vvlpes

l             l             l                           i             i             i                           n             n             n                           e             e             e                           l        B                  l                           i             L             i                           n             i             n                           e             n    O        e                           l             e             l            e             i                       O   i        deer               n             l             n        fawn e             e             i             e   D

The phoenix sat atop His pyre of memories Wearing a headress of flames And set fire to the world From a roaring inferno To a smoldering pile of ash The final embers extinguished And the warmth long gone Death reeks like smoke, doesn't it? But, from all things dead comes life And the phoenix is reborn With a bonfire on his back

. i. there's a reason why i can't sing. i drowned a long time ago, all those swallowed tears killing me before i had a chance to live. ii. there's a reason i don't cry. i've kept pearls in my lungs long enough to know the price of a necklace. every liar's had his tongue tied before he tied his own rope. iii. there's a reason why { i am a poet. } how can you crack callow clams, suffocate slipped songs, when you've got water in your lungs? iv. and you're not sure if this will be the last time you see the world then you blink. and your heart's marching itself closer to death. maybe it's better to have wet lips, wetter trachea, and to cough u

wel- come to The Forest. // // | | | | | \.............

–--- welcome            |            t            o            |            t            h            e            |                              |    | The City |            |      |      |               –------------------           /                     \           |   | |   | |   | |   |           |                     |           |   | |   | |   | |   |           |                     |           |   | |   | |   | |   |           |                     |

       Your car's clock slips quietly into 11:06. The last city police officer on duty yawns across the street, turns on his lights, and pulls onto the two-way out of town. You watch his taillights dip through the valley and disappear at the horizon. 11:07. Next to you, a quick flash as Jacob lights a cigarette, his hands visibly shaking in the sudden light.       “I told you not to smoke in my car,” you say, edgy with the bubbling of adrenaline.       “I can't believe we're gonna do this,” Jacob spits the smoke out of the cracked window to appease you. “Ya sure this can't wait? I don' wanna do it anymore.̶

The frilly pink gloves are surprisingly comfortable. Still embarrassing, though. Completely and utterly embarrassing. I scrub furiously at a particularly crusty plate, and pray no one will come into the tiny niche where the sinks sit. Just my luck. Charlie steps in, chuckling at the sight of me. I give him a glare over my shoulder, and he only laughs harder. “If you'd talk to me a little nicer, I'd get you some real gloves, boy.” He tosses a ring of keys onto the counter. “Lock up, will ya. I'm headin' out early.” Waving a hand over his shoulder, he walks out, leaving the lingering smell of sweat and flour. I hea