The Muse - Somerville Public School District / Somerville Public

Transcription

2015-2016
The Muse
Welcomes You! Players in this game of idiocy…
Editors:
Camile DeMacedo
Sarah Todoroff
Muse Staff:
Krystal Gibbs
Dominique Pisani
Breezy Jackson
Samantha Barber
Peter Phillips
Gabe Palmieri
Jillie Fisch
Kira Edgar
Noah Horowitz
The Muse would like to thank: Dr. Timothy Purnell
Mr. Gerard Foley
Mr. Scott Hade
Mr. Christopher Mulligan
Mrs. Jennifer Riggi
Mr. Kyle Franey
...and the Members of the Board of Education
Mrs. Harter
Mr. Lerner
The Muse is a student-run, student-produced publication that contains original writing, artwork
and photography of students in Somerville High School. Any similarity to other published works is
not intentional.
2 Muse Contest Winner
The Power of Love By Michael Mastrogiovanni It’s funny how some say love and hate are opposite feelings, but honestly they aren’t much different from each other. It is silly how fast one can lead to the other such as mine had, especially the destructive powers of jealousy and pride. Being a mortal teenager by two gods is
very humiliating. Especially when you’re banished to Earth, yeah that was me. I wasn’t so sure how it all began you know, it was like a blur to me. I awoke in total darkness; it consumed my inner light like a vacuum. I could make out dim shapes of a foyer in a palace of some kind. I could feel the inner void of the place and it’s cruel desire to end me. My lungs were crushed from the fall, but how did I end up here let alone in one piece? A door slammed, my heart raced with anxiety pumping every ounce of blood my body could produce, slowly but surely a faint silhouette emerged out of the ghostly condensed shadows. “Do not fear me Bethany,” I backed away and stumbled. “W—who are you?!” The shape stepped forward into the dimly lit light, a figure concealed in a brown hooded robe extended his surprisingly human hand. “I saw your fall my love, and you moved my heart like a boulder.” I felt like my head was soggy, spots danced on my eyes. “What do you want from me?!” I screamed. I was in no position to handle this right now. “I wish for you to spend eternity with me Bethany,” My blood froze, he used my
name
. “How do you know who I am?” The hooded figure shifted. “The wind speaks you know, I hear lots up here.” “Where are we?!” I growled. “It does not matter,” “Show me your face!” The hooded figure shook his head, “I cannot Bethany! It would ruin us! If certain goddesses knew of my love for you they’d slaughter you and bleed you like a pig!” I almost hurled of the thought of a goddess turning my insides out. “I want to go home!” I cried. I collapsed to floor in defeat and sobbed into my lap. A warm hand brushed my hair, “Bethany, this
is
your new home,” I went into a full wail and screamed out in agony, this was an insult! “
LEAVE ME ALONE!
” The cloaked figure comforted me, “Please don’t cry,” He whimpered. He sounded almost like a teenager but jumbled up into a million different ways. “Why do you care?! What am I to you?!” He placed a hand on my shoulder, “You melted my heart, I promise to be an honest and loving—!” “Enough!” I screamed. I stomped off like a little girl and emerged into the shadows the figure once came from. I collapsed onto the ground in defeat and wailed. The hooded figure emerged from behind me. “Come, let us rest.” I sobbed and followed the figure up a staircase. “You will sleep here tonight,” He led me to a room with two beds, one for me…and one for
him.
I fell onto the bed and drifted into a sickening sleep. One of my eyes opened, I spied the figure sleeping. Carefully, I rose from the bed and felt something on my nightstand, a candle. I created a small spark of fire in my hands and lit up the candle; I approached the sleeping figure and brought the candle to his face. I gasped, he was…
handsome
. He had short curly blond hair and a warming smile,
Eros.
