Psychast

The blazing sun nested itself comfortably on the horizon as Akane sluggishly pushed open the cumbersome glass door to her middle school. She shouldered her hefty bag as she trotted along the asphalt sea which was noticeably absent of occupants. She was one of the few still remaining students as the rest had scurried to their homes over an hour ago. Detention, again. Akane couldn’t very well understand the point of it all, she sat in a room with a handful of troublemakers all guilty of one crime or another, yet felt less trapped there than in the classroom, at least there the husky prison warden chatted candidly to distract them from the

Add 1 cup of Expectations A dash of delusion A pound of stress A teaspoon of fear Then add 4 quarts of guilt, sufficient to submerge the ingredients. Now set temperature to high. Oh no, much higher than that. Higher. HIGHER. Are you even trying? Just turn the knob. Look, all I want is for you to succeed because you're capable of so much more, won't you please turn it higher? I just don't understand, is this not enough of a challenge? It mustn't be, so let's turn it higher. Everyone else can do it, what's wrong with you? HIGH- ...what do you mean: "it boiled over"?

Soft eyes, sharply penetrate Kind smile, thwart concentration The gaze that illuminates, reveal the cracks in this foundation As tempered lips break these walls with mere utterance Each word a sledgehammer which tear at this comfortable defense I find no reprieve, a merciless onslaught of tenderness, A cruel kindness received, assaults the fortitude of my bitterness, Forced her way in, shattered these petty barricades, torn through like paper charades A total defeat

Floating away in the darkness of night A shimmering orb bathing in moonlight Tethered to Earth, I extend my reach unto Heaven Watching in vain, as you obscure into oblivion

Things broken, satisfied in an oblivion, transfixed in the memories of shattered backs, I know Where the sun shines on a grey Earth and the sunflower all but scoffs and Turns its head downcast searching for something in the sand, like purpose Whisked away ages ago, muffled in monotony's embrace. Yet tufts of green do breach an endless winter, Dabbled here and there, though yes, squashed, smothered and overwhelmed by the indifference for such small miracles, and inevitably swallowed by the grey, They did exist, transfixed in the youth of their nature, in the sweetness of their terminal brevity, something like innocence, something like mag