Charlie May
This is just for fun, I don’t expect to be that good 😅 I hope someone likes some of what I do tho. :3
Charlie May
This is just for fun, I don’t expect to be that good 😅 I hope someone likes some of what I do tho. :3
This is just for fun, I don’t expect to be that good 😅 I hope someone likes some of what I do tho. :3
This is just for fun, I don’t expect to be that good 😅 I hope someone likes some of what I do tho. :3
“Finally!” I shouted to myself. I’d finally found my lost sock. I had been looking for it for God knows how long and it’s just here, on the table. Okay, whoever is playing a trick on me this isn’t funny. That was my favourite sock.
I sighed in relief. My 4-year-old’s sock. Me and my husband had been searching across the house all morning for this one stupid sock because he was refusing to wear any others. Typical. Now we will finally be able to get him to school.
Oh, there it is. I was just cleaning through all of the boxes of stuff in the cupboard and amongst the mess was an old sock. I don’t remember when I lost it but at least I won’t have to wear odd socks any more. It looked a bit ugly.
“It’s easier this way, It’s better for everyone, It’s better for me,” That’s what they say.
But I am not sure if I believe them. Who knows how many lies they have told, And how many they continue to say.
They keep me — My “sick, fragile” body — In this blurry bubble. I wish I knew what they looked like.
They don’t tell me how to clean the film. They don’t give me the correct supplies. I can’t see properly.
What do they all look like? What am I doing right? Am I doing anything right? Will they tell me?
I hear them all giggling, And I see their fuzzy silhouettes pointing, At the weird girl in a bubble.
I’m all alone, Will someone be my friend? Will anyone talk to me? Or will they just watch and laugh?
Please teach me how to look after they bubble. I want to look at them all, I want be human.
I want to prove them wrong. I’m not the “sick, fragile person,” That they all make me out to be. I want them to see.
They will see me, I am human too, I can be human too, Can I be human too?
(I like this // I think it can be interpreted as metaphorical and literal it’s cool but idk please tell me!)
I had come to almost enjoy my job, although it was hard to during the deep snow of November. Most of the bodies had been buried in the snow which I had thought would mean I get the day off my snow melts, so I must bury them in the earth. Stupid, really. Today was abnormal however, the blood was yet to freeze and it was actually quite beautiful. The red seeped into the the deep snow in a mesmerising pattern, like a fractal, as was making it easier to actually find the corpses.
The snow was starting to get annoying. It was seeping into my boots making my socks wet and was hard to wade through, like a dense swimming pool (I mean, that’s technically what it is). I’d say that I had buried about 10 of the 15ish bodies in this area. Not long left until I can go home and clean up.
(Part 2 of Beware)
I had always thought of my Grandmother as backwards, How she sang to the blackbirds.
She used to spend long times away, But she would always come back with clay.
It would be painted with such intricate patterns, That should only be on royal platters.
My mother told me to never mention Grandmother, Others called her the Necromancer.
I was oblivious to the meaning, Until I was out cleaning.
I had stumbled across a book, And I walked to the brook.
It was my favourite place, It felt like a cool, comfortable embrace.
As I started to read, The trees started to bleed.
The dead they sprouted, As for help I shouted.
Though, I was not hurt, And they seemed quite alert.
They asked, ‘Where is your Grandmother, child? For she shall make us not wild’
I did not know what to say, And I backed away.
As a Crow let out a single caw, I was in awe.
I ran until I was home, Past the silly fishing gnome.
My grandmother was the Necromancer, And I prayed they wouldn’t reprimand her.
‘Thank you. For nothing’ You had said. ‘For nothing’ You had said. Nothing? What is ‘Nothing’?
Was helping you learn to fly, Nothing? Was helping you reach the stars, Nothing?
Please, I am curious. Was helping you out of the dark caves, Teaching you to walk once again, Was it all nothing?
I would beg, I would plead, Down on my knees, For you to come back to me.
For you to fall into my arms once again, And I would care for you. And I would love you. But that shall be no more.
I will not sob, I am not as pathetic, As you seem to think, I am better.
And if you would once again, Come stumbling back, Searching for my aid, You will only find locked doors.