I flew backwards and the candle dripped burning hot oil onto his skin. The handsome young man leapt up from his sleep and wings sprouted from his back. We locked eyes, it felt like an eternity before I said something. “I’m sorry…” “You stupid foolish girl, I warned you not to look at me. Now we can
never
be together!” He picked me up and flew me out the window; I fell out of his grip and landed onto the land below. “Ow,” I groaned. Eros flew over to me, “Now I have to kill you, you broke your vow!” I started crawling away but was knocked over flat by the love god. “You may never escape now Bethany, never!” The floating palace I was on was lying on a cloud; I could make out land below. “NO!” I screamed and leapt off the side of the palace only to, never, did I see Eros
again 3 Samantha Barber
10/20/15
A poet's hands,
Are stained,
By the ink that pours from her pen,
Writing too fast,
The ink spilling,
Soaking into the weathered skin.
A poet’s soul,
Is tattooed,
By every idea,
That has hoped to become a poem,
A poet’s soul is a curious thing,
Covered in beautiful words,
Some hurried,
While others are neat,
A poet’s lips are red,
By words that have been butchered,
Never forming correctly,
Always hurting them,
In the way they mislead,
With the killed hope,
Of getting their words out,
Correctly.
A poet’s mind,
Is filled with wonder,
The most beautiful things,
Their hands itch to copy it down,
To make their feelings true,
To preserve the moments forever.
A poet’s mind,
Is filled with sadness,
Magled feelings and meanings,
Spill faster and faster,
Draining them,
Onto the paper,
So that they can be free.
chapstick; we were crumpled dresses by K. Gibbs fingers in beltloops: we are storebought and packaged, sold to smilers, choking on tiny white things meant to keep them smiling: sold. we are an ideal, their vague notion of fingers on lyre strings, of warforged lyricals they ignore the fact that we are but slips of plastic, making the grade. their ignorant dissonance between the actual and the alternate: sold. sun sets on you, stars shine on me, and they swallow it whole; i look at you adoringly, and you gaze vacantly back. they are not interested in the grey, watery light of dawn. we go home. i’ll lose you, and it will be tragic, and they will swallow it whole. i love you. 4 achilles, reborn by
K.Gibbs
“i was a prince,” they murmur into sweat-slick skin, in the hollows where
no one will ever find it. “i was a prince.”
they can feel their abandoned kingdom like piercings,
molten gold through cartilage. phantom sword hilts
rest easy against soft palms, and the memory of calluses
does not fade. they have been waiting for an eternity to go
over the top, and the wait carves itself into their muscle memory, held taut.
the enemy is vague and hazy.
their sword clashes against the grand suburbia americana.
the wait is goddamn eternal; they are a general with no army, no war. there is a
listlessness that clings to their wasted potential.
the bloodlust burns in the back of their throat, and the obsession with bruises spills over.
“who do you think you
are
?”
they stare, coldly. the fire consumes.
“i was a prince.”
the soft sands of time rub roughly against the bones of an open fracture;
the immortal soul cradles their face in their infinite hands.
“i am love eternal,” they murmur, finding hand-holds and
ditches to sink in, eternally. the immortal soul hums.
the wrath drips through their wounds, staining, as the battle- evaporates.
the both of them would rather live miserable and die glorious.
the plagues will return, in time, but for now there are just
gentling touches, bitten off gasps, the burn calls them
closer, closer closer closerthe prince curls in closer; fingers curl against soft skin; the
immortal soul sighs in peace. “it is a fact of the universe,” they murmur:
“you do not touch what is mine.”
5 Nowhere to Go by Ned Philips
On my own little island, there is little means of escape
I sit alone, on my nearly treeless home in the middle of
a delta
My only neighbor, hardly acknowledges that I am even
there
Ironically the only thing I want more than to leave, is
him, my neighbor himself
Sometimes islands in this river delta form near mine
Lying within reach of mine, yet they always seem to
worse than mine
Nonetheless, within a month, just as gradually as
sediment built them up,
the river seems to carelessly erode them back into the
river in which they were born from
Even from a distance, his existence brings me comfort
even if he’s not the last beautiful face I see before I
sleep
His warm embrace needs not to caress me in order to
feel his tenderness
Yet that homey, morning bed sentiment he emanates
contrasts the coldness he regards me with
It’s not right I know
He’ll never get that same warmth from me that
I get from him, I know deep down
yet I choose to ignore that maybe hope and
time will prevail?
I’ll keep waving until he notices me from the
corner of his eye
I should transfer my affections to another person, another
island, another home
But must one move on, if there is nothing to move on to?
