Esmaraldo's profile

Red is not something that you can feel- not like the soft wool of a winter scarf or the auburn ringlets of your mother’s hair. You can never taste the red that melts like cherry ice cream in your mouth, or burns, instead, with the exotic melange of chilli. Red does not permeate like fine wines on late summer evenings, or flow steadily trickling through your veins. But you can see red, if you look closely, within the fleeting glance of a butterfly’s wing, the rose bud hidden beneath a myriad o...

Imagine yourself shaking hands with The Principle Rudiments of Anatomy- how many fingers can you break? Textbook formulae for learning “how to cope with fits”: Laugh until you spit. Hit something hard. Then slit your wrists for bliss. Try that one out on the family if you dare. You’ve copied down the notes, read the lies between the lines, Answered questions of your demise- all that is left Is to appreciate the art of voodoo. Click as you type each letter: I.t. w.i.l.l. g.e.t. b.e.t.t.e.r.

Sun flares a dazzling white. Ripples in grass, green, yellow, petals fatally waiting to be crushed, round and round, softly, slowly. Once again the light falls on you, persistent beating of warmth and glare, highlighting yet shadowing all- imperfections, sharpened, contrasted, outlasted. Not ready to take control once more, surrounded by people but so completely alone- it’s too much to focus your thoughts; you can’t explain why blades of grass can cause pain. Grass breaks straight, doftened, ...