1 New Text Message And just in that moment, you let every memory flood back to you. You're in the middle of a Skype call, he's telling you that you're beautiful, he's telling you how gorgeous your eyes are. You say nothing, you're blushing; nobody has been like this before. You both dream of your future together, your wedding, your honeymoon, your children. Texts are exchanged long into the night, ones that make you feel that you're wanted. For the first time, this boy wants you. Then you leave for three weeks, a summer holiday. You talk to him every evening. He tells you he misses you. He tells you he's crazy about you. You buy him a present the next day, wanting him to know you miss him just as much. You return home. He ignores your texts. Something has changed. You meet up rarely, and when you do it's awkward, a romance buried in blushed cheeks and secrets. His present is still buried at the back of your wardrobe. You want him. He gets a girlfriend. You get a boyfriend. He moves on. You try to. And you honestly thought you had until-- 1 New Text Message

Our Family It only takes five days For this family To become strained Showing little cracks Or insignificant tears And I'll tell you why We're four suits of a deck of cards Not similar in size or shape or mind Only associated with one another Because we share a name So It only takes a breeze To start the next tsunami Which drowns the population Of our house Or in fact of any But Don't you worry about us We're held together by a force Stronger than the power to hold a city before a tsunami Much stronger It's somewhat cheesy but Love Keeps us sane Or rather tries to In this funny little situation #life landed us in And I can confidently say that We Never have a day when we couldn't tell the other I love you I trust you I need you And there isn't a day when the other wouldn't reply with the same.

Black Cats And Top Hats: 2 It's getting darker. The Incubus is everywhere now, each survivor only has a few square feet around them that they can see is safe. Beyond that could be anything, a dark abyss of insanity that too many have tripped into and become it's slaves. And the screams have become so frequent. At least three to every bell chime. Bell, I think that's what we called it. The Old World. Because of the church's chime, you see? I'm glad I still hear it. That way I know I'm still alive. Each house in Bell was always bustling with glee, bouncing babies up to wise old ladies and every character you could possibly imagine in between. Entering a home was like entering a maze, starting off on a journey deep into the centre of the earth. They were underground, you know, that's why Bell is known as the molehill to outsiders. We are known as moles. Were known as moles. What's left of us. Then a final house was burrowed, a mansion for a wealthy family with a dozen children, each with their own spouses and children of their own, servants quarters and swimming pools and all--the house to end all houses. Suddenly that tagline became all too realistic: they dug too deep this time. They released the Incubus. That selfish man with more money than he could fit in his gargantuan bathtub for his gargantuan body, inflated by the fine dining he indulged himself with, that pig, that fool, that monster, released a plague to rip apart the molehill and leave each of us savage beasts with no other thought for another human being. That man is my father.

Paradise They say a picture speaks a thousand words. I say a word can speak a thousand pictures. Paradise. The air tumbles across a picturesque beach, each particle stopping to greet your bare skin. The waves kiss the pale shoreline punctuated with pastel sea shells, memories of when this abandoned island was teaming with majestic Jurassic giants. Paradise. Paradise. Kissing your neck, tickling it with his heavenly lips, breathing warm and soothing caresses, he tells you you're his only girl. That he'll treat you right. That no matter what happens, he will do anything for this to work. You know he isn't lying. Paradise. Paradise. Orchestra music darts and dives in the cool night breeze, each bandstand occupied with a hive of song-weavers. Tonight will be the night. You step and twirl and smile in perfect time amongst the hoards of unknown faces and bodies, getting lost, being absorbed by the buzz, losing yourself like you never wanted to find yourself, as though this is your final night here. If it was, you couldn't care less, this would be your final bow, your curtain call. Or maybe tonight is just the beginning, a dashing opening number. Paradise.

Love Triangle You know I used to like triangles before This They were sort of Cool Deathly hallows style But guess who went and threw a new word in L-O-V-E What does it spell? Heartbreak. You see I'm no prize To be competed for I'm no gold disc hung from a champion's neck with a purple ribbon of blood, sweat, tears, success If anything I'm a bronze that's been a little bruised You see, nothing to be getting nasty over. I'd like to carry on like this Three musketeers Three blind mice I wonder what blinded those mice? Maybe they chose to be blind Maybe they're wiser than I But you see Three's a crowd And love's a two player game Or so you tell me You also tell me I don't need to chose But tell me this: What Else Am I Supposed To Do. You know lately I've preferred lines Over triangles Lines are what build other shapes Build other things Although I suppose they're nice on their own Always got a direction Two infinite points in time Joined Infinitely