Shall I just build a bridge right into the unforgiving cold
river current
and drown all alone, while icey blood flows through my
veins
Far away there exists a better island,
with someone who will definitely regard me
But the seeds I planted from those few trees
will still take a couple more years until I have enough wood
to built a sizeable boat
I still sit in my one room cottage, looking outside the
window,
hoping maybe a new island will form
or someone will inhabit it and grow a beautiful forest
that will allow the island to resist the ever destroying
power of the water
Anything could happen
Someone might come and settle a surrounding island
I may build a pontoon and transplant myself with someone
else
someone who might want my affection in this barren world
as much as I want his
The island I am on now
Could potentially flow away with the rest of the river
Either as my fingers type on this keyboard
or perhaps later on until I can type no more
I may have to wait years until those trees grow
Until I can cut down the for imminent grove of oaks
and sail my way to a place with more life
However now I must wait.
Haikus by Ned Philips
Ocular curtains so light, yet they weigh down so much weigh me down to sleep Did you like the eggs
Yes I got plenty of them
Oh I had en-oeuf
The mountains call me
Lac leman flows through my mind
I swiss helvetic’
6 Victim: Broken Promises Empty dreams fill the heart of the victim The victim lie hurt; innocent As he arise he rises in retaliation to get justice an eye for an eye and wound for a wound He attacks a wound for a wound and an eye for an eye to gain justice He rose only to fight innocent another victim lies hurt Whose heart filled with
Empty dreams
and Broken Promises
Noah Horowitz
7 for that is sinful and glorious by K. Gibbs i am demanding my due. i am the devil in you, fingers tight and cold on your shoulders you swore to trust me; you promised in midnight candlewax and pastel pink paper your promises are solid gold, melted upon your lips, painted. (the pain hollows you out, scraped clean with cracked plastic spoons. the pain hollows you out. i am inside. every rip and cut and tear that follows you to the end of your leather bound storybook; those are mine. ) you are a poison to me, and yet i stay. you owe me for all the palmsup gifts and treasures i unlocked from my ribs and you owe me for every body that fell in your wake: there is blood on my hands, and yours are spotless clean. it is both your pneumonias and breathless tongue i do not work for free. 8 Arms at eye level. In sixth grade i was humiliated by my religion. Because of the fact that I believe that one person wasn't the son of god I had to endure straight arms being lifted at eye level As if that uniform symbol did not signify the losses Of my own ancestors with cruel animalistic Changes brought upon us. I grow up to a point to wear it is acceptable to leave a stack of pennies next to them in hope of a laugh Well pretty soon, if the pattern continues, it will be a pile of rocks And then who will be laughing? Because when they leave those comments They do not deteriorate, they do not blow away in the wind. We grow up, and are raised up to be a bundle of flowers. To look pretty, to be unique. I want to release myself from my roots and understand the world I want to visit the cycle The cycle that repeats itself I do not believe in hate, I do not believe in goodness Nothing is perfect, no person nor idea Everyday the majority of us make a vow to be nice To be good And everyday the majority of us lie to ourselves Because with every little joke, we are brought down It is because of this. It is because of this that we feel good about ourselves. Happiness is a scale. For one to be happy, the other one must be sad Why don't we realize this. Why can’t we just take our foot off the gas and head into neutral Why? Because neutral is boring And the common human can not be silent for Thirty minutes without being social This leads to us being on social media for and hours and hours Day in and day out We can talk without being seen For several hours in a day, we are voices without bodies We are anonymous and we are strong, For it has been proven that we could take one’s life, Without lifting our fingers one inch from the keyboard. And it is because of this that every day missiles are Launched and people are killed. It all starts when we are young Like in sixth grade, and their arms are at eye level... Noah Horowitz 9 A Title Gabe Palmieri An overture Bear in mind my barren mind For now my ship is sinking O wonder I, if God is kind My dwindling soul is blinking
