Trust Me

Lovers Kiss

Trust me, you said.
Do not dwell on the past,
this time will be different,
our love is meant to last.

Trust me, you said.
Let me kiss away your tears
and be the one champion
that can soothe away your fears.

Trust me, you said.
Hand over your frail heart
and I’ll keep it safe always,
even if we’re worlds apart.

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The Yellow Wallpaper – Trifextra

The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman is the chilling tale of a doctor’s wife being driven mad. The tale is set during an era when conditions like depression were treated with extended periods of bed rest and a pronounced lack of stimulating activities. It’s not hard to fathom how this could have caused many people to fall into a state of psychosis. The story reads as journal entries that become progressively disturbing. This short story is highly recommended for those who like a darker, moody, creepy tale.

English: American feminist poet and writer Cha...

English: American feminist poet and writer Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1860–1935) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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The Pale Mistress

You granted your callous mistress the right to infiltrate our lives. My childhood memories are defiled by her meddlesome intrusion. You became her marionette, her absurd little dancing fool. I watched you; a once proud, mountain of a man, reduced to a lowly pebble.

We were never enough.

You gave all you possessed in life to appease her constant hunger. We were merely afforded the scraps she left of your love, attention, and time. I can remember the contempt my mother endured every day for what you deemed an unforgivable sin: She chose to keep fighting for you.

You didn’t just defeat her once, that would have been too merciful. You subdued her inner essence, strangling it into submission. I witnessed my mother dwindle into a thin, crumbling husk while you roamed in blissful freedom, never facing the aftermath.

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Daylight Savings Time

Timmy knew exactly what to do. He just had to turn the big hand on the clock backwards. Grandpa called it ‘Daylight Savings Time’.

He prodded the clock in the kitchen with a broom, until it fell down. Relief crashed through him when the clock remained intact. He picked it up and slowly spun the big hand. He paused for a moment. Had it worked?

He peered into the living room. His mother was passed out drunk on the sofa. Was she like that before he took the clock? He couldn’t remember. He usually took care not to disturb her as he navigated around the bottles strewn about the floor but today his mind was racing in a million directions.

As he sprinted to the hallway, he let the bottles fall where they may. He didn’t even think twice about how much trouble he was going to be in for letting their mouths drip beer and wet ash all over his grandmother’s oriental rug.

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