i hear the thunder rolling in by Khaimin, literature
Literature
i hear the thunder rolling in
sweet smell of cut grass floating through the window,
soft sound of cars passing by
and distant music pumping through speakers
strong and quick, the backbone of the wind,
carrying voices and laughter from three floors down;
and i can't see it but i imagine the way the world is turning,
churning, people moving like ants -
so insignificant but so significant to me, a nail in the coffin
of the universe and the a holy grail of what is yet to come.
hot tea and beeping microwaves frame the day
and soft blankets whisper gently over bedsheets,
sleep-time now, phones down eyes closed,
take a moment to lose yourself in the
beauty of the day
(sun
you don't want to be a waterfall by Khaimin, literature
Literature
you don't want to be a waterfall
it's a certain kind of people that when you hurt them it's like the world ends,
tears crashing like waves on a sandy shore of dry
cheeks and angry lips. they break your heart like
they broke your soul, no sense of self left for the person they used to be,
used to seem to be when they were all butterflies and rainbows
shattered by a storm, non-stop anger.
some people are like waterfalls, crashing - loud - ringing - in - your - ears noise all around,
shrouded in mist and fighting over everything for time
to keep ticking no matter what might be happening
in the back of their head, fighting for you and them
and the whole fucking world. some
months have passed in gray trails
of smoke. the summer fades in shades of gold
washed with amber, and i find time for the fall
amidst moments of solitude.
weeks have passed in a blur-like wave, crashing over me
to leave me searching for surface;
the calendar moves on with
an invisible hand.
in the night i find silence, in the night i find the loneliness
i fight to conquer, the dark thoughts like snakes twining around my legs
up my abdomen,
crawling in the crevasses of my ribs.
i find fear in the soft moments of
pre-dawn, in the seconds before the sun
rises its face to the sky to give birth to the newest day.
one minute may be hours but o
sometimes i stand out in the rain in the early hours of the morning
and stroll down the empty streets,
past parked cars and dented stop signs at the ends of roads.
i soak myself in the melancholy beauty of it all
and at the sound of rain hitting pavement,
i finally feel alive.
the gravity of the situation is that i am neither sun nor moon,
do not get too close or i will fly like a meteor,
flashing ice-cold against the void
as i find someplace to hide in the cosmos -
i am not a planet with a breathable atmosphere,
one in which you can become intoxicated by and stay in forever,
i am not an inhale of hope
but an exhale of despair, and after meeting me
you will want a reset button, a chance to undo,
but i am not a god that can give you that choice -
i do not love you like trees love the soil
or clouds love the sky, i do not feel emotion
like the babbling of brook and birdsong in the air,
i feel anger like a snapp
i don't remember the color of your eyes by Khaimin, literature
Literature
i don't remember the color of your eyes
you suffocated yourself
in the weight of what-ifs
and the memories you wanted to rip out of your head;
you wished nothing more than to be left alone
and cold in the dark,
while every night you closed your eyes to the thought
of someday -
i dissipate in the churning air,
i let myself be swallowed whole and let out again as poison,
let myself be blown by the wind
and shattered by the leaves of trees that haven't learned to let go -
you dared to breathe and found you liked the taste of spring,
found you liked the way the sun felt on your skin
and frosty grass felt on your feet, you realized the way the rain falls
is the most interesting of t
break the gates with rings of fire by Khaimin, literature
Literature
break the gates with rings of fire
halt, the sky sings in seraphic tones,
the clouds roar as they race to part in unholy droves -
like the breaching masses of old-world seas,
on the quaking earth, the shores tremble and seize -
the trees collapse inward and cave to forest floors,
left to rot and crumble now and forevermore -
man steals fire, escapes the cave,
angels pick man off in one winged clave -
man's lowly ashes will drift to the earth
as the gods above die and new ones are birthed -
and as centuries pass with storms and with fire,
man will return to consequences dire -
they'll turn to be angels as angels turn to be gods,
and gods they will be against all the od
wolves get shot and the moon mourns the day by Khaimin, literature
Literature
wolves get shot and the moon mourns the day
i'd say my lungs have atrophied
but that seems too corporeal
to deal with what i've lost -
it's more like my soul
and my self, as plato would say; it left to
the realm behind our heads and
didn't bother taking my body down
before it ran
out -
i watched the rain fall yesterday
and dreamed of thunderstorms
and dry lightning,
wished for a drought that would never end
because i was tired of things growing
in the barren crevasses of my skin
take hold of hands in the night
and watch me waste away, i'm
skin and bones and bones and
soul gone missing
(i miss tomorrow already
and it ain't even here)
hold still darling,
i
at night i lie half-sleeping with you
on the couch, the television screen blaring
propaganda and 2-am comedies.
your fingernails are getting long again,
and you won't let me cut them 'cause you say
baby, they're all i've got left to fight with
on my way outta this hell.
so i let you run them over my skin, gentle
in their calamity
(you wreck me without knowing
the price i pay to sink with you).
and when the sun dips above the
curtains you write half-posed
prose on my wrists and up my elbows,
onto my collarbones
and the twist of my neck,
you write phrases that make your mind dance
and my skin sing;
you call me beautiful in the light of
a st
justice is blind in the eyes of the wicked by Khaimin, literature
Literature
justice is blind in the eyes of the wicked
wolves come running.
their howls light the moon
and the diamonds in their eyes make wild beasts flee;
the stars glint a deadly shade of beautiful
as the trees wrap branches around lost children,
turn them into wild-bred fae.
there is magic in the air
that glints dangerously
from lupine paws, pounding into the earth.
mushroom circles rise from the dirt
and doorways open;
travelers stumble awry
and the fair folk feast well tonight.
(the wolves howl and come running,
their teeth like death snapping at moonbeams,
tails whipping shadows;
and slowly they melt into the night as the sun rises.
doorways lock and mushrooms burn -
the magic is lost