A refrain Coldest ice and stinging dew The caustic bitter rills And embers in the dormant flue Which elevate my chills A return The glister of a fleeting glance That’s promptly razed with flame A preternatural happenstance And footfalls soused in shame A call to arms Fingers grip my fretful throat My past imbued with vim My future merely what I wrote And present ceased by hymn 10 Samantha Barber 9/22/15 The People You See I once knew a boy, He was taken right from a nightmare, Skin of marble, Eyes of obsidian, Shadows followed his every move, I swear I saw a distorted face, smiling too wide right at me. I once knew a girl, Her hair a waterfall of blonde curls, Her eyes were a color I could never quite name, She was always smiling and laughing, The one time she was silent, A growing sense of dread filled me, When I looked at her, Her mouth was filled with daggers, Her eyes completely red, She went out with one of my friends, I never saw them again, No one else remembered them, So I stopped asking. I met a stranger once, Their face darker than night, Their eyes twinkled like stars, They were talking happily, To a terrifying creature, It’s jaw was broken but it kept opening and closing it’s mouth, It’s arms dragged along; its sharp nails scraping the floor, I tried to stop the stranger from going with it, They didn’t listen. I once met a girl, She could see the creatures too, She told me in a hushed voice, “Don’t let them know you can see them”, I don’t know what happened to her. Shadows By: Garrett Cecere Shadows work in brighter daytimes, But take off when the clouds come out. Who do I have to comfort me, When I am still in times of doubt? Shadows my behavior mirror, Faces showing no emotion. Who do I have to calm me down, In the midst of my commotion? Shadows show a darker passage, Coming out when moods are light. Who do I have to stay balanced, Bestowing sadness when it’s bright? 11 Springtime By Melissa Winter’s final harshness fades Under rosy petals That hang in pink cascades Gutters running white with blooms Set adrift by squalling winds That make them fly in plumes ‘Neath the sprawling cherry branch Sit revelers painted pastel hues By a flow’ry avalanche. It’s out of my hands By Ned Philips How do I cross that channel to get to that distant verdant island the intrigue and possibilities it holds could turn out to be as equally wonderful as it could be treacherous How would I ever find out if I never try Do I build a bridge, do I sail, do I dare to even swim is one way more superfluous than the other. So I decide to swim, even though I’m not the strongest swimmer Yet, I feel that building a bridge or boat may be too much, I should not get so invested, I should not spend so much time The channel seemed calmer from the shore yet those gentle waves appear to have become coarser just because of my presence My lungs fill up with water or maybe just fear Could I be drowning in my own personal trepidation Is this how I could go will my heart just stop? I still cannot manage to inhale any air the unforgiving waters drag me closer and closer to my foreboding fate A meager gulp of water is my last breath By some divine intervention I do not end my life sleeping with the fishes My heart beats, my blood flows, my mind observes and thinks; my eyes flow with stinging tears, I find myself back where my exploits began Does it matter that I rest on those shores Will it make my life any better? Why not build that boat, I could risk to die again 12 Samantha Barber 9/22/15 Red is a complimentary Color Pretty lips, Are perfect for pretty lies, I wonder, Do you question it? The agony you cause me? Your hands are always red my dear, It must be from ripping me apart, Then putting the sharp edges and broken pieces, Back together, In a pretty patchwork. My dear, Your eyes always shine so bright, Your cheeks flushed, Is it from anger or happiness? Your hands cut off my air, Nails digging crescent moons into my neck, I always did like the moon. Your hair shines in the light, Just like the dagger in your hand, Is that red I see? My blood compliments you my dear. How is it, That you become brighter, as I fade away? 13 The Search by Kira Edgar Searching. Footsteps echo off of cold pavement. Filling the world with booming sound. Eyes search for a message never sent. They glue their gaze to the the ground. Looking for matching prints. Searching out of a need to be spotted Taught to seek out certain hints. A pursuit that lasts until the predator’s rotted For many the scour is futile. Many never find what they need to see. But they will keep on hunting all the while. They waste