Schlockmeister

Schlockmeister: a person who deals in or sells inferior or worthless goods; junk dealer.

What defines worthless? Inferior. How little can you be worth? How high can you be valued? Price? Price by the free market is simply an agreement between the demand and xsupply. How much do the people want? How much can be produced? What are you willing to give? Are drugs worthless? are incorruptible politicians that important? What else can we pay with, what counts as currency? What can grant clemency, what makes you important enough to demand that I pay with what I use to live? What makes what I did cost me so much, or did it cost me at all? If murder was to finalize my plan and to let me die in peace, isn’t the death sentence simply helping me fulfill my wish? Does it matter that it’s what I want?

Hopscotch chalk

white powdered hands dusted off on the back of corduroy pants, plaid skirts.

white chalk scratches on the brick sidewalk

tiny feet thudding the red clay bricks

“Mommy! Mommy! Look! I got it!”

“That’s nice, honey, why don’t you go again?”

“But mooommmm, I’m hungryyyy”

“Alright, darling. Gimme a sec, I’m nearly done with my work.

Come now, let’s go get some sandwiches”

via Daily Prompt: Sidewalk

Auriferous

Auriferous: Yielding or containing gold.

You, my love. Forget the dull and the grey all around you. Ignore the cries that proclaim you to be trash. You know what you are. Stand up, wake up, FIGHT. Shake off all the thick blue clouds all around and above you and let your gold shine through. Nobody can say for you what you are, and you know very well that you are not what you are making yourself out to be. You and I both. There is much to do. Come, take my hand, it’s a long journey ahead. We’ll walk it together.

Put the mirrors back

Dull.

Glassy.

Empty.

Mine.

//

Yours.

They light up like the spotlights were at my first speech. Bright and blinding. I stand stark naked in my graduation robe.

*twinkle*

They shine like the fairy lights I bought as a thirteen year old.

*flash*

They spark like daddy’s eyes before a lashing.

*water*

They wobble like a dewdrop on a leaf.

*close*

rest now.

//

Mine.

Dead.

Dark.

Gone.

via Daily Prompt: Eyes

Misery blue

Soft, dying. Starving thin and cold, looking for love, gracefully wilting on the perimeter just out of its reach. When you want something so desperately that it scares you how badly you want it so you never put yourself within its reach so that you can ruin yourself and say that it was all its fault for not extending its welcome to you.

To be so lost, wrapped up, absorbed in destruction and crashing so that you can brand yourself a victim of happiness the world subscribes to, so that you can hate on everyone else who has had the fortune to be free, to live in the light to have suffered nights in darkness but had a flame to hold on to.

To be beautiful is to be nearly dead. Yes, to be dead is to be preserved in the beauty of eternal youth. What could be more beautiful than that young untouched innocence? The vulnerability to corruption but the luck to have evaded it. And where does it leave those of us who have had creeping vines wrap and twine us back into the earth? You know Poison Ivy. Poison.

Thin-lipped, blue. Pale, white like the rosy peaches pale as the morning dew with fragmented sunlight shining through. Clasped in the stone cold marble chafed and chiselled hands is a blooming red rose. Drip your blood. It will never dry. It will never be life. Lying there, she might have been lying about the terrible life that left that the better choice. You’d never know.

Light breaks on Snow White’s crystal coffin. How many Disney ladies have we seen laid to rest, only to have charming princes come by and kiss them back into a new and beautiful beginning? But they were beautiful to begin with. What of the devil, the demon, and the evil dragon? Stabbed through the heart, banished to the ends of the earth. A new hell awaits.

Ice-cold fragment. The prettiest snowflake falls, and lands, only to melt away to nothingness. On the tongue of a child with a particularly foul breath. Never on the rosy cheeked princess and her forest deer/animals. No. Beautiful people have snowflakes of diamonds and gold and platinum plated with rubies and gold. Is your beauty what is made of it?

Is the beauty of kindness that it never thinks that it is not enough? How lucky. And it shines through too. Easy. One stone, two birds. Is it stupid, to be so blindingly full of hope? Or is that just the light of humanity and how it shines? Intelligence, wisdom and gentle kindness. Maybe one day there will be enough in the world and our beasts will all be soothed. The harsh quiet will be all we have to suffer.

What are the stars behind your eyelids

What is the price of a human soul?

What is the cost, what does it weigh, when put on a scale? What are we worth, if we are the stardust we are romanticized to be? What could we be if we are not? What would be a worthy exchange, an appropriate and deserving unit?

Success, beauty, immortality, …magic?
Power?
Control?

We fear death, but we are only human. It awaits us always, in the end. Would it make sense to trade the essence of our substantiality to continue the state of existence?

Without a soul, are we nothing? Or are we merely without heart, without humanity? Another creature, but still living? A different species? Would we qualify in the category, ‘monster’? Or just another wild beast without a mind to be tamed?

Morality. How do I fit into the ‘good person’ category?

//

Too many agree, it is better to be dead inside, to never feel a thing again. Oh, the carelessness of humans when it comes handling one another. We bruise the other apples in the basket mashing ourselves. And the rot sets in… no one can hurt you if you hurt yourself first. It spreads, like plague, and masking the rosy red of the entire basket, a covering picnic blanket.

And if we are all nothing in the end, what are we existing to achieve? What is the point of being meaningless? How beautiful can dust and ashes, dirt and clay be?

Let’s just all pretend we are the glittery stuff of our sweetest dreams and dance the waltzes of the galaxies. And when we’re dead and gone at least we were beautiful once.

Natatorium

Definition: a swimming pool, especially one that is indoors.

I’ve always loved seeing pictures of them. Those beautiful, classy photos depicting the million-dollar interior of mansions whose owners had the money and the creativity (or the money to hire creativity) to integrate a water space into their rooms. It must be so calming, to wake up to the crystalline blue with the sunlight captured in it, filtering through. And the cool surface of the glass when you lean against it and exhale, like the coldness will slowly seep into your skin exchanging places with your body heat, bringing you the calm that you need. Natatorium. An aquarium, but for humans, and inside the most intimate corners of most human habitat.

What’s this?

WotD essentially stands for Word of the Day. So maybe sometimes the daily prompt doesn’t kick anything in my head or I get really bored in class and start looking for something to write. I guess this is kinda a kill two birds with one stone thing. I get to practice writing and widen my vocabulary at the same time. Three or four actually. Then I don’t actually fall asleep in class and I get to pay attention to lessons. Yay.

The words are chosen by Dictionary.com. Basically if I get bored I’m supposed to pull down my notifications tab and note down the word of the day and guess it’s definition. And then, if I’m still bored, I write a hundred words or so on it to stay awake 🙂