Dreams

I want to know your dreams I want to know what scenes play through your head like movies while you sleep. Are they memories? Or fantasies? Are they good or bad? Do you dream in color? Do you remember them? You're never asleep for long, but  I know you dream by the noises you make. Sometimes they're whimpers, sometimes they're pleasant sighs. Do you dream of places you've been? Or things you've seen? Do you dream of the monsters in your life? Do you dream of me?

August 12, 2012

Sometimes, I stop thinking. I sit outside and look and listen, but I don't think. I watch the leaves rustle in the breeze and the children playing ball in the street. I listen to cars driving past and birds flying overhead. I watch the world spin by and listen to time running out. And I think nothing of it. I simply let it happen. No what ifs. No whys. No remembering, no planning. No anxiety. Just watching the world spin and the time run.

Neverland Dreams

Take my hand
Let's fly away
To a place where we
Won't age a day
All day long
We'll laugh and play
And every single night
You'll hear me say
I love you

Scars, July 20, 7:58

S c a r s 
are
s t o r i e s. 

They tell of hard times or daring adventures. Stupid mistakes that we've learned from, or times we've done the right thing no matter the cost.


S c a r s 
are
p r o o f.

Proof that we are strong, proof that we can survive.

S c a r s 
show
that
we
are
h u m a n.

July 10, 12:27

I am always trying to write poetry about smoke, but tonight I realized that you cannot write poetry about what is already poetry. The way it twists and turns, the way it flows and changes, fades out of existence. Smoke is the most beautiful poetry you will never read.

Your Hands

I could spend hours staring at just your hands. Your long thin fingers, almost tiny twigs at the end of your branches, the way they dance about my shoulders makes me shiver. The veins, so obvious and blue, almost protruding from your skin are almost like hidden rivers, flowing everlasting to an unseen destination. Every little calous with it's story to tell. Your knuckles, where fingers meet palms, are the most magnificent mountain range, and I want to be the first to explore it. The flesh on your finger tips is so hard and rough from wear and tear, but your touch is so gentle, more than making up for it. Your hands are full of life, full of strength as they hold me tight, yet so full of love as they caress my skin. I cannot wait to get lost in the life of your hands.

July 8, 12:29 pm

I was the sailor, lost at sea
You were the waves that carried me

July 10, 11:22 pm

I hate saying those three little words. I love you. It's a confession of weakness. It's more than telling someone how you feel, it's confessing to them that you've made yourself v u l n e r a b l e to them. You've opened yourself up for them and made yourself vulnerable and you're offering everything to them. You're letting them come in and tear you apart. Letting them rip out your organs, tear away your flesh and muscle, reduce you to a s k e l e t o n. It's a confession of submission because you will let them. You will sit there as they strip out first your stomach, then maybe a lung, and lastly your heart. You will let them p e e l away your skin, rip away the muscle. And you might even enjoy it. 

July 10, 10:13 pm

I can't wait for winter. I can't wait for sweaters that give me hugs when no one else does. I can't wait for the sweet kiss of hot chocolate on a cold morning. I can't wait to stand outside and try to tell the difference between the smoke from my cigarette and my warm breath.

I wish I could fly. I don't have some weird obsession with flying or birds or the sky. I just want to be able to leave. I want to be able to just up and fly away when things get too hard or too stressful. Flying would grant me the freedom I've always dreamt of. I could leave this town. I could leave this city, leave this state, leave this country. I could start a new life somewhere else. I could get a new name, create a new me, and the world would be none the wiser. My past would no longer haunt me everywhere I go. I could be the man I've always dreamt of being. No one could stop me if I could defy gravity. I would be in control of my life and choices. If things start to turn sour, I could spread my wings, take to the skies, and start all over again.

July 10, 2012 12:38 am

I need to be needed. I am in love with the idea of love. I just want someone to want me, nothing but me, and me as I am. Not more than I can handle. Not less than what I really am. Me and my lack of physical attraction. Me and my neediness. My faults, my addictions, my messes. My poetry, my mind, my heart. Every lost, little, and broken part.

The Anxiety

First, your heart speeds up. You can feel it racing as it smashing against your ribs, trying to break free from it's cage.