away all that could be. They walk on two feet. After all they must move to find. But until two footsteps meet. They believe themselves crippled, in a bind. Found. Footsteps echo off of cold pavement. But now they know there’s more than one source. They’re going deaf, but they’ll still sing virtues. They’ll scream them out until they’re hoarse. Merging, melting, wound around. Identity dissolving into the quest. Their all but gone, they’ve been drowned. Everything gone at another’s behest. Everything begins to slip away. And all else fades, they hit a wall. Loss of persona’s a side effect. Of self not being their all. Lost. Footsteps echo off of cold pavement. They can almost hear it, might not be real. Everything’s abandoned, vacant. But, in the end this fate was theirs to seal. 14 His Voice by Jillian Fisch “Would you rather be blind, or deaf?” His voice. He always speaks to me when my mind is weak. He enjoys the sound of his voice echoing through my head while I sleep. “Blind.” Sometimes I answer him. Well… that's if I'm feeling up to it. Or I say nothing. And stare into the darkness where he must be. Sitting, staring back at me. “Why?” He's always asking me that. Usually, I don't know the answer. “Because I'm a listener.” I can only imagine what he looks like. I've never seen his face, nor any part of him. And that makes me wonder… does he have brown hair? Blonde? Are his eyes blue? Or green? Or does he look like anything at all? Is he only a voice in the darkness? “I see.” And sometimes he sounds like that. Maybe it's envy, or sadness. Though I could never know why. But after years of simply listening… I can feel the tones of his voice. “I hear.” Sometimes if I have enough of myself left, I make jokes. And each time… he never fails to laugh. “Very funny.” But I always wake right before I'm allowed to laugh along with him. I would look up at the ceiling and wait, hope that my eyelids would buckle under their weight, and close. And then… maybe I'd hear him again. Storm By Melissa Phillips Wind’s strong voice declares, “Never shall you make it home,” As storm rolls in to seize our ship. Hands of water bear us off our route Till sounds of splitting wood Herald true disaster. Into waves and darkness we are thrown While lightning’s slender fingers flash above We cling to planks and bleak hopes At last our feet find sand Drawing brinesoaked rags around us, We shiver with the breeze Cast onto deserted shore; Helpless in our solitude. 15 212 The Cherry Blossom Tree People must mill around In summer, waves lick her feet, As I navigate this lake. her toes cradle the soft sand, I watch the eels surround when she searches for relief; And let us eat cake. She stands. And none of them know In the crisp chill of autumn, What is hidden here. exhaustion nips at her legs, Graveyard beneath a show, Death overshadows the cheer. She yawns, drifts to sleep, listless “Watch out,” I whisper in rehearsal. She stands. We all lurk in the shadows, In the winter, heavy woes But these shadows are universal. Weigh down her sturdy shoulders, Corinne Mastrella Presti Frozen tears mark her dark dress She stands In the spring, she stretches her Aching limbs as she lets her Blushstained locks sway in the breeze She stands. Katiana Methfessel 16 The Auras by Samantha Barber
11/11/15
Dancing lines before my vision,
Grab hold of my mind,
Wrenching me away from reality’s fragile
grasp.
Dropping me into
The Rabbit Hole.
----The world is a play,
I stand as an outside observer,
Peering through the looking glass,
People are moving,
Stiltedly,
Acting out scenes,
As the viewers avidly applause.
The earth spinning round the Sun,
Galaxies away,
I am silent; Inert,
Dazed; Confused.
Am I really here?
Can you see me?
If you gazed at me who would stare back?
If you peered at me, what would you see?
Would I just fade-Away-Like petals in the wind?
Smoke billows;
Becoming shapes; Words forming,
Clouding my vision,
Veiling me from reality’s gaze.
My understanding has been stolen,
Is there peace?
I stop to ask the rabbit
But he is late; he must go,
It is only in my head.
l
F
I run from the Red Queen,
She brings resounding; Piercing pain,
Ripping away my weak hold,
Gripping the edge in vain,
Scrambling to grasp what is real,
Unbidden,
Darkness unfailing, overtakes me;

As
I
Fall
Into

The
Rabbit

Hole
Again.
The Mad Hatter and a mouse,
They give me tea, Short of an ounce,
Telling me stories,
Singing rhymes and fairytales,
I have been missing years,
It has felt like days.
The colors of this world are strange,
Brighter than the sun,
Mixing together,
They pick themselves off the pages,
And dance around me.
