Drabble Quotes

Drabble #46 – Singing songs (just to sing the songs)

I’d never realized how reliant on my alarm clock I had become until I didn’t have it. It unnerved me more than it should have, knowing that I would just wake up at any time. What if I slept more than I needed to? What if I slept forever? What if I never woke up? I don’t know what my parents would do. Maybe they would regret borrowing my alarm clock for the night. Maybe they would regret not borrowing it sooner. They’d never say that out loud but it would linger on their breaths, a sin mouthwash couldn’t cleanse the lie out of.


Drabble #45 – Purple stars (they're in your eyes).

You sigh like a receding tide, all smooth seas and soft waves. But your touch is that of a traffic-clogged highway, quick and bustling, sweeping through your body and then settling out. I could fire shots into the sky for you until I run out of bullets or I get tired, but I would still be left with the gun. It’s the price of recklessness. I could love you hard enough for it to leave marks on your bones, hard enough for you to walk away, but I would still be left with my hands. These palms have already memorized the feel of your touch, and I don’t want them to forget it.


Drabble #42 – Dragon

Close your eyes and I’ll give you this story:

Stick your hand into your chest and pull out your heart. See if it matches the color of your cheeks. There are two monsters in your gut, and one of them does not belong to you. Everything casts a shadow; remember this even though you told me in a dream you aren’t afraid of anything. We’ll cut into those who leave you jaded, you poor little thing. Recklessness is considered beautiful for a reason, so no, I will not hold back.

But you want a better story, don’t you? We all do.

Drabble #43 – Fingers drumming down your skin (shaking up your heart)

Hey, your heart has its eyes closed. Should I make a ruckus? I bet you want someone on the straight path to success but I’ll be crooked. Tortured me poised, I’ll show you your crimes, I’ll mix you up. Push me hard into the sunset; you’ll only burn and I’ll glitter across the horizon. But why are you being distant? You’re a bit blue these days. Come, tie your shoelaces and run with me. How does it feel to live for yourself? The diamonds shaking across your skin, they’re free to shimmer through your hair and trace the patterns plotted on your skin.


Drabble #41 – Sleeping Pill

It’s 4am, and a voice is murmuring against my ear like sin, like sleeping pills. I do not say anything, because you’re picking at the threads of another conversation I don’t want to have, but we don’t mention that. You’re so afraid of silence, afraid of the thoughts that lurk there and the off-chance that I might get the courage to say them. “Go to sleep,” you whisper, a smile ghosting around your lips, as if were that simple. Can’t, I almost whisper back, you’re all I see when I close my eyes. Almost.

“Scared of the dark?”

Something like that.

Drabble #40 – Where the asphalt flowers grow.

You live in the cracks of rock on spray-painted concrete in Hong Kong. You live in the bikes and cars riding in the early morning rush hour of New York City. You live in the gold flecked domes on top of painted beauty in the churches of Moscow. You live in the purple tulips blooming in the shade of the Eiffel Tower. You are a fleeting whisper of something special in my 3am thoughts. You are here, and now. You are everywhere. You are the world, my world. That’s where you live. You are the cuts of inspiration I get in the spaces between seconds. You live in those spaces.


Drabble #38 – Whirlpool

Smother the bird of my heart and make a wreath of the feathers. Hang it from your door. Let me at least be a trophy in your cabinet. I’ll bleed into the walls; into the plaster so that I’m all you see in the corner of your eye. I taped needles to my skin in hopes that you would understand how I felt when you touched me. Notice the pearls around my neck, each a sliver of happiness, painstakingly strung one by one. You’ve pressed the fragments of these into my palms, ran them over with alcohol to sterilize the feelings out of them. Maybe they’ll fade, or disintegrate. I’ll never know if they do.


Drabble #36 – What worlds she did not break.

Hearken this grove of secrets pulled by the tide, the shore grasps to keep. I’ve glimpsed the shadow of doubt across your face so here, take these words I couldn’t form so they decayed on my tongue and inlayed them gravestones, but we call them teeth. Here, listen to the ripple of my heart being pulled out to sea. Here, listen to the ocean; it will translate my soul better than I. Here, pluck these heartstrings, make a melody of my love and remember it. I coveted the shore and its inability to stop loving the tide, reminiscent of cold hands on my ribs. We swish salt water in our mouths to heal the cuts, don’t you see? It’s love, dissolved in a glass, magical, healing.


Drabble #34 – The cracked edge of something once seamless.

Sometimes I tell myself that the furniture is more than furniture. When you left, all I had was the acid green futon, a cracked wooden coffee table, and cold sheets. I still recall the day we went to IKEA and picked up the new family members, on sale and ugly as can be. Sometimes I talk to my furniture, and sometimes it talks back, but only sometimes. Most of the time there’s nothing else I can do, but teeter on the edge between detached apathy and infatuation. Sometimes, I feel nothing. Other times… I can feel the world breathing against the soles of my feet.


Drabble #35 – Flavors

Swallow the universe and you’ll be picking stars out of your teeth. Put the bottle down and leave the dregs of planets and speckled backwash for me. I’ll smoke those infinities from your lungs, if you let me. I swear I will, for all the gold encrusted and diamond studded promises I offer, this one comes laced in stardust. This dusty shelf holds a more cracked you. This rusty faucet knows the color of your teeth too well. This frozen mountain that we’re dancing on is a slippery slope indeed, but you’re so beautiful when nebulae are swirling in our drinks and painting the surface of your eyes.


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