Arwynsavalon

Our father, who art in heaven, noodly be thy appendage. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in the microwave in just 2 minutes. Give us this day our daily pasta. And forgive us our piracy, as we forgive those who pirate against us. And lead us not into gnocchi, but deliver us from Cthulhu. For thine is the kingdom, and the beer volcanoes, and the stripper factory, for ever and ever. Ramen.

living girl, do not build an armory out of incisors & fractured femurs do not seek to fit this throne of bones; do not shrink into the framework of this citadel feral girl, feral heart, we can scoff at those who want to live forever (immortality is fickle) but we are more than lost baby-teeth & we have words to give yet

"Hades!" she screamed in rage. Silk curtains tore as nails were raked across them. Pillows were swept to the floor and set upon; with a ripping sound there were feathers adrift in the air. She collapsed amid the chaos, sobbing. "I hate you. I hate you!" Her voice broke into the motionless air, hung amid the feathers, shivered in its anger. He stood with shadowed eyes on the other side of the closed door. He knew she thought he couldn't hear her, knew she thought he was elsewhere attending to business as usual--knew what she thought of him. When her furious sobs had given way to shuddering breaths he said quietly, "The door isn't locked," an

Everyone's trying to get out of the shadow of their parents- I'm here trying to get out of the shadow of myself.

The Voicemail of God Ever since I can remember, I have been one of those strange people who pick up pennies. I find them everywhere, on sidewalks, in stadiums, on the floors of grocery stores, in parking lots… you get the idea. And it is a rare occasion indeed if I fail to pick them up. Most people, when faced with a copper portrait of Lincoln down by their feet, even if they dropped it themselves, will simply ignore it. After all, you cannot buy anything with one cent; why even bother bending over? I, on the other hand, like to think I am a little more practical than most. When I see one of those poor, unloved little presidents lookin

Three Minutes So what if I am. She didn't like considering the possibilities of pregnancy.  It was a surreal state of being reserved for women in their middle twenties to early thirties (she was twenty-three, but this didn't matter).  It was for the adult world, which she was separate from and had always been separate from. It seemed like schools and television went out of their way to extend youth, so why couldn't biology as well? I could get an abortion. She sat on the side of the bathtub and stared at her fingertips while she waited.  The test was balanced on the edge of the sink.  Just a little piece of plastic with a damp, now yellow

She paints a perfect picture, She tells a flawless lie, She sings a song of beauty, A haunting lullaby. Her lullaby will sooth you, Her song will give you wings, Her mournful voice will trap you, Every time she sings. Her song is one of sorrow, A portrait of her life, And those who hear are captured, Haunted by her strife. Her song will leave you crying, She'll wipe away your tears, But compassion is a falsehood, Created over years. Her song will penetrate you, A knife straight through your heart, The tune will plague your footsteps, A seductive work of art. Her song is one of anguish, An image of your fate, But you won'

A kitchen.   MAN and WOMAN stand centre stage, in front of a counter with drawers.  They are arguing as lights fade on. WOMAN.  Look.  It's not that hard.  I kill myself, and then you kill yourself. MAN.  I don't like the second part. WOMAN.  It's called a double suicide pact for a reason. MAN.  Do I have to kill myself? WOMAN.  What the hell kind of question is that?  Of course you do. MAN.  I'm just not feeling it right now, is all. WOMAN.  Oh, I'm sorry if I'm not setting the mood for you, crybaby. MAN.  That was uncalled for. WOMAN.  Well, when you stop being a crybaby I'll stop calling you a crybaby. MAN.  I'm not a crybaby.

While we slept, you strapped your arm around my chest like armor and possession, like ‘this one belongs to me.’ Together, we are teaching the things that haunt us to lie down in their graves. Here, like this your demons say to mine as they demonstrate the art of behaving. Together, we secure their broken bodies and set them into six feet of downward motion.        (but we do not follow           we cannot go in their stead) They do not know they’re dead. It’s always a blow when we break the news. They find themselves jealous of our human skin and our inhaling                                 exhal