17 Sounds; they turn to echos here,
Becoming carnal much too easily,
Samantha Barber
11/11/15
The Auras
They are intrusive discord,
Rushing; Roaring; Bashing,
Crushing my skull,
Tearing me away.
I walk through the dark forest,
It feels familiar; like home,
The flowers dance and sing around me,
Their thorns cutting into my palms,
Pain is the only constant here.
The cards dance and sing,
Painting their
roses red,
The color of their queen; the color of Pain,
They mistake me for their own,
Seeing I too am stained red.
Song: Dreaming Through a Telescope
By Barbara Follet I can feel myself inhaling parts of your soul which changes into the best of us a changing retrospection of our memories i wish for you on a shooting star too bad they look like airplanes from afar you were the stars you were the stars (Demo at soundcloud.com/thestarvingdarlings)
I wonder if Alice is searching for me too,
Does she see the cheshire grin,
Smiling from the dark shadows?
Or has she escaped,
To the real world
? 18 Briannah Jackson Memoires of the distant Youth 7:08am 6 octobre 2015 “The Meadows” Through the falling snow drops Somewhere in the meadows
Deep beyond the shadows
The murder of my youth
Lies behind the truth
Among the tinseled leaves
Where the fairies weave
The embrace of my eve
The picturesque scene
Lulls me to the bells
The long exuberant quells
Incriminating my leave
Breaking the seam
Through the falling snow drops
Long enduring rain spots
The error of the day
Stays to take its claim
Drowning out the proof
Darkening the truth
Of my youth It's hard to tell the truth by Jillian Fisch
It's hard to tell the truth
When all you do is joke around
When you can't really
think
Of any other way to say what you mean
Without a laugh in your words
And it's hard to see who are your friends
When people are all friendly
When they talk to you kindly
But without ever really knowing
Are they your f
riends
Or are they just
friendly
?
But it's harder when you understand
But sometimes you don't
When sometimes… you need them to say it
To tell you what is what
When you've told them time and time again
“I know already, you don't have have to say it”
Everything is hard when you
Think you hear your name when it's not
Think someone is talking to you when they’re not
Think that someone is your friend when they aren't
And thinking it's okay to say something when it's not
But it's worse
When they are calling your name and you don't turn around
When someone is talking to you and you don't listen
When someone thinks they’re your friend but you don't
And when it's okay to say something, and you don't
All because you think too much
Because when everything from your past piles up
In a mountain of bad memories
You try not to experience them again
So you t
hink
too hard
While others think you d
on't
All because you have a smile on your face
19 Her in snow 1) her barren and forgotten misbegotten, the foggèd mind of a fantast dreams bereft judgement cleft and loam bleak she seeks a higher plane as the aether
opens beneath her the glass reflects Cain unable to see
screaming godsaveme
heaving breaths of ash and dolor 2) in the golden bourn burns her maw o how the smoldering vapors of a lost calling reek on auburn thread and as she falters the world turning slower 3) snow ashen and hoary the snow drops softly and buries her the floe cleaving from her broken glacier when her bones are brittle and all has frozen over look upon the land for it has called to her and she has denied the immortal thus filled her with the ichor of hell and an ache unquenchable each stark tree a crag dotting her wasteland Gabe Palmieri 20 Briannah Jackson 7:49 pm 7 November 2015 “The Meadows” Ode to Life’s Black Kiss As the arms of The Fevered One Come to grasp me tightly I don’t want to scream I can barely breathe So court me now, untethered rest and bleed me dry, Cloud of Fear For my immortal fragility, has no place here Emancipation from the dying Roaring in my bones Alleviate the senseless trying of my aging soul And call upon my leash The leather line that binds us all Have the contract released to the reciever of my ode. Carry me over, to the place you said the one that exists in the corner of my dreams As night whispers to me Where the hands of The Shrouded One cradle me to sleep And I am young forever in silent peace. Noted looks By Ned Philipps According to the boy, his beauty is a mere subjective point of view in the face of others around him somehow objectively average I’m guessing that he has yet to look in a mirror From the bottom all the way to the top His legs rise up to his chest, all with the same grace as ashen birch in spring, skinny, yes, but they brim with sure and sleek vigor His chest runs smooth in the manner as