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The Fall Of An Artist: Chapter 16Rose lights another cigarette.
“Where is he? What if something has happened to him? I can’t lose him too.”
Feeling that her legs are weak, she sits down.
“I can’t lose him, I just can’t.”
She gets up.
Jason appears in the open door.
Rose runs to him and embraces him.
“Where were you?” she asks. “I was looking for you for hours.”
“I was in the forest.” he replies.
“I went into the forest, but I couldn’t find you.”
“I was quite deep in; you wouldn’t have found me…”
“I’m sorry that I went through your stuff. I should have trusted you.”
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”
“I was so worried about you.”
“It’s okay, I’m here now.”
She hugs him and he holds her as she begins to cry.
Jason is sitting on the couch with Rose lying in his arms.
The Fall Of An Artist: Chapter 13Jason wakes up and gasps for breath.
His phone is ringing.
He grabs the painkiller lying in front of his face and swallows it as he sits up, before answering the phone.
“Hi, Jason. How are you?”
“Rose? I’m fine, I just woke up. How are things with you?”
“I’m good, sorry for waking you up.”
“I was thinking that maybe we could go to my parents’ cabin for the weekend.”
“Okay, that sounds good.”
“Great, you can pick me up tomorrow morning, if that’s okay with you.”
“Yay. Well I have to get back to work. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
After hanging up, Jason puts the phone down nest to himself.
“Why am I on the floor?”
He looks to the chair lying on its side.
“Did I pass out?”
In a sudden panic, he gets up to see if the self-portrait has been damaged.
He finds that it is undamag
The Fall Of An Artist: Chapter 12“When did it get so cold?”
Jason walks down the narrow gravel path, wondering why he didn’t take his jacket.
“I remember when I brought Rose here. She looked so beautiful, but she seemed sad.”
A chill runs up Jason’s spine.
“What was she sad about?”
What was that?”
Jason looks around but sees no one and walks further, stopping in front of a bench.
“We sat here when her smile faded. She told me something, on the verge of tears. What was it? Something… something about her mother.”
Jason turns around.
A beautiful, smiling blonde girl walks onto the path.
“White dress.” the thought runs through Jason’s mind, making him feel anxious.
She starts walking around Jason.
“Who are you?” Jason asks.
She responds by giggling again.
There was something innocent and childlike about her.
“What are you doing her
I Wasn't Supposed To Be Worth It.Was it worth it?
Trading the taste of cinnamon on your lips
To smell like cigarettes and a painful hangover.
Was life so cruel to your perfectly skewed smile,
That you had to swallow a bottle of brandy
Every night at 9 pm
To hear yourself laugh again?
How could I have not noticed
The tremor in your right hand
Every time you held a pen?
Was I so blind for the love you had for me to see
That my love was destroying you?
'I am yours.' You whispered when you still had Petrichor surrounding you.
I inhaled your scent like oxygen,
All the while I suffocated you like sulfur.
You gave me your heart on a plate,
And I was the last pill that took your life away from you too.
Mother always told me I broke the things I had
Because that is how I was;
Selfish and undeserving.
I didn't deserve you.
You weren't supposed to be mine.
This is for youThis is for you
The one who has had a heartbreak
or two or three
You are not alone
You walk among friends
Of young and old
Hard and soft
Smart and stupid
No matter what happens
Get back up again
Fight the battle
Win the seige
Reclaim your life
Take back your heart
Eyes Of EarthIt's the way you see me,
without flaw or condemnation.
It's the way you look at me,
with challenge and dare.
You're the apple of my eye,
and your eyes of earth are my Eden.
It's the way you touch me,
without egotism or sin.
It's the way you feel me,
with worship and devotion.
You're the Paradise upon my skin,
and your hands of divine are my Heaven.
The GirlThe girl with perfect attendance.
The girl who had straight A's.
The girl whom the teachers liked,
and respected everyone.
She wasn't the prettiest girl.
She wasn't the funniest girl.
She knew she wasn't even close to the best,
but she didn't care.
Now that girl sits at home.
Now that girl is all alone.
Now that girl cries and wonders;
why does only she feel the pain?
She doesn't know why they choose to hurt her,
but she knows there are knives in the kitchen,
and rope and trees outside in the yard,
and there's always the pistol in Daddy's sock drawer.
Then the girl just smiles and laughs;
for she gets to decide when she doesn't want to feel the pain anymore
The Night Is OursThe Night Is Ours
The soft pressure of your lips
The firm hold on my hips
The raindrops pooled on the leaves splash around us as they drip
The brush of your fingertips against my skin
The small kiss I place on your chin
The flower petals break away in the wind; they dance and spin
Your whisper in my ear: "Please."
The weakness I feel in my knees
The song of our love is carried away by the breeze
You gently caress my face
The night listens to both our hearts race
As the wind blows, the dandelion seeds dance with effortless grace
You hold me in your embrace
I can't get enough of your taste
The birds sing their beautiful melody, set at their own pace
Our fingers interlaced
Your hands around my waist
The crickets add their heavenly tune to the nocturnal chase
The stars reflected in my eyes
Your hands running down my thighs
The night is lit by a mystical glow produced by the fireflies
The kiss on your nose
The tingling in my toes
All my feelings, my very being, is now in front of you, expos
Demons of the NightHidden in shadows, kept away from the light
Are the unknown enemies, the demons of the night
Who live on our fear and yet die from fright
These living contradictions, these demons of the night
Demons of the night who haunt us in our dreams
They find the weakness in our psyche and tear at the seams
Yet, they flow fast in our minds, like a river in the rain
They cause us so much misery, yet they themselves are in pain
Hidden from the sun and the light of the moon
But the lights from their hearts, from that, they aren't immune
They are predators, we are prey, and on us they leave their mark
But, in a sense, they're just like us...so why are we scared of the dark?
PurityA creature came toward me
With love in its gentle eyes
It almost brought me to tears
A creature that offers us nothing but good
And how do we repay this act of kindness
What hath becometh of thee
That thou repayeth
1420 MHzHe keeps a list wadded in the depths of his front, left pocket: where he holds his keys, and the forgotten/abandoned shell of a lone pistachio. The list is his biography, written in the shape of Argentine Spanish:
Me gustan los tomates en verano.
Yo amo a mi novio.
Nos besamos. (Mi novio chupa mis dedos de los pies.)
Las estrellas cantan sus canciones.
Mi nombre no es Eduardo.
Vivo con Jacobi ahora.
His pants are wadded, now, on summer-warmed hardwood; his shirt is draped over the back of a cane-back chair, the most incongruous of antiques in Jacobi’s tech-nerd lair. Headphones clamp his ears, and fill his head with the lisping whisper of interstellar hydrogen, broadcasting itself at a neat 1420 MHz. Bedroom is the wrong word for a place like this, despite the sorts of furnishings one might expect. There is a bed, a dresser, a bookshelf and two nightstands cramped with magazines, graphic novels. An alarm clock
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