Warm Fiction Fixation

The outside is hushed by falling snow. Flake by flake we are tucked in for this winter night. White blankets glow blue from the deep and distant moon. 

The fire is warm, the smell of oak entices us. It crackles and pops to entreat our attention. But the only notice I give it is of the flickers of amber in the reflection of your eyes. I can not look away.

Your skin is soft, tenter to the touch. I bury my face next to your ear to say nothing. Silent kisses in the dark dim light. Your hair tickles my nose but releases a sweet aroma. The same fragrance that seems to wander behind you every time we cross paths.

The sight of you, studying each of your features in such intimacy, fills me with contentment. My heart is a ruby red like the luminescent embers from the fire. My heart radiates warmth throughout my body, from head to toe. I cover your icicle toes with mine like a heated blanket. You cuddle yourself gently into my chest like two halves finally making a whole. We stare at the wild flames as they dance all night long casting shadows on the walls. And I hold you, there in my arms, drifting fast asleep.

Victim

I have been hurt. I have been wounded. The sword was not my own. The sword was not in my hands. I was not armed. I was not a threat. Yet I bleed.

I bled.

I am vindicated of all victim mentalities. Time passes in signs of a scar. I can not hide the mark and I do not boast on it. Stay away and do not speak at me. I now wield the heartbreaking motions as I have seen.

Moon

You are quiet and soft. You are the reflection of a star. Today you are seen, my back on my trampoline.

Glow, grow, and know that I am watching you turn new. I am conscious of your subconscious. I am your flower in the dark. Stay longer so that I can flourish. I will be your company.

Misery

I'm all out of tears, nobody to cry for
but a boy with a bottle and his foot on the throttle,
The sun will be rising in the east. The dust, settling in the west.
Soon I'll be done, misery, my father, me, his son.

Self-destructive

I see it coming in the distance. The day is clear, my sight is blind.

You beat your head against a mirror. Ironic or appropriate?

I stand in this sinking sand waiting for you to stop and turn around. Ironic or appropriate?

Proving a point never felt so meaningful as it does now. Saving a soul just before you loose your own. It's the principle. 

I see only in the color of love. Ironic or appropriate?

Amateur

Twenty-one years pass and yet I say, "amateur," -- to love, to wisdom, to brotherhood, all the same.

Beginnings never seem to cease and success never to ensue. No experience can take away the pain of the never ending, ever refining love. An owl who knows is an owl who sows into the knowledge of the elder; for those are the ones with experience in beginnings. They perform, they foresee not like magicians but mathematicians, calculating vain with sane.

Oh my brother. I see you over there. I say "hello," but the static noise is too loud, I say "come over," but the people are too proud. Inexperienced, I will continue to love.

infinitus

High

I focus my attention on my mind. I'm falling high. Thoughts cascade down the walls of possibility and stop at my feet. I stand for the nobility and realize I need to chop wood to feed the fire.

Outside is sobering to the unconscious. The ocean blue sky sparkles like fine crystal glasses. Embers join in with the dance to the waves, floating like fireflies high into the sky.

Hunger lies surface deep. Feed the monster, lose humanity. The growls are loud and I am proud. The monster is silenced with baked animals and colorful worms. Milk is the only link from us to them, from them to absurdity.

Mirrors project my past onto me while windows open possibilities to new adventures. But for now I'll go to sleep. I will close my eyes and fall fast into the sky under the mattress. I will sleep high.