Young Writers Society

Day 2:

the snow falls gently,
underneath the streetlights.
the orange glow spreads and the
snow starts to spread and i
spread my body across the lawn.

my words are frost-ridden,
dispersing into the air
with my breath.
and i wonder
how far they will travel.

a blanket of snow
smothers me, starts to consume me,
a dogpile that i am on the bottom of this time;
and i thought that blankets
were supposed to be warm
(i think i was wrong).

the outlines of houses
are highlighted by Christmas lights.
and we drove for hours and hours and hours
and some minutes--it's blurry.


i looked at all the decorations
not bothering to think of
what's going on inside.

and i looked at all the decorations
that covered his body and invited me in,
but i could never look him in the eyes.
(i didn't want to look inside.
his pupils were like black holes
that sucked me in and i
couldn't look away).

and i looked at all the clothes
that covered his body and
invited me in.
(i didn't want to look at him in the eyes.
his pupils were like black holes
that sucked me in and i
couldn't look away.)

Day Four:

if the present is a gift
then you can keep it for yourself

i'll put a bow on it
and wrap it in solid colored wrapping paper.

i don't want to wake up and run downstairs
i thought Christmas was for giving gifts,
but i see none in sight other than the bombs
dropping in the sky.
the spec in the sky that passes by
isn't a sled led by reindeer
and i tell her to go downstairs,
"Devastation reigns, dear."

i don't want to have to spend another morning
running downstairs to put my hands over my head
in the corner of the basement.
i want to watch it (rain) (reign).
i thought that snowflakes were for Christmas
but it only seems to be the blanket of white gauze, turning red,
that covers all of the bodies with chests
that no longer rise and fall.

i look outside and the snow is starting to melt
and i hope that the bodies melt into liquid form
with it.
(i hope it takes all the dead bodies
with it.)

Day 5:

summer days spent like coins; i hid them in my mouth but you could always see them hiding in my cheeks. i always spit them out like bloody teeth after a fight and you would collect your prize that lay on the hot sidewalk. i tried to save them but they always scattered, rolling until they made a complete stop. i wasted days with a candle in my stomach that started to scorch the walls of them black. i could feel the light flickering up and down my throat.

winter days wasted away. you were looking for someone to love and i was looking for someone to hate. i guess it fit. i said my silent goodbyes in subliminal messages; 'see you on the flip side' meant 'i know how you feel on the inside' and 'i'll miss you' meant 'i'll miss you'--i never got around to saying that

one.

Day 6:

my heart melted into a pool of liquid
on the sidewalk
and it froze there
all the same.

Missed a couple of days, so I might as well do the ones I haven't in one post to catch back up, was running on a sort of tight schedule.

Day 7:

the snow whispers in my ears
before it parachutes to the ground.
the bodies filling all the cracks in the sidewalk--
but only temporarily.
and all the bodies
will become one and they will all
melt together, slither down the asphalt streets together,
drip into the sewer drains together.

Day 8:

i told you that you were
just another ornament on the Christmas tree,
hanging on by a thin string and
hollowed out of anything once there
and you said
that you knew.

Day 9:

I pray on the
sports teams that I don't care about
other than the money I've bet on them.
I hope that the
sky will spit snow out, throwing it up and that it will be
more than just bile so I
don't have school tomorrow.
I wish that
you won't try and call me
while you're tipsy.

Day 10:

The difference between the
smoke of your cigarettes and
the cold that resides
on your breath
is starting to thin.

Day 11:

If snow was really a blanket
then why can't I
pick it up off the ground in one piece
and put it somewhere else?
And if snow is really a blanket
then why is it
so frigid?

Day 12:

living alone is like being in your own brain and the snow
is starting to fall into the crack in your head
and into the living room
my thoughts travel like sounds off the walls--
i place buckets to keep the snow from staining the carpet but
i don't know why i would, it's snow.
i guess i'm just afraid of the
cold staining the carpet so when you seep in through the space between
the door and the floor
be sure to take your shoes off.

Day 13:

The snow burns through my flesh
like it is acid, dripping through the holes
in my bones to drip
back out
all the same.

Day 14:

I think today I'll
let the water run from scalding hot until it is
cold.
I think I'll let the toast with
only two bites out of it go cold and I will
let my coffee sit long enough on the counter for a ring to form
around the cup.

Day 15:

My heart will melt like a snowball
left on the ground.
My heart will condense into the palm of my hand as I
squeeze anything that was once there
out of it.
And when I use it to hit you in the face
it will shatter and you will only feel
cold.
(I guess it was worth it.)

Day 16:

Your lips curled like the
poppies did when I told you
he's spent; e x p i r e d.

Day 17:

His face paled like the
grey skies when he let out
a final exhale.