still.one.still.5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
her name is alice. there is a slight blood stain on the valley where her lips part, and her eyes are two supermassive black stars that can't show anything but hurt. she can't bring herself to look in the broken mirror puddles that are all over the ground.
(and i don't blame her)
she borrows her mother's raincoat because it smells like home. not the homes that are flooded with laundry soap or soft candles burning in the family room, but more like the paint she spilled on the carpet, or the whiskey on her father's breath.
(and sometimes, she swears she can smell her mother's sadness.)
when alice was little she remembers playing freeze tag with her mother. she remembers feeling anxious, and now she feels sick. "if daddy touches you, stay still, and don't make a sound."
theShe slowly curved our insides to a mass of empty breaths, and when finally we would exhale and exhale, fight and desperately seek meaning in our wispy, airy contractions, nothing would come of them. A different way of saying: she had a death in me. Her hair, of red pine and willow leaves in autumn would sit lightly on her pale skin and oh, small shivers would stand still against my spine the5 years ago in Historical More Like This
Her knees were colourless; lines threw their bones into an awkward shape of round, what would normally fit wholly unusual, between her slender branches of legs and arms. Eyes, what could anything be said of them save for their lack of meaning? But yet, which could only entrance and bewilder. It was an illness that would only impale us, those, you and I - who could see the wonderment in such ordinary flesh. I cant quite think of the times Ive
dreamed you whole.
April's HouseThe man who would be my lover through April had a daughter.April's House10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I showed her Playboys from 1999 and she grabbed at my breasts.
In mid-April my lover's grandmother died in a Michigan hospital.
The night before we had hurried sex on a friend's floor and in his shower.
I lay naked on a dark blue couch watching B list horror movies
with names like Frankenhooker and drank carbonated strawberry wine.
The floor was covered in empty Bacardi bottles and powdered Cheetos
while the bathroom smelled of concentrated bleach and urine.
I could crawl out onto the flat tarry roof through a second story window.
On the fourth of July I sat on the functionless brick chimney and got high.
The roof in South Oakland always reminded me of Mary Poppins.
Vodka coursing through my blood, I danced like a chimney sweep.
A man with bleached hair and long nails filed to a point walked me home.
He said, Margaret, I want you, and I knew I had stayed in a house full of lies.
Stream of consciousness 2People usually write things about life in general. Life is like a butterfly, life is like the sun, and other analogies. I have come to the realization that there are different types of life that just can't be explained by one thing. I do know of things that are possible, though. I know that each life can be tempered and tainted like a clear cup of water having just a single drop of dye added. I know two lives can be like chemicals when they meet and fire's added: something new is created. I know not, however, what these changes are. They happen different for each individual. The sun may rise like a baby being born but I know not whether the sun will appear later as a sunset or if it will dance around the sky. A butterfly might escape from its' cocoon but I know not what patterns are on its' wings and where it will fly. Chemicals might react but I know not whether they will just tolerate one another as separate beings which are simply put together or if they will combine as one, new cheStream of consciousness 25 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
Stream-of-Consciousness_1Theres wind howling outside and its making the dogs restless. The dogs, the dogs theyre always barking, like they know a secret that they dont want to tell but they keep trying to anyway. Thats the thing about secrets, you know? No matter how much you want to keep them hidden they always end up rising to the surface, like cream in a glass of milk. But not the milk you buy in the store, because nearly everything good has been stripped out of it in favor of a fat-conscious society that thinks skeletons are sexy. Bleached bones and grinning skulls no wonder Hamlet had a soliloquy about poor Yorrick. And why shouldnt he have? Stand-up comedians do it all the time, though Ill admit that the subject matter in Hamlet is a little denser than would be considered appropriate for a comedy routine. Then again, I suppose thats all relative, isnt it? We can make racial jokes and fat jokes and gay jokes and redneck jokes and presiStream-of-Consciousness_16 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
In the DetailsThe night was dark and cold when I locked up the shop and slipped the key into the pocket of my jeans. The buses werent running this time of night, and I only lived a few blocks away, so I decided to walk it. I turned up my coat collar to guard my neck and shoved my frozen hands into my pockets. As the wind blew stray hairs into my face, I caught sight of a man in a long black coat standing beneath a streetlight, smoking a cigarette and looking at me.In the Details6 years ago in Spiritual & Occult More Like This
I knew who he was. I also knew I wanted nothing to do with him. Id have to walk past him to go down the street, so I focused my eyes past him and pretended like I didnt see him standing there. He gave a short laugh and fell into step beside me. I knew it wouldnt do any good to tell him to get lost.
