Tag Archives: candy

Impossible Year: Caramel

(Okay, so I was originally supposed to post a really intense and serious shitty creepypasta-esque story that I wrote about a year back, but since it’s in my computer and it’s being a complete arse that won’t let up, here, have one of the parts from a Panic! At The Disco fic that I’ve been working on for a while now instead. Since all of the past halloweek stuff I posted have been nothing but morbidly dark and really gruesome, we’ll have something stupidly wholesome to end the spooky month instead. Boom, plot twist, happy Halloween fuckers!!! 🎃)

OCTOBER 31ST, HALLOWEEN.

Every house in the block and beyond displayed scary decorations on their front lawn; of plastic skeletons, fake cobwebs, carved pumpkins and other usual novelty spooky items. Squealing kids rounded the streets with their friends and parents, donning various colourful and monstrous costumes as they knocked on doors and yelled a cheerful “trick or treat!”, and teenagers held their own parties and dared each other to do crazy horror-related things that either sent them running away screaming, or laughing, or in most cases, both.

It was a festive night as usual, perhaps even more festive and rowdy than he’d ever witnessed in his entire life, but Jon Walker simply felt like he was getting too old for this shit.

He had just dropped a couple of fun-sized Snickers on the bag of a kid dressed up as a vampire slayer (“points to him for being a notch above cliche,” Jon wanly mused) and was heading back to his living room, a cup of store-bought coffee in one hand and the TV remote in another.

Nursing a headache, Jon tightened his shabby red bathrobe and sipped on his drink, grimacing slightly at the strange taste of…what was it that kids these days called it? Pumpkin spice? Yeah. Whatever the hell that meant.

He groaned as he unceremoniously plopped back down on the couch to continue watching a random B-list horror movie he found on Netflix. As soon as he pressed the play button, the TV immediately died and all the lights in the house flickered off.

“Great, just my luck.” Jon dryly thought, scratching absently at his unkempt beard. “This is so textbook cliche. Next thing you know, I’m going to fetch my flashlight in the kitchen and there’s going to be an axe murderer waiting behind the fridge to hack me into pieces.

Fortunately for him, there wasn’t anything of the sort.

Although, there was a translucent little girl calmly sitting on his kitchen counter, which definitely was not there before.

Jon recoiled back in shock, nearly spilling his lukewarm drink all over himself in the process. He blinked a few times, rubbed his eyes furiously, and determinedly pinched himself on the arm, all before cautiously glancing back at the apparition.

But instead of being gone, the ghostly child was still there, and this time, she was staring straight back at him.

“Oh.” She piped up as she waved softly, making Jon deliriously laugh. “Hullo.”

“Oh yeah no cool, how’s it going? Oh nothing much, just TALKING TO A GODDAMN GHOST.” He rambled on senselessly in reply. The small phantom, however, seemed mostly unfazed by his reaction, probably already used to seeing that sort of thing. She’d seen worse.

“Are you okay, mister?” She asked innocently, stubby legs swinging back and forth and occasionally passing through the closed cabinets. Jon paused for a moment to think about what he was going to do next, and sighed out as he finally decided to give in to the sheer insanity of it all.

“I’m sorry. I overreacted. Let’s start afresh.” He said, clearing his throat extravagantly. “So. What’s your name, kid?”

“…Nic.” The ghost replied hesitantly.

“Nic, sure, yeah, that’s a nice name.” Jon pleasantly appeased. “So. Nic. Why are you haunting my house?”

She blinked a few times before limply shrugging. “…Dunno. I’m bored. And I think I’m supposed to, I guess.”

“That makes sense.” Jon nodded sagely. “Do you like scaring people?”

All he got was the same blink-blink-shrug routine in reply. “Dunno. I guess. I know I’m not very good at it yet.” Nic pouted sourly. “The older ghosts keep telling me to practice some more and if I don’t, some dumb priest or whatever’s gonna send me back to hell or afterlife or something, like they even know if that’s a real thing, they’ve never been. But I just wanna go outside and play with the other scary-looking kids, honestly. I only ever get to do that once a year, and I’m not even allowed to.”

