KB's Basic Blog

It was strange to see you lying there spine broke and insides split asunder. Your pallor spilled upon my bedsheets and I, unable to fix you, gathered you to my chest and wept for the long hours we spent curled in resplendent rapture, wrapped warmly in delirium dreams. You were so good to me in your sweet silence holding my mind in your hands while it tried to escape its own darkness never protesting the damp spots my tears left on your surface as my sorrow mingled with your words and created whole new worlds. You have left a hole in my home, in my heart, in my head that can never be filled without first stopping by the bookstore to fill the void you have left on my overfull shelves. Author's Note: Sorry, not sorry :D

* Trying my hand at prose poems* Consider me, at twelve years old: all elbows and knees and good intentions, knocking about in dirt and on swing-sets with one eye on the boys who will start to call me ugly in a few years.   Circled precisely around my neck on a silver chain hangs a heart whose hollow center holds love from people I’ve never met; great-grandparents long gone encapsulated in tiny oil paintings and left in the trust of a young girl.   These beautiful responsibilities are still too much for me and filigree love lays lost in sandcastles beyond adolescent fingertips.

I am full. A multi-color carousel of wonder. Octopus arm blessings are more than my heart can hold. I am empty. A midnight circus of bone grips me And I drown alone in a ball pit of lies and shadow. I am out of medication.

A grey form lost in fog lays on a grey beach reflected against a grey ocean. Red spill from its body As I cut out its tongue Bruised flesh ravaged by scientist scavengers. For you, unnamed humpback, I mourn.

The floor tasted like salt and whiskey as I lay next to you, one last time and cried for what we had been.   I only hope you are now free from what haunted you.

Delilah slipped into the small spaces between the rocks of the abandoned coal mine at the back of her families hundred acres.   She wasn’t supposed to be here, or even know about it, but much to her mother’s chagrin Delilah had a deep love for dark spaces.   The girl wiggled her way through a tight space between rocks before dropping into an open chamber that was littered with thick spider webs and the bones of birds who lost their way. The girl flicked on the flashlight that she had stolen from under the sink of the old farmhouse. The old metal Maglite illuminated the mine, showing a bend just a few hundred yards away.   Delilah didn’t actually need the flashlight for this portion of her adventure, her feet new the twists of the passages by heart: twenty steps to the bend, one-hundred and three to the Y and another 500 on the left-hand path to find the collapse point that took the lives of one hundred men.   Today she wasn’t interested in the well-worn pat...

Poison, drips down. Tastes like honey.