The man in black took a long drag on his cigarette as we walked along the street. Rough night? he commented when he saw the scowl on my face.
It was all right until you showed up.
Candy ShopThree nights of crystalizing silenceCandy Shop6 years ago in Other More Like This
Since the wind blows, there's not been a time
I will step into the sunlight
Beady eyes bring dreadful forthcoming
No twitter of feet
Beneath the brush
Crowning deliquence, abiding crime
Knuckles of leaves
Cracking in correspondence
o v e
oms o r
Twisted mortal sin
Lo! beware fore stillness nears
Lies beneath a candy shop
Care to come in for a treat?
Killing me softlyDrink the poison, drink the wealthKilling me softly5 years ago in Other More Like This
Fade away in silent stealth
Call upon the gods of fury
Kill me quickly, softly, hurry!
Iron core in fragrant blossom
Taunting me, Im spoiled rotten
Spoiled rotten to the core
Kiss me, kill me, feed me more
Yes, its finally coming for me
String along this tempered flame
Let go of the modern world
Drop into rabbit holes
That call my name .
Give up rhyme and worry
Sensiblility, could care less
Cant you see Im just a mess?
So kill me quickly, softly, hurry .
Number EighteenDripping colorNumber Eighteen5 years ago in Other More Like This
The earths reflection
A clouds reaction
Ever fading flowy fantasies
To find the end,
Would bring a poets heart to cease
Crystalized dreams covered in fleece
Number SixteenArent you the one with the old grey hat?Number Sixteen5 years ago in Other More Like This
I saw you, lost in segmented patterns
The seams of the rim, torn and tattered
Keep wearing it
It suits you
When did you last check your level?
Where in your soul, is your pride?
Caught up in words of the lost
Living a life, feel not live?
Sorry, my tingles tell nothing
Of what goes along past dead ends
Can you just ask me no questions
We all know your broken on spends
Sold a soul, did you not?
Sell out! Sell out!
Hes long past dead
What happened to him?
Who pulled the thread?
Soul taker! Soul taker!
He took ones soul?
Yes, my dear one
For gold, that fool
Soul faker! Soul faker!
Hows he fake?
His heats all gone
It claims no ache
He wanted to claw his way
Back to life, become more
Still his eternity lies burdened
For infinity and score
Love reallyLovely reallyLove really6 years ago in Other More Like This
Dream drops and lip locks
I thought so too
Taken aback fought-fully
Your spell wont work here
Makeshift SymphonyHe tied piano strings to his heart,Makeshift Symphony5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
so that every time it beat
it didn't sound so empty inside.
But the music in his heart
couldnt permeate the hollow air
as the metronome kept time for the clock.
One, two. One, two.
Reedy notes plummeted from his lips as
he made me pluck out Tchaikovsky and Bach
when all I wanted to play was twinkletwinklelittlestar.
"I'm just a little girl."
My fingers tripped and stumbled
and I know that I could never play
as well as he needed me to;
I could never keep his notes
from slipping off the page.
White and black sideswiped my fingers,
as I struck one chord too many.
"I've always wanted to make you proud, papa.
But the past is flightless swans and sometimes
we only get a glimpse of what was there."
He shouldve left the past where it belongs,
because everything was far too black-and-white
in his eyes, and I was never good enough
to replace everything that was missing
in his hollow heart.
A Typical NightThe room is dark and it is a little after three in the morning. Sleep will not come to me, so I sit in the glow of a laptop and let my fingers slide across the keys, dancing along at speeds that impress those who normally mock my chicken-type method.A Typical Night5 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
There are soft voices whispering in my ear, telling me stories that will eventually become a full book. Word by painstaking word, the tale begins to unfold.