Then your lungs turn against you. The very air you breathe burns, and you have to take every breath deliberate and slow through your mouth, yet you still end up panting until it becomes full blown hyperventilation.

Next is that horrible ache in your jaw. The only way to satiate it is to clench your teeth together, and that works. For a few seconds. You try everything, biting, chewing, pressing against them. Nothing makes it go away.

After that, you start shaking. Your hands tremble as you focus on them, your feet tap, you absolutely cannot keep your fingers still.

The last part, the worst part, is your mind. It knows why you feel like this and it throws it in your face. It starts with a small thought and spider webs from there. What if this, you could have that. It's your fault. It's going to go wrong. This is going to happen, that's going to happen, they're going to hate you, YOU MESSED UP, THIS IS YOUR FAULT, NOTHING GOES RIGHT WHEN YOU'RE INVOLVED, IT WOULD BE BETTER IF YOU JUST STAYED AWAY.

Avery Drabble : Pears

Sometime in the 90’s, I discovered my love for pears. It was completely by accident, as mishap while grocery shopping. 

I could not tell you what I had meant to grabbed, but I was not paying attention as I bagged a handful of fruit in the market. I was rather distracted by a child who had been following me all throughout the store, so I was not quite watching as I reached down and grabbed four or five pears. 

Avery Fact Dump 1

5’7

Strawberry blonde hair, thick and wavy. It is just long enough to pull into a ponytail. The elixir stops all changes to the body, so if he ever cut his hair, it would be back to that length within seconds.

Because he was an orphan living on the streets before Master Gustav picked him up, he is almost sickly thin. This also does not change due to the elixir.

Avery, a few quick facts

I have a nasty habit if chewing my fingernails. It developed as a nervous habit in the late 1800s.
---

I have a chest full of some of my favorite outfits, and sometimes I wear them around my apartment. 

Most of them are older than anyone on here. I have my old sailing clothes, what I wore while in China, the clothes I wore when I fled Italy, and the outfit I wore while fighting in America, among a few other treasured outfits. 

I also have leather pants and a leather jacket in there from the 80’s, and I do wear those around quite frequently. They are among my favorites.

Avery, Prompt: A story about a body part

The prompt was: I want you to look at a specific part of your body and tell us a story about it.

My wrists. I once spent a week tied to a man. He was my best friend, only man I ever fully trusted with who I am. We sailed together on the seas. We had run into navy men, French I think, or maybe Spanish. At the time, it was not a language I understood at all.

We were captured, because we were too drunk to fight. They tied the two of us together, back to back, with a mast between us.

Avery on his children

A note from Zayne: Avery did not know about his children. I've got a full explanation somewhere, but the short version is this: while Avery spent a lot of time in France with Evelyne, he did leave for months at a time. He may have sworn of sailing as a pirate, but he'd taken up a small fishing job, that sometimes took him all over that side of the world. Twice, he'd been gone for terribly long, once for 10 months, and once for a year. Charles and Ariel, the twins, were born during the ten months, and Jaylene the year.

Jaylene was 5 years old when we were introduced. She was not the least bit shy. When her mother introduced us, she walked right up to me and shook my hand. 

Avery on Evelyne's death

She was 30 that year. Two months before the wedding. Two months exactly. 60 damned days.

Disease, the doctors said. So many things wrong with her body. Her heart was weak, her lungs were weak. It was like her organs had aged too fast. HA, is that not ironic? While I never aged a day, she aged too fast.

They told me it might be an effect of the pregnancies, and that is how I found out about my children. I asked her after that, and she introduced them to me on her deathbed, before the disease went too far.

She…her mind went first.

Avery drabble

She was my everything
I met her when she was 19. I looked 25, but I was really in my two hundreds.
She was breath taking. Gorgeous. Bright green eyes, long golden hair. I towered over her in height by at least a head.
She had a laugh that made you laugh. Her voice was like music.
I loved her with everything I was. Her mother adored me, her father respected me. Everything was perfect.
The days I spent without her, I ached inside. It was a physical pain comparable to the tortures I withstood in Italy. But when I went back to her, I could breathe again.
She was my reason to live, and I lost her.

