cheerless

frosting squeezed by clumsy child's hands on cookie architecture. The white confection lining rooftops. icing coats the branches stretching outside my window to the white of the low roof The world dressed in still garments of post mourning a year erased by dear blue or bright bowl of white

The paper, it wraps, around boxes filled with coldness. The tree, it stands, decorated with coats of sugar and lights. The snow -- where is it? leaving behind threatening clouds in its wake. The people, they wait, wait for day to break free from the tyranny of night. The paper, it sings, crinkle-rustle as it unwraps by eager hands. The tree, it smiles, down upon the flushed faces beneath. The snow, it falls, painting a picturesque world of white. The people, they arrive, exchanging gifts and laughter and hearts and warmth. The paper, it unravels, discarded in the trash with a strong sense of déjà vu. The tree, it f

I sink into the recesses of my bed -- soft, dark, and dreamless, splattered by the blood of the moon -- that beckons to sleep with a creamy cup of tea. But despite my unending patience sleep does not come. Perhaps it will arrive late mimicking the hour. After an infinity (plus a fortnight) there comes a knock on the door, a ring on the phone much too loud for the half-sedated mind of mine. I answer the phone ("Hello? Hello?") the words slurred by my heavy tongue. The line dies, while the door is hammered incessantly, urgently, penetratingly, unrelentingly, stoically. Knock-knock-knock three quick spurts of energy ungodly

Chartreuse The rain falling soft Wind-swept leaves fluttering green A panda arrives. Cerulean Melodic birds chirp The sky is translucent blue watching over me. Charcoal Night falls, a curtain probed by the hands of daylight The crispy air chills.

Today was the day a certain anonymous Robot Chia Clown was going to die. He was sure of this as he waited for his pies – cherry, he didn't like any other – to cool down. Well, technically, he wouldn't be dead, since he was never quite alive in the first place. Robots did not have beating hearts or any other internal organs for that matter. They consisted of metal, and, in his case, cherry pie. The Chia sighed, already weary from all this heavy thinking. He stashed his pies in a perplexing location on his person and shuffled out the door to the Deserted Fairground. — At the haunted carnival, the Chia huddled into a dark corn

i dreamt i died in folds of whipping cream and bacon for a sky a blueberry's dream the almond spoons stir a quart of dripping milk in blue china glass dances the orange peel