Micro Stories · Shadow Poetry

Marionette to Maestro

It’s a wily road, you know.

Yeah
You know.

And every time I wake up, look in the mirror, take a breath, the hinges around my tear ducts start to break.
Someone keeps crying at night, leaving breadcrumbs from within my soul. There are demons and memories and pains eating them before I can see.

There’s a voice farther down that path, you’ll hear.

Yeah
You’ve heard.

It coils about your ankles, holding you in place. The silly putty of your heart jumps to please it’s palms. Betraying any nonsense your mind or soul offer. They hide then, small and childlike, alone and bleeding, in the recesses, far behind the grove of trees you used to play within.
No more sunrises. Sunsets.
Instead you cower within the confines of your castles, diamonds. Porcelain masks that keep the chains at your throat from noticement.

It’s an empty promise, that path, you know.

Yeah
You know.

All the petty words, empty shells, carcasses ripped out and left to dry in the noonday sun. Don’t worry. The tide will come in, wash away all the signs, all the proof. Wash away their footprints, but their words never leave the space in between bruises on your back.
Pockets filled with safe numbers, tongues lashing at your drop in armor, accidental glimpse behind the paper mache curtain. Mustn’t let them know. You’re human. Your banquet room filled to the brim with their laughter and guests who watch you when you head to your room.
Lock the door. (Sometimes that doesn’t help though, does it. The cracks in the walls of your spine let them in just the same.)

You didn’t choose this path, I know.

Someone picked you up,
Sat you down,
Pointed.
Slid their fingers inside your brain and switched it off. Gouged your eyes out and clicked ‘play’.

Did you notice?
Those weren’t fingers. They were claws. Leaking with the blood of another.

Do you want to know a secret?
There’s a fork in the road.
Crossroads inside the darkness.

A pair of scissors, lying on the ground below.
Pick it up. Cut the strings.
And then you’ll know.

You left the breadcrumbs, a maddened wild thing inside your chest. All that time kneeling, taking the knife, only made a monster of your heart. They didn’t think about that. How fragile a child. How horrific, how unstoppable a monster. And you know all their shadow puppets. All their truths. You are the keeper of secrets when you’re weak.
But when you wake.
When you wake, hands dirty with the yeast of your memories, demons, and pains on your side, when the silly putty is long dead and dried, when the voice is booming inside your chest louder and louder than theirs about your feet, when the need for a sunset is greater than their diamonds, your hands become stronger than their chains.

You are welcome, then, wild creature, to breathe through your own lungs.
Off their path and into the forest, find yourself.
Then
Then come find us. The wild souls, broken and rebuilt by the master’s hands. Our own.

Shadow Poetry

memories

out of the darkness, they came

like lightning bolts of flame

 

we ran and ran, but lost our grip

beware, beware, that gradual slip

 

take one wrong turn, my dear

that’s all it takes, out there, in here

 

its not a choice, not conscious, at least

choose today, to ruin or feast

 

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Micro Stories

Dark Blue Whispers

sometimes the handlebars are underground

and the only way to find the map is to go back to the liquor store and make a different decision

that’s where they found us

trading in an old life

for free will and laughter

the choice to make our own mistakes

instead of suffer the consequences of theirs

 

their boots shook the ceiling

the threat of return to where we used to be

sending blood through our veins in a fiery dance

because we knew

there was no going back

 

we found the back door beneath the closed sign and ran, never looking back

if we did

perhaps they’d convince us to stay, that we didn’t need our tongue anyway

and our eyes would only mislead us

we could use theirs

for a price

but no

we ran, eyes firmly on the blurry promises ahead of us

hand in hand, because getting lost is so easy

when all the signs forgot their arrows

 

it was only when we made it past the river

under the cover of the places they call forbidden

knowing full well

(they always knew the truth)

our cure resided here

it’s only then we realized

we can breathe fire

and hear the trees

whispering in darker hues of blue

 

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**this micro story was named by a patron 🖤

Shadow Poetry

They Follow Me

There are these
Stilted Scarecrows
Jolting about
On corpse legs

Forcing their way
Into my line of
Vision
Throwing blood about
Beating on a drum

Funny
They choose not to notice
My silence

The past
Cannot be
Re-done
Re-spoken

Some wounds
Cannot heal
Until the
Scar tissue
Is erased
In another life

So desperate
For me to be
Sitting around
The fire
With you

But I remember
What those embers
Can do

I’ve collected
These Scarecrows
Though I’m really
Not certain how
Or why
They shamble around
In the dark
Just out of sight
Waiting to pounce
To stitch their bony joints
Into my hair

I’ve befriended
Murders of crows
I’ve decorated
My home
With them
Etched them
Into my bones

And yet
These Burning Eyed
Scarecrows
They find me

Clothed in dead skins
Sickles in their hands
Carved faces
Straw innards
They haunt
Ghoulish calls
Carrying clappers
And stones

They are my funeral march
Hurling perilously
Into the fires they create
Pinning me the patsy

I’ve collected
These Scarecrows
They keep hiding behind
Death masks

I do not belong
To them
But they claw
At my skin

Their past presence
Scarring my Sight

I belong to the ravens
I side with the crows

 

By Daphne shadows

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