You are the sun Lighting up my days Shining hope in my life The opposite of me I am the moon Reflecting light Not my own But that’s yours The stars are friends Not quite as bright But still in my sight Storing wishes Together we are the sky Working by your sides Sharing our stories Inspiring more

Lelo must lay low, for however long it takes, Until the sky goes dark, and the moon is the only light, Or until Coloria gives up the fight. Maybe when it turns light, It will end without more emotion heights.. Lelo must lay low, if only for a while, Even as his father’s heart turns to bile, And his kingdom becomes nothing more than an ashy pile, Lelo must lay low for a while. After all, if his brother were here, he would say, “ There is nothing to fear. You hear? Lay low for now Lelo, for they don’t deserve your pity.“

Pain takes over As I lay in bed Hoping that tomorrow Will be way better Then today as I Drown in my own Tears I feel like I need to gasp For air but I I can’t because Everyone will hear

Have I lost my voice? I call out your name. You say to be quiet, But you’d never betray. Right? You argue for what you believe As I listen with full attention. I try to speak, but you won’t perceive As I reason against contention. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you’re right. But that doesn’t mean you should ignore my plight. Guess that’s it. Guess I’m done. I can’t keep running from each little one. You force words I never said As I stare in disbelief. I try to speak, but you turn your head As I turn away in grief. Have I lost my voice? I love you, but I can’t understand. You’ve changed through the years, And I stand alone. Right?

Cogs turning and engine thrumming Thick skull churning and body pulsing Finally you have awoken You machine body You falsified being. Metallic skin And metronome heartbeat Keep on whirring Keep on churning You animated thing. You are nothing But the crafted muse of your maker A perfect engine operated to never fail To never falter in your step. So jump for me Clap for me It is only by command that you act An obedient silver stature Born of springs and coils. Authors note: i think the metaphor is something like ‘the body is a machine’

Don’t look down Don’t look behind You will be more scared Then the first time Your greatest fear Your largest lie Will creep right back If you give it time Climb that wall Straight up to the sky Don’t give up Don’t comply This fear of heights Restricts your life Brings you down Confines your mind Don’t let it win Don’t let it decide This is your show Run your own life

What if the impossible wasn’t quite so far out of reach after all? By that I guess I mean, what if every possible future is sitting atop a shelf, and fate rests in the hands of your own - quite literally which future will you stretch your hands towards claiming? Maybe the path past taken rests right up front. Easy to grab without much effort. But it’s not as if the simplest choice is your only option. What if your shelf is littered with possibilities scattered varying distances from the edge, with the back row most desired, but most obscured from view? The craziest dreams and wildest aspirations no one but you could understand. The impossible novelties. But who’s to say anything on your shelf is impossible to acquire? Who’s to say you can’t look past the simple life and go for something more original? Something that takes a bit more effort to take hold of. Maybe standing in your way are easier reaches. An array of knickknacks tempting you with their addictive shine. Perhaps your focus is locked, and you are able to see past the allure of temptation. But you must also consider that the further you outstretch your hand, the more likely you are to grab the wrong item by mistake or brush the back of your hand against another in such a way it clatters to the floor. Will you settle in the face of failure, or embrace the embarrassment of mistakes and forge forward? And what about finding the strength to aim for one thing when society expects you to set your sights on another? What if society provided a stepping stool below the left hand side of your shelf, expecting you to turn out a particular way? Opportunity may increase if you follow the path others support you achieve, but you must also accept limiting yourself solely to a fraction of your capabilities. Sometimes society is on your side and the left is where you wish to be, but if a stepping stool is placed where you don’t wish to go will you find the strength to turn it down or to convince that the stool be moved elsewhere? Seizing your desired future at the back of your shelf is by no means easy, but on the same token is far from impossible. It’s a game of sorts, navigating an infinite number of trinkets until you find your own. It’s a game of resourcefulness, requiring careful skill and the courage to take risks. A game of thinking outside of the box and allowing your fingers to stretch just a little bit further. It requires patience and the strength to try again so you can learn what works and what doesn’t. It’s the game of life, and I can’t wait to see where you set your sights and which future you embrace as your own.