Avery: Trial 1, part 1

The first time Master Gustav used his elixir on me, it was imperfect. I never figured out what was wrong or what he did to fix it, but at the time he used it, it did nothing to heal wounds. As he did with all of his experiments, he used harsh torture to test his elixir. 

The night it happened seemed normal enough. I finished my chores, ate my dinner, and fell asleep reading in bed. I woke up sooner than expected, though. I was tied onto a metal table with leather straps that bit hard into my skin. The table was at an angle so my head was elevated above the rest of my body, but not wholly vertical.

Prompt: Avery Imagines His Parents

My parents…

Mum was not very tall, even to the small toddler I was. But her hair was long, I remember being able to reach it from the floor without standing. It was…honey colored. Golden. Her face was round… a small nose… Her voice was beautiful, like music, but quiet.

Papa was very tall. He had gray hair that still had traces of black in it. He never touched me, for any reason at all. He was loud, and his voice was raspy from smoking. Everything about him was thin; his body, his arms, his legs, his face. He was…very dark skinned. He worked outside, I think, in the sun. 

I am quite sure my parents were wonderful people. But they were not fit to take care of a child.  Unless I made it very clear that something was wrong, and what specifically was wrong, they forgot I existed. I went days in the same clothes, without eating. I was about 5 years old when I left the house, and they never came looking for me. I am unsure if they even realized I had gone.

Avery Visits His Parents House

When I was 11 or so, something had reminded me of my parents. I decided to see if they lived at the same house they did when I was a small child and maybe even talk to them. 

The house looked the same, though a few vines had started growing up the sides. I crept up to a window and peeked in, curious as to what I would find.

Sitting at a small wooden table was Mama, Papa, and a girl a few years younger than me.

Prompt: Avery Gets Drunk

A note from Zayne: This isn't necessarily part of the story. This was a prompt I received for some practice writing Avery.

I sat at the terribly lit bar, slowly sipping at my drink. The place was surprisingly empty for a Friday night, and very quiet, so I jumped slightly when a larger man plopped on top of the stool next to me. He ordered his drink, something strong, and I eyed him wearily as I finished mine and ordered another. Our glasses were set in front of us at the same time, and the man grinned. 

He lifted his drink to me in a silent toast and proceeded to down the entire thing at once and slam the glass back down on the wooden bar. Taking it as a challenge, I mirrored his actions, slamming my glass next to his. With a smirk, he ordered two new drinks and passed one to me. With another toast, we knocked them back as fast as we could, slamming them down at the same time and ordering yet another. After a few drinks, we were having trouble staying on our seats. I lost count of exactly how many drinks the two of us had in our silly challenge before the barkeep refused to give us more.

Avery's Earliest Memory

Master Gustav, the day he lured me away, and how I ended up like this.

He approached me, told me he had work he would pay me for. I was a young boy who had naught to eat for at least two days, so any offer of money was grand. 

Avery Stuff

 A note from Zayne: A few years ago, back in highschool, I woke up int he morning to find I'd had a nightmare in the middle of the night, scribbled this down in the dark, and gone back to sleep. Just last year, I picked it back up and played with it, even dedicated a blog into turning this into a novel. I'm going to spend the next hour or so collecting that stuff, moving it all to a new blog maybe, and starting it back up without any of the original people on it. Maybe gather a new set of people to help spawn ideas. But for now, I'm going to move most of it over here, all of it titled Avery Stuff or the like.









For centuries, mankind has strived for immortality. For the ability to live forever, to discard all fear of death. In the year 1723, a man by the name of Gustav Culto created an elixir meant to give the drinker eternal life. It took may years of failed experiments that led to many dead test subjects (orphans he picked up off the streets who had nothing else to live for).
That is how he found me. Now, I am not going to give you a big sob-story about my parents dying or anything. No, all I will tell you is it was better for them and me that I was not in their care as a child. Though Master Gustav was no better.
You see, not only did this potion indefinitely prolong your life, no permanent harm could befall you. While any previous damage your body had sustained did not change, if you were to lose a finger or receive an otherwise fatal blow, it would heal instantaneously. Everything either healed shut or grew back, and nothing scarred. Master Gustav tested this thoroughly. He severed my limbs, cut and sliced every inch of skin he could reach. He took flame or heated iron to my flesh. Once, he even stabbed out my good eye. 