Her eyes began welling up with tears and she turned away stubbornly, trying to hide them from Jon’s view.

Jon had never seen a ghost cry before, least of all a child ghost. For sure, he could definitely check that off his bucket list. Or just throw away the damn thing because for sure at this point, he’d seen it all.

He set down his coffee cup on the counter and carefully approached the quietly-trembling Nic.

“Well, Nic, if you don’t mind, let me tell you a secret.” He began. Nic still had her face buried in her hands and didn’t move even as he spoke to her, but Jon could sense that she was listening intently, so he carried on.

“Here’s the thing I’ve learned. Sometimes, you don’t have to listen to mean old adults. We’re just really cranky and tired from doing a lot of boring stuff. But you’re still a child after all, and you’ve got a lot to learn, and heck, maybe one day you’ll grow to be the best damn scarer in this cul-de-sac and scare those ancient naysayers back to their miserable graves. But hey, if you just wanna mess around, go wild. You won’t get a lot of chances to do that soon, and honestly—what have you got to lose?”

Nic finally rose from her hunched position and was seriously gazing at him now, a wistfully curious look etched on her pallid face.

“They can take you out of the fight, kid, but they can’t take the fight out of you.” Jon concluded with an assuring nod, finding even himself impressed with his whole speech. “Now go out there and trick or treat with all the other youngsters and show those creaky geezers that you’re made of more than goopy ectoplasm and boring boo noises.”

He shone his phone screen down as he fumbled with his ratty robe’s pocket, and managed to fish a piece of hard mint out of it. Secretly picking some lint off the old candy, Jon handed it to Nic.

“Here’s something for a start.” He said with a casual shrug, “I know it’s not much, but…”

But to the ghostly child, it didn’t seem to matter at all; as the bright grin that grew on her face could have lit up the entire house by itself. She excitedly swiped the candy out his hands (“Note to self,” Jon wondered absently, “ghosts can actually eat candy?”) with a shrill laugh and went in straight for an unexpected hug.

Jon shivered madly at Nic’s hold. The sensation was like getting dunked right into a vat of liquid nitrogen. But he tried his best not to show his utter discomfort as he awkwardly patted her on the back, careful not to let his hand completely pass through her.

“That’s, uh, that’s the spirit.” He stammered out with chattering teeth, chuckling at his own pun.

“Thank you, mister!” She gratefully squeaked.

“You’re welcome. Now git outta here kid, yer bothering me.” Jon replied with a playful wink.

Nic simply nodded fervently, visibly filled with a new excited energy. She waved back once again and smiled the biggest smile a ghost could possibly ever have, before finally running on ahead of Jon.

He silently watched the otherworldly child as her glowing ethereal outline passed through the kitchen walls, and faded away into nothing. At that very moment, the lights flickered back on, but Jon didn’t even notice, still deeply lost in his own thoughts.

“Trick or treat!”

A giggling chorus of childish voices outside finally startled Jon out of his trance. Picking up his cold pumpkin spice drink (which didn’t taste so strange anymore) and the half-filled candy bowl, he walked to the doorway, sighed once, smiled the biggest smile a person could possibly ever have, and opened the door.

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Milk & Candy

Bone-white laces purple throngs

And soft liquid intertwines along

Past the fragile webs of chandeliers

Dissolving clouds in pure ivory tears

A taint of lavender like small ocean waves

Kisses empty blankness with sweeter tastes.

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dear clumsy lovely

Living in the dark makes
Our light seem cold
I distract myself awake
But in my dreams
You’re playing our song…

~*~

missus cupid, trade a penny for a cloud

i thought too much, and i thought aloud

lucid blue until i’m pink, but you are not

what i wished for, now my face feels hot

.

i’ll be the blueprint to your candy laughs

you don’t have to hesitate or even cough

i was not looking, but guess what i found

a cherub sleeping alone without a sound

.

missus cupid, have a penny for your thoughts?

you dreamed too much, and you dreamed a lot

lacklustre white until i’m dark, but you’re all that

i ever asked for, so let’s be lucky with all we’ve got.

