Thursday, March 14, 2013


Bendable metal
the color of grass

twisted into whatever I like or dislike.
It could be
a man,
the sun,
my hand,
nothing at all.

I think it's impractical, why is it there?
Waste of materials, precious materials.
The cluttered globe has trouble breathing.
It hears me say this

and evolves into a fiend
preparing to dive into my hair
and mold my brain into a guide on how to be
(what everyone expects of you).
I want to scream



I twist it into a wand and cast a spell on the world
because oh, how I hate the world.

Friday, March 1, 2013

Thomas Brimm Meets Creaky

Thomas woke to a sudden, urgent knocking on the top of the casket. He rubbed the sleep from his face on Dado's suit jacket and let out a huge yawn. How long had he been asleep? The knocking grew louder and quicker. Thomas banged both fists on the coffin roof in response.

"What do you want?" he shouted.

After a muffled answer was heard, the casket lid slowly opened. A man the color of sour milk poked his head inside the wooden box, his terrifying, wide eyes fixed on Thomas's face. A chunk of the man's forehead was missing and some of his brain hung down to his eyebrows, almost the consistency of Jell-O that had been sitting out all night. Thomas stared at the man for a long time, resisting the urge to poke his brain.