squ33ky-ness

I wish the rain would hang on me Adorn my flesh and body like crystal Perfect melting diamonds tracing rivers Down my cheeks so that anyone looking Would reminded of freedom in solitude So that when you saw me, you would Believe the crocodile tears on my salty cheek. Maybe then you would look on me Without that terrible cast of apathy Freezing your warm brown eyes.

A Scientist Reflects Upon a Failed Attempt at Art And I'm admitting that The friendly incision of my well-meaning scalpel Wasn't so friendly sometimes. I had no right To put you on my potter's wheel And try, and try to fit you into a mental matchbox, But I did. And I pushed and pushed, grinding you down Because I wanted to see if you'd leave. When you'd leave. And you did. And now my flame gutters in darkness. My surgical tools are unused, unstained, Cleaned of your blood. Replicating the experiment I developed long ago. You only proved hypotheses and results Because though you feared you were losing me You were the one Wh

The Pit They watched the unconscious Azazel for a moment as they entered, and because they were alone, he held his arm around her waist. In case they fell, was his excuse. She gave him one of those knowing smiles of hers, but they walked together, steps in time, wrapped around one another as they descended the stone stairway to the cavern that Azazel was imprisoned in. They let their arms and hands fall away from each other as Mazarin made his way over to the stone slab. There was silence as they waited. He had wanted Azazel to wake on his own, to have no guards up before he realized where he was. To this end, Mazarin was much amused as Azaz

Hand in Hand Mazarin listened to the exchange of words between Nephilim and Fallen Power with something like a pang in his heart. He knew that most of this had been his doing and that if he had listened to Camael’s claims, he would not be on the ground, approaching death. None of them would have been harmed. It was the guilt and grief that caused him to duck his head, to avert his eyes, to hide behind his sheet of black hair as Camael claimed to not deserve redemption. He wanted to shout at the frail man. Of course he did. He had been wrongfully disgraced. He had not deserved the wounds that Mazarin himself had so graciously bestowed up

Embrace Mazarin had watched the Nephilim girl rush to the Redeemer, the desperation in her gasp and how they had clung to each other, reassured that they were indeed alive and together. There had always been that chance, even when the “Lightbringer” had seemed innocent enough. He had been facing Lucifer while she had bravely confronted Azazel. The lovers’ sharing of affection reminded him that someone else had proved themselves against the Fallen. While the others gathered around the dying Camael, someone Mazarin owed much to, he had bent to help Sashael up, pulling her to her feet as she murmured that she had no need of his

To the Death As Sashael scrambled to stand after her legs went out from under her, she stared up at Azazel, brown eyes unknowingly beseeching him to stop. The Fallen Angel actually paused, his own dark eyes staring at her, at her…and then he remembered just whose scent he smelt upon her and kicked her in the side with such force that she cried out and was sent rolling away from him, coming to rest at white clothed legs and feet. With an effort, she raised her head to stare into his Asiatic face, his hazel eyes hardening as he stared down at his injured Lieutenant. “Five thousand years ago, I put you in chains.” Mazarin direct

Because of You The words echoed in their minds. Azazel got to Aaron because of you. He’s in Lucifer’s hands now…because of you. The world as we know it may be about to end....Because of you. As Mazarin’s head bowed in acceptance of the weight and enormity of Camael’s words, Sashael wanted so badly to walk over and hold him, to comfort him and tell him that Camael hadn’t meant those words, that there was some tiny detail that absolved him of his guilt. But she knew that he would not appreciate her attempts to console him in front of his former commander and the Fallen healer. The urge could be saved until they we

A Good Soldier Nothing could express the feelings welling up inside Sashael as she rode in the passenger seat of the car, accompanied by Ariel and Camael. There was a certain awkwardness to the atmosphere, and none made much small talk. After all, she had helped her commander clip Camael’s wings, and had connections to those who’d clipped Ariel’s. They had the loose affiliation of enemies brought together by temporary tribulations. Still, Sashael, always the more sympathetic one than her commander, felt like apologizing, but didn’t know whether the sentiment would be appreciated. Or maybe Camael was waiting for her confes

In Shining Armor My life is a string of Tournaments fought on the back of my steed, of Misplaced, adopted anger. “Champion, oh my knight, wear this token of my favor, I’m far too stable To fight for my own offenses and win.” They say. “I’m all right, okay” “Not angry,” Other adjectives that make me want to cry Because I know that There is more conviction in my ever-present doubt Then they have in sentences They build on happenstances of betrayal and lies More pleasurable Than clothes and backseats, when she “didn’t mean” To hurt them To lie or omit certain facts that make

Cure Su gasped as Tsubasa hissed, staring at his hand as though it were a separate entity, an alien tumor sent to suck his spleen from his pinky finger. Why had he done that? His hand had reached out of its own accord and… “Don’t worry, Tsubasa, I’ll find it!” Su cried out, hastily rummaging through the medicine cabinet. “It’s the best stuff ever! Pain killer, fever reducer…it’ll make you sing better too!” “Su….” “It’ll even cure cancer!” Su exclaimed fantastically, reappearing at the door with a bottle of a revolting-looking green substance. “…It&#