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🌐 @tgWiz I @BigBrandTre
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Mirth was born on his lips and grace bloomed in his hands. He was indeed the great father of all the village. His snow like hair never played a role in why would the villages consider him a parent figure, it was the caring he provided and the warmth he gave. He lived at the edge in a small house with his petite wife's memory which he held close. A girl in our village would come by every now and then to help him with the house. And there's a rumor that he can do magic, but no one ever really saw him practice his arts. Some believed he would pass his secrets to the girl before he dies since he was in his 90s, for his real son left the village fifity years ago and never came back. For me I just liked to pass by his little garden that he gave his most daily attention, it was very beautiful, not betraying the efforts he had put in it. I would pass by and say hello and he would reply me with a smile, a warm gaze of his crystal blue eyes and a wave of his wrinkly hand.

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I can't be the person in whose arm you find shelter. I can't be your safe darkness.

Yet I still want to be.


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We both could have been the moth, we both could have been the flame.

So why was I not there to kiss you back from the edge? Why was I not able to save you like once you tried to save me?


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I am torn again, for all the different reasons and yet the same.

For the hatred we hold; and the sympathy.
For belonging to you I am to blame.

We don't deserve this earth, let the heavens alone.

When we gloat over death, and wail over sorrows only when it's our own.


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I tried to

let you go

once,

to save you

once,

but you

ran back

to me.


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Darkness is your bed,
His eyes are your stars,
His touches are your guide,
Set it on fire as you collide.

The wind is your sheets,
Your lips are his feast,
Your skin is his land,
Douse it as you intertwine hands.


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Once upon a dream, a girl sought a home.

On tree branches and beneath stones.

Once upon a dream, a girl found home.

Within a being that was her own.


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She turned her back on the world just to face you,
to have the touch of your skin at her fingertips.

Her arms enclosed you
as she spread her wings,
so the world behind her,
and its arrows,
were visible to you no more.


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Why do we haunt you, you ask?

Because we pay back the deed. The deed of the blade you used to carve a smile on our faces.

A smile we never asked for.


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Author's note: This is from a pumpkin's point of view on Halloween night