The face of my sun, gleaming and glorious, as we sit, the warm feeling enrapturing, I want to be by your side with every step into the light.

I am a bad person. These choices rippling out devastating those caught in between. I’m pulled apart in two directions, tripping and falling with every step grasping on substance for support, I’m sorry, for leaning too much, did you break?

You’re fragile, you can’t handle my weight, retreating and leaving you behind, when you run after me (as you always do) i’ll push you away (as I always do), i’m sorry, for letting you fall, left you broken and bruised.

The walls brown, slowly peeling off, leaving a blank beige mute of color or noise, the pictures have always had eyes, staring up from their shattered domains, I’m sorry, the tears and shouts, they mean nothing anymore you’re not here, and I barely am.

In muted tones, the world is dressed in beige, A tranquil shade, a canvas without rage. It whispers tales of sands in distant lands, And tranquil shores where endless beauty stands.

Amidst the vibrant, bold, and vivid schemes, Beige rests in quiet, in sleepless dreams. In subtlety, its elegance does gleam, A color like a whisper in a dream.

That word like tired, The word that feels heavy on your lips, Slow and dragging on your tongue, That weight that sits on your chest at night, Confining you to blank thoughts, And makes you sleep past your alarm.

Bones and muscles aching, Just to stop the endless stretching And tears inflicted, Day by day, Saying you'll get stronger, But it hurts, But don't be weak, don't stop, sleep.

The morning light is grating, That word cementing your eyes shut, That remedy of sleep doing nothing For the buzzing in your brain, the hole behind your eyelids, And your dried up throat.

No energy to live to start your day in the sun you would rather you’ve put your eyes to achieve that perfect color of nothing and the silence that once was

This is a letter for you. I’m sorry for what I said yesterday, and I think—I know that it’s best if I move on. I also know this letter will mean little to nothing to you, but I hope you know how much it means to me. I just wish I could’ve stopped before it went to far, that our story didn’t end with this letter.

Goodbye, The lady across the street

This is a letter for you. I’m sorry for what I said yesterday, and I think—I know that it’s best if I move on. I also know this letter will mean little to nothing to you, but I hope you know how much it means to me. I just wish I could’ve stopped before it went to far, that our story didn’t end with this letter.

Goodbye, The lady across the street

Start with this end, that’s framed in the middle, that’s hopefully a new beginning.

I can see clearly now, for better or worse, I can hear the whispers, facing my back.

Eventually you’ll look into your mirror, and see a face, your face, just different.

Curls instead of friz, Contacts in place of glasses, eyeliner and lip gloss, tank tops and jeans, your reflection has faded, mine hasn’t

This honey sick sweetness, infecting my bones, I’m indebted to you, I’ll stop casting stones,

The distance between us once felt very cold, but one step forwards, now that distance feels old.

Sorry that this doesn’t make any sense. Such is the beauty of this prompt. Read this like it’s a random scene grabbed out of a book. (I know the characters are inconsistent and the dialogue is trash. I’m outside if my comfort zone) Anyways :) read it and maybe you’ll enjoy the chaos!

Rowan spasmed in pain, doubling over and vomiting onto the grass. She stepped forward to do something—-anything, but he held out a hand to ward her off. Black bile poured out onto the grass from his throat, turning it brown as steam rose off of it. Confusion swarmed her mind, he said that they succeeded, that he couldn’t feel the darkness anymore. Did he choose to lie, or did she choose to believe?

“Don’t, please.” Rowan said firmly, “I can feel it, you have to get away.” He bent his head in shame, before another scream escaped his lips.

“Rowan…how long?” She sat down at a distance, aware of her stupidity, but she couldn’t let him face it on his own.

He looked up at her, his irises completely black. “It did stop for a while, I swear! But then-then-“ He gaze wandered to something over her shoulder and snapped back, unfocused and…feral. Something inside her was beginning to break, but she had to stay strong, stand tall.

“Listen to me Kira. You have to end this. Me. It. I can’t contain it forever, and it will use me to kill. I can’t do this anymore, I can’t.” He looked at his hands and let out a choked sob: they were dark and glowing under the moonlight, consumed by golden veins. It was a sick sort of beauty, like the steely glory of a knife before it killed.

He was her heart, but now he was a weapon.

“How can you ask me to do that Rowan! How can you say that to me after all of our suffering!” If she killed Rowan, the memory of his stupid smile and his tormented face would tear at her mind for the rest of her life. He would leave a empty husk in his wake.

“There must be something to do, some craft or spell. I’m literally fucking magical!” She tried to recall anything she missed in the previous ritual, nothing.

“Well I’m literally turning into a fucking demon!” he growled.

Suddenly, there was no Rowan. The creature lunged and she thrust her arms out instinctively, the protection runes on her arms glowing in response. The creature slammed into a silver wall, clawing at the magic as it wrapped around it, trapping it instead of her.

It screeched in pain and fury. Was Rowan gone, was that it. If she killed it, would she be killing Rowan, or the demon he had become? She walked towards it sadly, hands held in a defensive position. It’s head whipped towards her, and the creature spoke.

“Kira, daughter of Calypso. I can smell your power,“ It shuddered in delight, “and it’s smells devine.”