~*~

I’ll tell my friends we made amends
Tying up loose ends; they’re not sold
But if you want it, you can have it
You can have me in full…

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Gloom Boys in Natural Blue

I have candy floss over my eyes, and no one can ever take that away from me.

I’m a double dare away from jumping into the clouds and getting lost in heaven, and even though their motionless lips tell me otherwise, imploring that the despondent sun will burn my frail skin and my charred cape will drag me back down into the ground, I’ll simply fly over them and defy what it means to be human.

For being an angel is not made of mere matchsticks and febriculic feathers, rather, it is the catastrophic sensation of breathing in your existence from your lungs and never letting it go, holding your oxygen in so tight that your chest will hurt, and tasting the very molecule that the wind is built up of, all before exhaling heavily and letting others share the light that passed the very chambers of your symphonic heart, and inhaling that decadent love once more like it’s the only sugar high you need.

I’ll be dancing a hundred footsteps as I reverently play the halo’s mellifluous beat around my head over and over again, but I shall never get tired of laughing and listening, and the glow never fades, the glow never coalesces into a darker retrospect of aspirations and bad habits, the glow is etched at the very back of my confounded head and if I close my eyes and wish a little softer, I can see pastel whispers floating and resonating behind my dreams, smiling quietly as it tells me fairy stories about twill reveries and acrylic oneirism.

Will you tell me that much? Will you beg in blazing yellow and speak in purple hand grenades, waking up again when the water parks detonate and soothing water splashes everywhere? This is not my gloomy lullaby meant to be kept under hushed tones and clandestine affinities, buried under the bones of ‘92, rather it is an everlasting caprice that is meant to be jubilantly shouted from the rooftops, until the nightingales and mynas and bluejays and hummingbirds mimic the colours in my eyes and echoes back a chromatic rainbow to be chased.

Am I not making any sense, or is the semblance of my self-optimistic throes withdrawing like violent ocean waves? It is not their fault, and it certainly isn’t mine. It’s yours. It’s all yours. This nonsensical tirade making me backlash the usual defamation that is my wretched soul, making me passionate for what used to be desert sand and black light, now efflorescent flowerbeds and ultraviolet ecstasy, making me smile and laugh childishly at the most fickle of things like a madman staring limerently into the cornflower moon. You let a playful cyclone into my bedroom while I was sleeping, and it ravaged my closet and spun me all the way to your window until I was sickly dizzy, and you held your hand out to steady me and pulled me in, winking cheekily at the cyclone and returning its breezy grin before waving it goodbye.

Now that I’m here, will you promise to keep me? Airplane conversations and clustered entertainment isn’t enough to leave me amused. Are you laughing at my sadness yet? Are you performing odes along to me mournfully singing about the underhanded depression that makes me mad all the time and fucks my worried flurried mind up when the night is young and makes me go down the long road home? I’m a car crash that you can’t ever look away from, and I can’t ever look away from you. But don’t follow me to the site of the wreck. If your favourite set of stairs is the one up to my room, piece together the trail of love notes I left in the kitchen that say it all, and when you find me, I won’t ever have to let you go up. Let’s be lucky people, you and me.

Amid tantrums and crybabies, you’re nothing but rare. I may not be a warrior and you may think I’m the worst, but I know I don’t have to sleep alone again. So won’t you stay awake, stay awake for me? If you’re singing about la-la-la-love, my tune is more to the beat of a la-la-la-lobotomy. You’re my yellow lovely jealousy, in natural blue and viridian green memories, I’m losing my mood in a late night phone call, shading everything else from silver to pink to hiding under porches and craving territorial phantasms, it doesn’t matter. My common sense is powerless when you speak, and I’m not royal but I’m stupid for you, and 11:11 can go away because I don’t wish for anything else. I’m tired. You’re tired. Let’s be tired together. It’s more fun that way, don’t you think?

I have gloomy clouds over my eyes, and only you can ever take that away from me.

