United States

just an average teen writer looking to scribble out young thoughts from ashy papers
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Message from Writer

Glory in mediocrity as you ascend, a phoenix, a comet, a phalanx of ink brushes and skin hurtling across the sky

Improbable Flavor Inspo

June 2, 2018

  • The taste of winter- their teeth, strong and bold as they graffiti themselves in your memory, stuck spinning in the snow, in the snow, in the snow, hair filled with snowflake dandruff and peppermint chips, a left-over smudge of cocoa that you will wipe away with your thumb oh-so-gently and savor its taste, a god-given scrap reminder of your faith
  • The taste of love- small, and soft, and shuddering with each new step it takes. it is so fragile. oh, so fragile. blood streaks down its sides and with each second you see the skin stretching over and over like a rubber balloon and maybe this will be the time it breaks but it never does. what will be inside when it cracks? you have dreamt of it yesterday, and today, and a million tomorrows. it is the most durable life you have ever borne witness to.
  • The taste of simplicity- no taste. just your taste as you hunch leaning to the side elbow propped on the white suede armrest and tongue stuck in your mouth. no taste, just feel, the feel of tiny "clicks" when you clip your teeth together, the feel of sticking out your jaw and feeling a slow burn, the feel of your tongue constantly exploring the cavern nicknamed "mouth"-
  • The taste of adrenaline- roller coasters; everything about them, from the rusty iron taste that boils in your veins to the chemical paints you imagine are tattooed onto your skin too. maybe if they were people, they would be your best friend, wild and rough and untamed and desperate for the thrill, cherishing life so much they would be willing to throw it away in exchange for a new memory.
  • The taste of writer's block- stiff like glue. it enfolds your brain. eyelids droop, cheeks puff out. there is so much to write later, there is so much to write, this is so much, this is- what is this?
  • The taste of embarrassment- cool seafire like the green mint you ripped from the same packaging five times in a row and crammed them into your mouth until your parents slapped the ripped logos out of your chubby hand, like the time you tripped in front of your crush and landed, silhouetted by your "friends" in damp warm sand, like the time you looked up at the night sky and tried to live but got dragged down by gravity to mourn surrounded by pebble dust,
  • The taste of the night sky- dark and velvet. it is a terrible taste that sears its way into your eyes, warning you as it passes through your iris "we are here, and will be here, longer than you can even begin to imagine. we will remember you for less that one-millionth of a second of our lifespan", and you stood there shaking, clear tears sipping into your mouth
  • The taste of surprise- sobby. it sobs out a million prayers, half good, most bad, as fireworks launch your brain into a space of crisis and you stare desperate at the red trying to organize it into your life- is this fire or party poppers tell me please tell me hurry i cannot hang on for long pleaSE-
  • The taste of the color green- the last one. tasting like leaf rot and mulch, of electric tea bags and broken ankles. it is sharp, and angry, and certainly not your ally. it would press you into itself if it could if not for the fact that we win through size. "quantity and not quality" we murmur in its ears as we whisper our battle chants.


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