apologize

im on the edge of stupid and defiant

the defining factor

a substudy of surgeries to make you understand

the non-pain of being me

i think i shouldnt be upset because i’ve got a feel-good family

im the guitar’s cruxifix

a rage of shitty messy gigs

tonight ill piss in your window

tomorrow ill piss on your car

my eyes are glued to your

star lights in a demon spur

a green light means i’ll stay inside my skin

oh, what a temporary shame

when my body fails you will your feet walk the same?

when my heart condemns you will you turn and walk away?

when my eyes are leaking and yours are still tame

i don't know if you'd ever understand pain

and i see you are bleeding under that smile

so you told me what blood was and i understand everything now

in your fishtank skull i see beautiful melodies

some under audit and some stuck in custody

inside his head are flowering blue ribbons

and they wrap around their wrists and they dance around like puppets

by the campfire they glance around teeming blue fire

and the blood blue veins will spill over in turmoil

in his words

every day

i hear the revolution and anger

i feel the power of them through my feet

and in his eyes

he's the salt of the earth

I stood, barefoot, on the sandy plane that I assumed from now on would be where I made my home. The dried blood flaked off my neck in large chunks, and I reached off to feel it on my shoulders. The substance could only be compared to dry paint. My shirt was once white, I assume, but now it was a dark brown, crimson staining the rags that remained glued to my tattered form. I grimaced, staring around the area as my breathing began to pick up. I would die here, if someone gave me the chance to. I gingerly touched my throat and immediately regretted it, a sharp "Shit!" erupting from my mouth as I tried in vain to recoil from myself. My back hunched, my eyes squeezed close as stunning pain erupted through my temples, blinding me with a stark white darkness. 

I breathed. 

There was a crashing noise, like a gong in a temple, somewhere to my left.

I closed my eyes. 

I wouldn't go. 

My breath hitched as I tried to take another breath and dust enveloped me, swirling down my rotten throat and into my lungs.

I can't breathe.

I can't think

I cant sea

i cant mke it

icanthope