Clash of the Fandumbs by In-The-Machine, literature
Literature
Clash of the Fandumbs
One day an orange ninja was busy sitting under a tree and eating ramen when a challenger appeared.
"I challenge you to a duel," said a spiky-haired individual with a gigantic key. The boy then proceeded to wave his key in a most threatening and scary manner.
"Like oh my god," said the orange ninja. "You are just a boy with a key and I am a ninja. Wearing orange."
"Omg that is like the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard," said the Key Boy. "What kind of ninja wears bright orange? I can see you a mile away."
"It's okay," said the Orange Ninja, "I'll just recolor myself to blend into my surroundings for camouflage. Recolor no Jutsu!"
disjointed
and my bones aren't
making sense
but I love
your dress
and how
your face
lights up the room,
your bad endings
in rivers
and adjectives
that don't connect
or paint my world.
you look gorgeous
in flames
all that blue
and red,
something dangerous
that tastes
like raw hope
and dreams
left dangling
like new sentences...
No one tells you
your arms are the Euphrates
or that your long legs
are the work
of a clever devil
and a blasphemy
I have grown to crave.
No one mentions
how your skin distracts
and how your clothes
take on new life
every time you stand up
and the sun
makes riddles
of your thighs.
No one says your eyes
are a lost mile
of treason
or that your lips trespass
like pirates
between the sheets
and make sleep
a forgotten god.
And no one reminds you
that the shape
your voice takes
when dawn stretches the sky,
sends my reason fleeing
like a thief.
I remember the night
we yelled the walls down
just to see
who was listening.
You bit your tongue
so hard
I could feel the summer
rise beneath my feet
and I knew how it felt
to tremble
like bleached shells
or rain caught in a cup
You let me
roll your stockings down
and we jumped the fence
to steal strawberries
which I watched you eat
like a dying man's
last wish
and I knew I wanted
to be the taste
that made your cheeks flame
pink.
We watched the leaves fall,
lost messages,
flattening the trees
like too many moments
we could not remember
or celebrate,
and it made me
count you on my fingers
and wonder why
I ever
Lizzie, my girl
put down that ax.
There is a hole
in the hem
of your mother's skirt
that needs mending
and your father
has enough to bear.
Go now, child -
sweep out the hearth
and the arms of family
who tie you
to this place
like bees,
wasted and spent
in June.
Wait then
for the letters
that never come
and the gossip of neighbors
to settle
in your eyes
like the dust
from days
where nothing happens
except stale and old.
See how
the sun is nearly setting
and dinner
has gone limp
in pots
on a cold stove
that cannot stand them
in this place
any longer.
And you know
your world
will turn tomorrow
and find them
The fabric of you,
richly woven
in brilliant threads,
and the almost
divine thrill of silk
that bruises my fingertips
when I unbutton you
and turn you inside out.
I wear you
like my favorite jacket -
suede patched sleeves
and velvet cuffs,
lapels that whisper
your secrets to my skin
and seem to pull the night
into your pockets
as I watch your colors run,
long and singing in the dark
Death comes sweetly
where midnight
dares not show its face, -
licking fears,
lapping up old sorrows
and prisms of faces
pinned like insects
under bell jars.
It lays you down
in soft, pale sheets,
pours sweet oil
over tired limbs
and bruised memories
and cuts right to the quick
like a hard won prize.
It leaves you lost,
stripped down to bare wounds,
blinking at ghosts
who catch your sore heart
and wear it on their lips
with the shadowed promise
to never forget...