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You Were Never My LoverOh what I'd give to be a cherished flower,You Were Never My Lover by ~noxiousmyth
Pressed between yellowing pages telling a story.
To be an encomium to one from a lover,
Tucked away safely in remembrance of one's glory.
Would you caress my velvet along my stiff spine?
Oh darling, would you press me against the palm of your hand?
Why don't you colour me scarlet in a shade deeper than wine?
Don't let me slip away through the broken cracks like sand.
Your eyes don't ever seem to meet mine when it's only you I seek,
You have to keep your avowal love, now it's your turn.
Didn't you say you'd never say goodbye to me?
Why bring me close only to drag me in as you burn.
Where did w
Bring Him Home.December 18th, 2022.Bring Him Home. by ~noxiousmyth
"Smoke?"
Sara grins as she refuses, like she does every day but Esme doesn't stop asking. Maybe it's the fact that she looks like a frozen Popsicle right now. And dammit would a cigarette help. It's why she comes out to the smoker’s lot. The indirect warmth always helps. Sort of.
Sara Matthews hates the cold. She hates the snow. Ever since she was a kid, she'd always asked Santa to change his trips from December to June. She'd felt bad for the man. It was why the milk she'd leave along with the cookies would always be piping hot.
She's gotten used to it though, it's familiar now. The way the snow kisses your ski
Excuse me, do you have a moment?Dear you,Excuse me, do you have a moment? by ~noxiousmyth
Yes you. The one who calls me disgusting. Unnatural. Immoral. Fag.
You. The one who hides behind that sad excuse of religion, hiding behind a wall of words never told.
You. The one calling it phobia, as if you're actually scared.
You. The one who thinks I'm experimenting, I'm trying out, that I'm just playing.
You. The one who pushes me into lockers and down to the ground.
You. The one who calls my parents to remind them of their mistake, as if it's their fault.
You. The one who used to claim to be my best friend, and can't even look at me anymore.
You. The one who knows I'm going to hell, and that I deserve no better.
You. The one who claims I have sinned, that I deserve to be punished - dead.
You. The one who wants me to get treatment, who believes I can be cured.
You. The one who believes I choose this, a life of hate and rejection.
You. The one who is sure I just lust, that I can never love.
You. The one who refuses to touch me, because of course, it's a curse that could
Waiting I remember the first time I noticed Gertrude. She had been there for as long as I could remember, part of the scenery, a statue that barely registered. I was five and she was already old, though she never seemed to age. She was sitting on the curb surrounded by weathered pink luggage and I felt, for the first time, a quicksilver curiosity about her.Waiting by *AGMeade
"Mommy, why does that lady have all those bags?" I tugged on my mother's hand and pointed at the woman not far from us. "Is she going someplace?"
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