Week 4 - Certain (3-0) vs. VividlyVague (3-0) - CERTAIN WINS 5-0

Certain · 10-17-2013, 03:58 AM

The flame flickers. One draw, deep. Exhale.
It's time to go.
This attic provided home, sanctuary by liner notes.
Crawl space, really. One window, sealed by primer coats,
that couldn't reveal the time I'd consigned to wine-drinking and hiding, cold.
There's a draft. The five-by-five-by-five nook wasn't insulated.
Inhale.
At times, I'd climb the flimsy ladder wincing, aimless.
The splinters made it necessary for socks.
Each winter came and my room grew dimmer.
Proceed. Entrance bearing a lock.
I had the key now.
Mother had been careful to knock.
She wasn't here. Exhale.
The scribbles on the wall would be there till they're not.
Scratches on the headboard, still bare with its knots,
the wood never quite took to its unbearable lot.
Inhale. Stare at my blocks and discarded toys gathering dust.
There was a child here. There is no child here.
Captain America's leg fell off one day. I bandaged him up.
There are no heroes here. Exhale.
The vintage Mantle-inked glove; he told me he'd handed me love.
Mother agreed but still covered for me when I damaged its cuff.
Close the door on the way out.
Inhale. These floors creak.
The door squeaks.
The master bedroom replete with a faded family portrait.
The boy had a smile. The man'd demand he force it.
Turn it down. Exhale.
The steps spiraled to haven.
This kitchen inspired each craving, now just a retired old apron.
The tiles were painted red and white, but the footprints were obvious now.
Inhale. An ash falls. The smell forms an ominous cloud.
It's time to leave. Exhale.
It's time to leave this vacant pall.
One gazing stall. Faded paint in the corner where the tree would graze the wall.
Inhale. Step out to face the fall. Taste the fog.
Toss the butt into the open basement hall.
The flame flickers. Exhale.

10-17-2013, 03:58 AM	#1
Certain Mad fucking dangerous. Join Date: Jul 2013 Posts: 12,066 Battle Record: 40-19 Champed - AOWL Season 3 - Art of Writing League (2x) Rep Power: 85899406	The flame flickers. One draw, deep. Exhale. It's time to go. This attic provided home, sanctuary by liner notes. Crawl space, really. One window, sealed by primer coats, that couldn't reveal the time I'd consigned to wine-drinking and hiding, cold. There's a draft. The five-by-five-by-five nook wasn't insulated. Inhale. At times, I'd climb the flimsy ladder wincing, aimless. The splinters made it necessary for socks. Each winter came and my room grew dimmer. Proceed. Entrance bearing a lock. I had the key now. Mother had been careful to knock. She wasn't here. Exhale. The scribbles on the wall would be there till they're not. Scratches on the headboard, still bare with its knots, the wood never quite took to its unbearable lot. Inhale. Stare at my blocks and discarded toys gathering dust. There was a child here. There is no child here. Captain America's leg fell off one day. I bandaged him up. There are no heroes here. Exhale. The vintage Mantle-inked glove; he told me he'd handed me love. Mother agreed but still covered for me when I damaged its cuff. Close the door on the way out. Inhale. These floors creak. The door squeaks. The master bedroom replete with a faded family portrait. The boy had a smile. The man'd demand he force it. Turn it down. Exhale. The steps spiraled to haven. This kitchen inspired each craving, now just a retired old apron. The tiles were painted red and white, but the footprints were obvious now. Inhale. An ash falls. The smell forms an ominous cloud. It's time to leave. Exhale. It's time to leave this vacant pall. One gazing stall. Faded paint in the corner where the tree would graze the wall. Inhale. Step out to face the fall. Taste the fog. Toss the butt into the open basement hall. The flame flickers. Exhale.