Drabble, 6/18

I stand before you, a clean slate, a blank canvas, waiting for your brush strokes to paint me a masterpiece in your image. I know that I will be your finest piece, your star . You will make me into such beauty that no eyes would be able to look upon me without tearing up.

Drabble, 6/18

He hurt. He hurt more than he'd ever hurt before, more than all the broke bones he'd acquired in his life. When people talked about heart break, he never understood they spoke of a physical pain. his chest ached and his lungs burned, like the very air they need was poisonous. Every breath he drew made it worse and worse until he prayed he could survive without it.

Drabble 6/18

But you are the smoke I try to capture, the tiger I try to tame. I know it will never be, but I must never stop trying, for fear you will become naught. You will turn out to be some figment my mind created to fill in the blankness you would leave behind.

To Anyone, Anywhere, who's ever felt down for any reason.

I want to hug you.

I want to take away all your problems

Shove them in a locked box

Drop it at the bottom of the deepest ocean

Tonight, I Am Infinite

This is meant to be a spoken word kind of thing. I might record myself reading it and post it later.


Tonight, I am infinite.
I am the stars, the universe, the galaxies!
I am never ending!
Laying in your arms,
I feel larger than life.
My mind is among the particles in space
While I am here with you
You are safe
You are home
With you, anything is possible!
I could step to the moon
Or walk on the sun.

Please Remember Me

I remember when you used to hold my hand as we raced through fields of clovers and wildflowers. I remember how the smell of spring mixed perfectly with the strong scent of your mother's laundry detergent. I remember how your had more freckles than clear skin across your nose and the way your auburn hair shimmered like copper in the March sunlight.

Do you remember the lake in the woods behind your mum's cabin? You would take me there every spring, just as everything was blooming, even though both of us would be sneezing for days after. We'd strip down to just our undershorts and swim in the lake. I was always amazed at how cold the water was with how warm it was outside.

No, of course you don't remember. That's why I'm telling you.

Emma, January 11, 2012

2 am
Running through the hotel without shoes
Hushed giggles, narrowly avoiding security and curfew
Zombie survival 101 is full, so we have cereal instead.
We akwardly smile, waiting for our friend to introduce us
And we end up doing it ourselves.
With fake names.

(Trans)cript, January 11, 2012

Most people have to hide when they're in public.
But I have to hide when I'm at home.

March 13, 2012

She spent her whole life reading about fairies and fey of all kinds. She read stories about good fairies and bad fairies, humans becoming fairies and fairies becoming humans, and fairies of the Winter Court and fairies of the Summer Court. She spent countless hours drawing all sorts of fairies on every scrap of paper she could get her hands on. In her dreams, they came to her. She danced with the fey, ate with the fey, sometimes she was even believed she was one of them.

Her father feared her obsession. He took away her books, kept her from the libraries, even took away her drawings. When even that did not stop her following her passion, he sent her away to a strict boarding school. Here, she was told she must only focus on her studies. She was often punished for talking of these fictions with other students or drawing fairies on her school work.

Cigarettes, written April 12, 2012

He flicked it one, two, three times before the ash fell off the end. Up to his mouth, suck in, breathe out.

It was his stress reliever. There was no addiction, no needing one just to need one. He needed it to keep the shaking and bad thoughts at bay. It helped him concentrate on keeping a clear head when it got too bad. He could go weeks without needing one. Sometimes he did. But there were days where he smoked a whole box, if not more.

He flicked it one, two, three times to knock the ash off the end. Up to his mouth, suck in, breathe out.

Obligatory Intro Post

This isn't a blog. I'm going to start by saying that. I won't be blogging about my life or anything here. This is just a place for me to collect, and occasionally show off, the things I write, whether they be original or whatever. Now, that's not to say there won't be life stories here. I wrote those occasionally, too. But I have an actual blog, and I'm keeping all of that separate. (That means if you have the pleasure of knowing of this AND my blog, you will not tell others, please. I would very much like to keep things separated for now).

I may occasionally post things that aren't writing, like photography and whathaveyou.