Please, for once, Think of others, And learn their value, For I am not disposable.
Learn to be a good friend, Learn to see people, Instead of my blinded, By your own light.
I hope that you will, I hope that no one shall go through what I have. I hope you will no longer betray, And you will learn to stay.
I had always been curious, If Death gets time off. Surely they must, The work must be so tiring.
But who am I to judge? I never went to talk to her. We only ever made small talk, She was too busy for anything else.
Maybe when they take breaks, That’s when the miracles happen. That’s when the near constant flow of souls, Stop banging at my door.
In those spare moments, I feel as though I have room to breathe. Maybe she too, Feels the same.
I will sometimes see her, On her days off. Sipping a glass of orange juice, With a colourful straw.
I fell sorry for them, For they rarely get to finish it. Throw it away, To the doves.
She had never understood, the concept of heroes and villains. It confused her, how could people be all good or all bad?
She viewed herself in the middle. She was neither good nor bad. She had done good, She had done bad.
She didn’t want to end up in the centre, Of all the trouble. But for her, It was inevitable.
As her lover, She was what you would call a “hero”. And wherever her lover went, She followed.
She wandered through the fog, Unaware of the danger she was getting into. She was guided only by, The light of her love.
When the fog cleared, She was lost amidst the chaos. Fighting raged around her, And she did not know what to do.
Yes, she wanted to help her lover, But to hinder would be fun. She did not know who she was fighting, But neither did she.
All the questions, Created a cyclone on her mind. Would she help? Would she hinder?
The scale was balanced, And she was tired. All she wanted was for her and her love, To rest on their bed.
She decided to do nothing, To remain a bystander. To merely watch the damage, And make soup for her lover.
It truly was the best soup.
(Now I want soup 😔)
(TW/CW for suic1de and a kinda graphic description)
The wind blows my hair. I’m standing on the edge again. Who knows how long it’s been since I was last here. The time passed so slowly it felt like an eternity. The long itchy grass strokes my jeans and the sea spray throws needles onto my face. The wind is cold, blowing inland, and spells of salt. It is quite refreshing. When I look down, the jagged rocks look comfortable. The sea crashes onto the rough edges and the clawed cliffs in the most mesmerising ways. I look back up towards the sky, and I hope she isn’t watching. Though, the sky is so dark I doubt she would be able to see me — a tiny speck on the sandy cliff. I will see her soon because I am much braver this time. I was a coward last time and I went home, but now, I will fly. I will soar high above the clouds and into the sun, and we will be together once more. I have missed her greatly: all of her odd little habits, her beautiful short hair. I pray she will be happy to see me, and we shall warmly embrace each other like we used to. I started to panic, but it was too late. The fall seemed to last longer than it should’ve. But not long after my feet left the sand and I spread my wings, my flight came to an end. It was not as painful as I expected. The rocks acted as swords, cracking my ribs with the most satisfying crack. My head crashed onto another rock and I was able to see the birds achieving what I failed to, circling above my body as it was presented as a gift to the waves.
I will see her soon.
The little girls, They never forget, When you break their promises.
When you break their trust, When you go back on your word, When you break a deal.
‘Oh, but I couldn’t, It was not possible to keep!’ — You might respond.
And to that I say, It is too late. She will never forget.
You might brave broken something, Something much bigger, And worse than a promise.
However, I hope you did not. I hope that you will become once more.
And that together, You and the innocent girls, Will laugh and frolick together again.
If you were to ask me — Which you have — What Victory were to taste like, I would say blood.
Blood, The blood of those, Who fell because of you, Because of what you wanted.
Blood, The blood of your own heart, That was spilled many times, To achieve what you wanted.
You believed it was right, You believed you were doing good. But take a moment to reflect, How much good did it bring?
What lengths did you go, To reach your goal? Did your hand need to stretch, High through the clouds?
Did it slice through the clouds, As it rained down on your blind eyes. Did you ignore the warmth as you bathed, Or did you comfort the clouds around?
Do you regret what you did, To get to the end? Part of me hopes you do, The sorrow of their loss far surpasses the Victory you won.