Life Writing

The Squid Pt.9

Out of nowhere…

It came from the sea.

It’d be a good cry, I promise.

This secret I have with happiness keeps my motor running, and on the good days it’s the best. On the lesser shades of golden moments, it’s tricky. I want to grab the face that keeps me breathing. Hold the thought that I could one day place my lips on yours and never have to back my head away. But shuuuuush, I can’t scream from the roof that I’ve got a piece of this mystical feeling, because that is reserved for the rich in blood, and the divine in heart.

This whirlwind of chemistry.

I will kick habits in a flash for a chance, and you respond the only way you can, with the perfect reply. One that sends me picking up the contents of my pockets, flipped upside down this man has been. That irk under the skin when life starts its sadistic suffocation ritual, completely quelled by the simple dance you do on my palm.


I am pleased to sit here with a grin on my face and exclaim that being jovial is in my grasp. My sweet little fantasy in no longer in question. I can feel it clawing its way out of my chest, and pulling my body in the brightest direction. Even in days like today, where I thought I was safe, only to get stomped on like an ant near the end. I reach the finish line with a flutter in my throat. The chill from the window beside me grazes the tops of my arms only to spew out warm because I run hot.

I don’t want you to go anywhere anytime soon.

We both work in ink, you streak, I character. It’s a fabulous dance, and we’ve somehow managed to get stranded on the hardwood. So let’s slow dance the rain away.


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