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A Happy Kind Of High

I know that there’s no dealing
With the way I’m feeling
I’m so out of touch with everyone 
And everything’s a blur to me…

~*~

I’m super high on happy

The dopamine nearly kills me

Bouncing like an excited puppy

Smiling wears me all the way to revelry

Slightly crazy, mostly high

But right now I’m too stupid to die

I may have ditched the walk to town

But playing sour notes won’t get me down

I could talk about love all day

But don’t get me wrong, ‘cause it’s easier to say

Than to complain about my cold coffee

The sugar tastes sweet, laughing over candy

I’ll never be royal and I don’t wish for gold

But I just don’t want to do as I’m told

I might have missed another point

But keep your eyes off me until you appoint

Life in blue and colour-coded pastel

The empty picture frames I have can go to hell

I may be tired, but there ain’t nothing to it

And I won’t stare and quietly sit

Because I love songs that scream, songs that dream

Songs with titles ripping at the cover’s seams

I love songs that I can dance to at the top of my lungs

And songs that don’t make any sense, I won’t leave them unsung

Made in America, from Houston to California

A wild party in Baltimore, childish theme parks in Florida

From Australia to England, each road and tour a trip

For each minute I walk and listen, ain’t anything I’d skip

I’m dizzy and frisky on this unfamiliar feeling

My hands raised in devil signs, my feet touching the ceiling

I’m confused, almost passing out from hysteric serotonin

But still I want more, enough to take me all the way to heaven

I’m super high on happy, and I will write a million words

About my eccentric thoughts in this square-cut world

Because I may be sad all the time, but that doesn’t mean

That I’m not allowed to have fun, and in the rarest times that I do

It’s more than what I need to carry on and crave life again.

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sweet candy (clap and kneel)

She do a dance
Slides down a pole
She turn a backflip
Make your heart roll…

~*~

get a syrupy dose

i’ll have you clapping

candy that lasts all night

sweet but not too saccharine

lust like a parched rose

desire is just another word

until my lush lips utter it

i’ll have you screaming “what a world”

a messy and clarion intimacy

let’s murder the lights if we must

my sovereign eyes will set you free

in cavorting pure we trust

but no, don’t be fooled

by my colourful lollipop taste

i’m far from innocent, my darling

and i’ll let you go to waste

and when you’re finished taking it all in

my sweet taste will slowly fade

and leave an acrid palate that will last for days

even when i’m gone, you’ll taste staid.

~*~

Caught in a spotlight
Crawls across the floor
Calls for attention
The boys yell out for more…

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lollies and laughter

sticky lollipops

turning his mouth purple

grinning as eight teeth

crunch against sugar enamel

.

sticky lollipops

turning her mouth pink

lips as treacly as candy

as toothless gums go clink

.

sticky lollipops

one for him, one for her

sharing flavours playfully

with babbles and a purr

.

sticky lollipops

all over the mat and toys

plastic wands waved about

dancing to nursery noise

.

sticky lollipops

of grapes and strawberries

but there ain’t a sweeter thing

than these two honeys with me.

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Filed under Poetry

sweetheart

the thought

of your embrace

is like being

spun and wrapped

around plumes

of sugar caramel

soft candy floss

for the dream is

sweeter with

each taste, but a

residual toothache

leaves my dizzy

heart feeling

cloyingly cross.

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Filed under Poetry

Eye Candy

your brown sugar eyes

and glances that tasted

of soft candy and vanilla

lifted away the gravity

and it spun candy floss

in shades of pastel clouds

within a heart that was

as bitterly grey as can be.

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Filed under Poetry

Lemonade, Licorice

Lemonade, licorice

Make me a promise

Of stars and sunlight

And neverland night

.

Lemonade, licorice

Make me a promise

Of candy and kisses

And maiden misses

.

Lemonade, licorice

Make me a promise

In daisies and decay

And cloud-floss clay

.

Lemonade, licorice

Make me a promise

For twists and tears

And floral-blue fear

.

Lemonade, licorice

Make me a promise

In bittersweet taste

May we never fade.

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