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nightmare unwilling to open my eyes glass sweating the perfect opportunity my index cuts through a path from with me obscuring visuals of sense my reflection a burning city stenciled erasers of loss nerves as black here hair around its neck suffocation suppresses words that aren’t mine my mind a wasteland nerves as black lines stenciled erasers of loss a nightmare unwilling a sky that cries with me nerves as black lines nerves as black lines how did I get here

surrounded by black. The blackout poem is created from “A Winter Night” by Georg Trakl. / Bitter / angel / Your trouser legs rustle / the ripe desire / bends down silently”. Image ID: A blackout poem and a photograph, centered on a white square surrounded by black. To the right, there is a blackout poem created from “Reflections on Sin, Pain, Hope, and the True Way

From the start, they urged me to see, "To believe is to know. Perception is truth." Some things aren't meant to be found." They can't be bound."

The moon felt like a spotlight from where she stood. She found herself wondering where Annie was now. She’d always been vivacious, lively, passionate. She was reminded of the sweeping lights from police helicopters that occasionally searched the city and And then she would sound angry because how could Mei let this happen and anger was an easier outlet than The tenseness in her shoulders lessened, the security from someone like him strong even in her imagination

the broomstick was the size of a dog, because it was: I caught it on camera, Scene One: my heart goes round (Direction…………………notes: one of you please go faster) It goes round and round, and you’re getting blood Cut back to the chicken inside of me. Cut to my face. I break into a smile, Cut to the sky. I try to imagine the field from your perspective: cut to black. If hurricanes were named. Except the chicken, that can stay.

Maybe from starvation, maybe from bloodlust. Im Walking back out to the shed. O Divine guidance guide my sawblade. heavenly angelic boys weep for me to come home, licking the blood from the tiles, i rejoice and am made holy. leather in the mouth, soles on the stomach, lets fuck until somebody calls the cops until jesus rises from the grave and comes to my aparment and kills us

night when The Herakles was stopped in the middle of its charted course through the near unending inky black The old ship was a reconstructed and repurposed model from back when a trip into space was a rare and Still, he had found himself in too deep, and so here he was all these years later looking for a way out Each was committed to thinking the other was only an opportunity away from stabbing them in the back. So I went out looking, and being the strong kid that I was, I found work quick enough.

baby angel teeth bath tiles shiny and stacked in a row inside a velvet-lined silver tin with a name

working on something and i can see it opening cuts on your fingers i tell you to stop to bandage your wounds sunroom on the couch like the porches we grew up in then i see only your face and it is covered in black can get them off but you are stunned and it takes a while i leaned over to whisper into your ear and found you had crossed the pond while my back was turned and stood on higher ground where you said you could left on some roadside in iowa or i dropped it when the bee stung me and my face swelled with the moon from

Angel de la guarda, mi dulce compañía, no me desampares ni de noche ni de día. Angel de la guarda, ruega a Dios por mi. That is her favorite prayer. She is carved from wood and painted with very dark colors, but she is still very pretty. When she stares down at Luciana from Abuelita’s shelf, her eyes are filled with sadness, her hands praying

Each has a body of words aligned to the middle of the page, with outlines done in black marker or sharpie They appear vaguely angelic, with wings, multiple eyes on their bodies, and crowns of feathers. Why come back to a thought? Conflicting is also a form of unification. Into one Returning, back to the source Oneness. Why do we have to go back? And where should we go back to? When should we go back?

Write an article from the perspective of a Northwestern journalism graduate who is stuck writing for You could save one book from the Library of Alexandria, real or made up by you. Write from the perspective of Jesse McCartney in 2005. 57. Write from either of their perspectives once he rejects her. 58. tricked so many people into thinking i actually have a brain and a personality. what happens when i get found