Here's a new pointless journal just to clear out the old one.
Ancient The volume on the television was near mute. Buzzing static muffed the dialogue as it changed rapidly.Ancient by ~jbbrandi
“There’s never anything on,” she said.
He kicked the coffee table at her.
“Have you seen anything yet?” she asked.
“Are you even paying attention?”
ChangingThe trees strip naked over time—Changing by ~jbbrandi
The slowest tease for the coldest shoulder.
The blanket proffered is deadly,
But I accept the gesture warmly,
Which leaves an impression even I can’t fully appreciate.
[[I would ponder beneath the flimsy shade—a halfhearted attempt to bully off the ironic sunlight—but I find that slushing and sloshing blood
is conducive only to cudgeling my brains without a forethought in sight.]]
My sheets are of an infinite
Never the same in each second—
They recycle and clean
At terminal velocity.
They offer comfort without
Without the familiarity
The are the nomadic bed liners
Who render the blankets
Twice as fatal.
I wrap myself in each,
Setting them aflame—
Literally soaking them
Into my skin—
An osmosis counterproductive—
I’m not sure what.
The breeze would whisper,
As they all do,
But there are so few secrets
Out Old Start Don'tQuiet corners slip casually into cowardly clichés wherein the heroine is high above the commoners, her climax already passed and the denouement is impotent and potent in its staggered steps downwards where resolution resolves to settle in upset vertices who would prefer their proper title, if you please!Out Old Start Don't by ~jbbrandi
So the situation reaches a(head) and (dis)solves its own borders so that the corners can relax and fall back into their paperbacks, dreaming of themselves on shelves in the pits of hell where flames can lick them and names don’t matter, and the same insults can flatter where once before, horrible phrases were contracted assassinees in the clauses of clauses and no one will bless if you sneeze because look around—there’s no hope for you, here, and platitudes fall flat, exuding irony tastes in the back of throats, swallowing wounds on fingertips, and nothing sticks, save for your tongue on the roof of your mouth which has conveniently sprung a leak so that words
Daily Vitamins She asks her every day if she’s remembered to take her vitamins. The answer is almost always yes. On the occasions when it’s a “no” instead, the situation is immediately rectified. Cara never can leave well enough alone. Sometimes June thinks that’s why they’re together in the first place. Other times she just wants to tell her to fuck off.Daily Vitamins by ~jbbrandi
Tuesday is a special day for the pair. Seventeen days before Christmas, and here they are preparing to celebrate the holiday a fortnight in advance.
“How the hell do you manage to curl perfect fucking ribbons every time?” June throws her scissors down in a fit of rage. The mangled remains of what was once perfectly good ribbon are scattered about her.