The Fight.

There was a murderous intention glowing in her perfect ceramic skin. A tint of pink shone softly across her sharply drawn lips, pursing every time her eyes hooked onto mine. Her eyelashes spoke of a dark story hidden away. She walked as if the air lifted her with every step, pushing me to the edge of fear, slowly weakening my knees.I found a wall behind me. She inhaled, tasting the wind saturated with my fright; I knew there was no place left to break open, to hide. She was approaching, fearlessly, with a poisonous grin on her face, lighting up her figure in the engulfing darkness that surrounded the secluded place. The thud of her footsteps sent me spiraling down some deep unknown. She stopped, right in front of my face, sweat dripping down my skin. Slowly, painfully, she took the silver sword from me, and embraced it into a fire that blinded my eyes, an old love that burnt to ashes.


A Little Life Story.

This dream, this beautiful iridescence, let us just put it into a crystal vase, plant our seeds in and wait until life sprouts. Let us wait together until it grows its tiny little arms and feet, craving for our tight embrace in the cold. Let us pour our sweat and blood down the throat of the angel and wait for time to pass. It will pass swiftly, love, swiftly. We might wake up at night, looking for each other, but he will be there, slumbering, weaving his own dreams, smiling. We will put our little hopes into his food and the joy we sow into him. We will cry happily at the way he talks, when he begins to run, and finally, maybe, when he grows wings for a flight of his own. Maybe we will then be proud, that he was born from the dreams we made, together, in this resting place he left us.