Oh, Captain

I knew that to love her was suicide, but my god her brokenness was beautiful,


A tragic mess who had learned to dance with her skeletons


She rocked to sleep those restless memories, held pain so close to her chest


Insomnia was her most reliable friend,

The emblem of their nightly charades displayed as mottled darkness beneath her eyes


She was a survivor when all others stayed victims

Her body a battlefield, littered with fading scars and the faint aroma of suffering

Both mingling with olive skin and sweet perfume


But survival is gorgeous


She didn't want love, didn't need a companion

Only a loyal captain to stand silent at the helm of her sinking ship


Never before did a gun placed to my temple feel so full of life

allets's picture

A Life Profiled

Portraits. Prosaic and poignant. Depressing as the culture from which they were grown. 



HCE's picture


An incredibly powerful piece. You've got a novel in you, I can tell!

Carcass's picture

Beautiful piece

Very well written! "Insomnia was her most reliable friend."  That really got to me because I suffered from Insomnia for several years and it is a really hard cycle to break. And with Insomnia, when you do sleep you suffer from imaginations of the mind.  Just a wonderful sentence.