Micah Park Biffle

An Ex and In the Head    A disturbance came from the back room, Alice placed down her book and approached the door to the room. It was a cold evening alone. It was her first night absent with her lover. They had broken off their love due to career choices.  Alice was always the one driven to work till madness of exhaustion over took her. She finds her twenties to be the opportune time to supply herself with a giving future. But her boyfriend did not. Though Alice is alone tonight, it feels no different than she was in a relationship. For she was mostly alone working anyways. Approaching the door, she could hear a rhythmic thud, as if someone is repeatedly stomping their feet upon the ground. Thud, Thud.....Thud, Thud. She placed her ear to the door and carefully listened. But when she did so, the noise ceased. She then lifted her head from the door, the noise started up again. She stepped back with a gentle touch of fright. As she looked to the door with cur...

Ascending Memories  We ascended with our feet upon the ground. Gathering up our thoughts like broken sticks, placing them in our bags to tell of later. We were silent as we climbed, hand in hand, silence at heart. Wearing red to signify the blood of our fallen hearts.  Our eyes reflected of the dark, as the rain poured with misery as we coated our hearts black. Ivory keys of woeful tunes played as we tried to piece ourselves together. We ascended higher and higher, but the terrain only became worse.  Vines bared thorns as roses of translucent petals hung like fingers of relaxed limbs. A few times our flesh came torn by the prick of thorns. The roses took to our blood, and what was once translucent became red.  Once our altitude was beyond the view of earth, the clouds became thick. Dense like the waters of the ocean. The beat of our blackened hearts grew louder through the density of these dreary clouds. We clasped our hands together, as not to lose one ...

My fading Words I don't know where these words will bring me. I know not if they shall ever be more than scribbles upon a canvass. I know nothing of what they shall ever be, I merely spill what I feel and move on. But what I do know, is these words are what gives me hope, faith, and resilience to my ever dissolving body. My words may be only echoes that shall only be spoken till death has claimed me. My words may become like that of a forgotten book to the halls of a library. Covered in dust, bridged in the empty silence. As these thoughts cross me like a stream upon my skin. I begin to worry, for my lineage is at threat of the fading winds of my lungs. I am dreadful of what shall come of me, as these days are only quickening their pace. I see myself age with each passing day as does fruit. My words, mimicking my decaying breath. Slowly becoming nothing more than vaped and in-congruent sentences. Held in the underlining of my misery, pleading in the secretive archives ...