As moments of emotion surpass reality. We realize we’re all just evaporated shells, of our former selves; come one come all to see... Where sometimes life, twists the fates. Begrudgingly in forsake. A cruel slice of entertainment, for wandering eyes to awe. Poor souls, begging for comfort. In a world designed to see us fall... It isn’t a pleasantry, and certainly not a joke. As our human counterparts laugh and poke. One persons dismay is another’s intrigue. One persons hope, another’s disease... -HMG

He was a splinter in her thoughts. She tried to forget him completely but with every thought he wedged in further and further. Every text wasn’t enough to sway her to reply but yet it every text reminded of her the peace and happiness he brought her soul. All she wanted to do was forget him and yet sharp jabs of pain pierced her soul when she thought of him.

“Chaos is a friend of mine.” - Bob Dylan When the door slid open, I hesitated before stepping off the elevator into the basement. The day had not gone as expected. While meeting with the transition team things had gone awry. All of our productivity had been reduced to finger pointing and a few expletive filled rants. It sealed my fate. Evicted from the proceedings, I was escorted from the premises by a chaperone. Even if I wanted to apologize for my outburst it was too late. I had gone too far. When the elevator arrived at our destination, a wave of apprehension washed over me. I poked my head through the doorway and looked around. A small vestibule provided a waiting area with exit doors on the far side. The dull illumination of an emergency exit sign was the only light in the room. An ominous feeling washed over me. I half expected the boogeyman to step from the shadows. “What are you waiting for?” my chaperone asked. “It’s time for you to leave.” “You first.” “That’s not the way this works. Either you leave or I’m gonna make you leave.” He took a step towards me to punctuate his response. I was not intimidated. Prepared to punch my way out of the elevator, I removed my eyeglasses and folded the temples closed. With a firm grasp around them, I turned to face him. He was a foot shorter and in better shape. The muscular curvature of his body bulged out of his poorly fitted shirt. Under normal circumstances, he probably could have whupped me. But I knew something he didn’t and tried to warn him off. “You don’t wanna pick a fight with me.” “Why not?” “Cuz I fight dirty.” I plunged the metal eyeglass hinge into his neck over and over again without warning. Blood sprayed from the gashes despite his attempts to cover them with his hands. I pushed him against the wall with punches to the abdomen. Unable to ward me off, his body grew limp and sagged towards the floor, though that didn’t stop me from kicking him a few times for good measure. After returning the eyeglasses to my face, I stepped off the elevator. Although they sat askew on my nose, the crooked frame served as a clarified reminder of the world that now surrounded me. Any blood that dripped from the frames onto my cheeks was disregarded. I considered it a badge of accomplishment. I walked across the adjoining room and pushed the metal security door open with a blood soaked hand. Once the door closed behind me, a muscular hand grasped the edge of my shoulder and tried to spin me around. I refused to move. While we struggled in a battle of wills, I pried his index finger loose and bit into it. He flailed about like a bucking bronco in a failed attempt at dislodging the digit. The more he yanked his hand away, the harder I clamped down. From out of the shadows, a gravelly voiced voyeur commanded us to stop. Everyone in close proximity cowered with fear. All except me. Locked onto the endmost joint, I tried to rip the finger from its socket, grunting like a rabid dog in the process. “Enough!” reiterated our anonymous host. Defiant of the instructions, I chewed a few seconds longer before turning my attention towards the voice. I stared into the darkness and spit the severed fingertip in his direction. Blood cascaded down my chin while I spat the excess on the floor. “Don’t ever tell me what to do,” I replied. “All you’ll be left with is disappointment.” “I know your transition in Purgatory didn’t go as planned, but you’re in MY house now. You’ll do as I say.” “And when I don’t? You think you’ve seen anarchy but you haven’t. Chaos is a friend of mine.” The shadowy figure stepped forward and leaned inches from my face. Our eyes locked in a demonic staring contest. Without flinching, I removed my eyeglasses and tightened the grasp around them once again. He was one word away from feeling the disproportionate wrath of my vengeance. And I hoped he spoke it.