The sun begins to set,
the shadows come out to play.
Dancing, twisting, turning,
celebrating the the bright moons stay.
Silly little shadows,
they have nothing to say.
They whisper to you sweet nothings,
before they dance way.
Rain and BergamotMy face is cold, and wet, and warm, at the same time, and my split lip is stinging. I'm face down in a puddle, and it is turning cloudy from my blood. She's walking away, and he's walking with her, and I'm not moving as I watch them go. I thought I meant something, but clearly was a fool. As my front turns damp and the puddle starts to taste metallic, I think of my delusion, and wonder. I wonder if I ever mattered, if my gestures mattered, if my outpourings mattered, or if she had just gone along with it all the while, and then gotten tired of me and found an excuse. The puddle starts to turn salty.Rain and Bergamot by Don-Calabrigo
When I get up it doesn't feel like pushing myself up, it feels like pushing the earth away, and I sigh as the idea of pure love leaves me, replaced by a harsher reality. All that's left at the moment to fuel me is a fire in my veins as I spit out blood, and venom, and idyllic romance into the gutter. A thick, misty rain begins that turns the streetlights' rays into orange orbs around them a
Why Now?Why now, not later?Why Now? by Don-Calabrigo
What makes this moment the one?
The world that moves around you?
The stars, the moon, the sun?
Or does it come from something else, something down inside?
When you allow yourself to open
and swallow up your pride?
Then you see the truth of your mentality
Let yourself feel that truth, and accept reality.
A Gentleman?The rain poured dow, washing across the windows, streaking them, distorting the people beyond. He liked to people watch, but that was not why he had chosen the large chair near the windows. He was expecting a guest. A guest who was twenty minutes late, but he was a gentleman so he would wait. A gentleman or a shmuck he pondered, gazing into the dim street. It was just past midday but the gloom was so deep the streetlights were on, casting pools of orange light onto the pavement.A Gentleman? by Don-Calabrigo
A sigh escaped his lips as he drummed his fingers. He was too nice, he was taken advantage of. Any other jerk would have left by now, but no, not him. He rose, leaving his jacket and moved outside, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. Huddling under the awning of the café he lit it. The teen was a new smoker, he held the cigarette all wrong, unable to pull off the nonchalance so attached to the act; it steadied him nonetheless. As he exhaled he mused that at this temperature he could have pretended he wa