freshly fallen snow an evanescent glistening that somehow lasts; so smooth and unblemished as if the sun had never shown The pure, lustrous expanse reaches to an honestly surreally beautiful visage Dotted with two capturing ellipses of unadulterated sky, each with a black sun; There has yet to exist a façade of gloom or dreary moments All nestled within a face with the surreal definition of hellenic marble Then his hair A rainbow existing on the inside manifested into physical form Iris herself resides on his head A constant reminder that his body is a manifestation of athenian goddom on earth Elizabethanly alabaster Elizabethanly iconic UnElizabethanly enduring; authentic 21 Samantha Barber 12/15/15 Do not look at me with stars in your eyes, And prayers on your lips, I am a wolf in sheep’s clothing, I will eat you alive. Do not look at me, With an expression of such, Hope and love, I am a broken thing, I can’t even save myself, How could I help you? Do not look at my bloodstained knuckles, With reverence, Willing to kiss away my pain, There is nothing left but rage in me, An empty space left in my chest, The only things these hands are capable of is destruction. Do not look at me hurt, Tears in your eyes, And pleas on your lips, I warned you, did I not? I would only rip you apart. “Loving something broken never ends well” Such an addiction I could never live without you are my love, truly, without a doubt. When I needed to talk Hand in hand, you’re ready Always holding you close to me there’s you I could always count on. Capturing memories talented you are, I know. and at night when I need you You would lit up and glow. I hope you don’t mind, just using you, you knew and when boredom would strike then I would always touch you. 22 A Great Tragedy The despairing winds have drifted them astray Battered shallows wash away their white ship of hope Heavy fogs have now enthralled their clouded minds They are mere remnants of time swept aside They huddle together; a fading amber in the dark Heads bowed in solemn poses Staring at tattered clothing and no haven of home Warmth of comforting flames are absent As are shoes that caress their feet The winter moon provides no forgiveness In this moment of depression, a family long forgotten A simple prayer to provide them soothing warmth within Sinister
by Andre Balboa Aurora lights along the dark, sinister corridors
the dark knight rises
the clock strikes midnight, an event to remember
emerging sorrow
bloody howling, sinister lurks the shadows
severed fate.
down, down, passing bodies, rise, soar… floating souls. 23 Samantha Barber 8/30/15 Nature Embodied Nature has formed her body, The earth beneath her feet, The wind howling in her cupped hands, The electricity crackling along her skin, The fire burning bright in her eyes, The ocean held trapped in her heart. They see bloodstained wolves when she smiles, They hear the wind whispering nightmares when she speaks, They feel sparks on her skin when they touch her, They smell fire and ash when she walks past, They taste the ocean heavy on their tongues when she is quiet, They fear what she is. They see trees ripped from the quaking ground, They hear the angry screams of a tornado, They feel their bodies burn from lightning, They smell fire; always coming from her direction, They taste salt water; So heavy on their tongues, turning their screams to gurgles. They shouldn’t have ever tried to control nature in human form, The elements were not meant to be tamed. Excerpt from
Caging For Clues By Ned Philips and Gabe Palmieri. Early this morning, I got a call from Sheriff Jacques du Marécage, an old friend of mine,
down in Washington County, where Côte Rochée is. While some old French fisher was making
his quotidian rounds around the middle of the bay, he lifted up a lobster pot as per usual, but
instead of a cage full of his day’s catch, he found a lone lobster feasting
on what was later confirmed to be a slowly putrefying human forearm.
Apparently the smell alone made the poor sap retch. So the Sheriff sent
his boys to go dive around the area, and they came up ghost pale. The
disgusted divers excavated a set of decomposing, lobster-chewed
human remains; a heavy cinder block was tied to the remaining arm.
There’s no way in hell that man would possibly tether himself to a brick
and throw himself over a boat; this was either murder, or the most
complicated damn suicide I’d ever seen. While I love Jacques and deeply
respect his ability to bring groups of rowdy vandal teenagers to justice,
solving a crime of this degree was not within his skill set.
Check out the entire story & watch it unravel on Google Docs with the QR code above:
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