Prince Vasilis followed Aurora, his hand on the hilt of his dagger as he walked parallel to the girls position. She was far enough away from her friends that they would not hear her scream. Carefully, the Goblin Prince crept closer, drawing his knife blade as he
You sure you want to go that route? Aurora interrupts, frowning over my shoulder. I mean, I thought you established Vasilis isnt interested in killing me. If he draws his knife, thats kind of hinting that hes going to slit my throat. Really, I think it would be better if
Stream-of-Consciousness_2Im sitting in my mothers living room and fighting the sleep I know I should be embracing. And Im thinking about the chores I should be doing, or the homework I should be finishing, or that essay for Critical Thinking class that I will have to write in class and I should be preparing for. Yet here I am sitting on the couch watching Fight Club and wondering if theres a female equivalent. What would the women do to feel alive? Would they fight? Kill? Perform acts of vandalism on a scandalized city? I cant imagine hordes of women spraying paint on walls in the name of self-liberation. Burning bras, maybe, but Im sure that era went out after the Lib movements of the past. I bet modern bras dont even burn all that well. If its synthetic materials, it would probably just melt. Polyester does that, you know. My mom used to burn pieces of fabric to test their content; she was a quilter and tried not to mix cottons with poly and so on.Stream-of-Consciousness_26 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
Upon A Foreign AffairI think we are all bornUpon A Foreign Affair5 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
in closets, gagged and bound.
With plastic bags and shapes,
We'll travel too far for such a poor age.
Is anbody seeing this?
Dont you know?
We have not those
with aid in Blue Boxes.
Unit stripes across the skies
of our brothered nations.
Shame is such an elementary term
Is anybody distrubed by this?
WE could sell our dreams on recorded disk.
Im not a concumbine,
but never can i find my clothes.
Pumping us with lead and lust,
taking more than ignorance ever could.
SUCH a bad hair cut for a pretty face.
GIVING me anxiety medication at the AGE of EIGHT.
Give birth to slaves
with trashy names we saw
Vampire romance, a big facade
give me Matthew Bellamy any day.
Snapping Your StrawbonesThe incessant clobbering against mirror-lined ribs,Snapping Your Strawbones5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
glazes over the sound of her sighs;
he becomes wedged between her glassy collar bone,
fingers tearing into dissipative skin.
Her collarbone is an exhibit to him,
his fingers tracing patterns over it;
he is tearing out her soul.
Then the pain begins.
She is baffled by why she enjoys this.
Grating murmurs strangle her ears
as he discreetly takes each column of her coiled spine.
Serpentine words dangle from his jackal lips:
"I'm only snapping your strawbones, my dearest."
"Those lips could tell a thousand lies,"
She whispers under his ruffled hair.
"You truly wouldn't treat anyone else like this."
She never wants this to end.
Eyes of origami canter across splintered lips
while their foul mouths create a train wreck of saliva.
His artificial admiration weights each syllable,
as she begs, "Just once more."
WallWallWall5 years ago in Other More Like This
Cant let in and I refuse to let out
Now Im all alone, harsh lesson to learn
Bereft of fortitude
Thought my wall was one and some
Deal With the Grey OneScathed, was the night under an easy moonDeal With the Grey One5 years ago in Other More Like This
Crept seethingly over, an injured breath
Faint, such a creature, and it did swoon
"At last," said he, "I'll catch my death"
It was his wish, at such a time
He knew himself, no more than swine
No more than dirt, no more than dark
When candle'd lit, he doused the spark
with dreams a'frayed, he hence set forth
Not he, feel weary against price to pay
Humbled fingers that touched not the earth
He looked for light and knew its worth
Black eyes, sunk cheeks, lips puckered still
Brow bent in shame, tensed since such berth
Of whence the grey man took him ill
But he would not let his mind wander
In such a atrocities and nuisance squander
He knew, it was not him to blame
There be other reasons, for his own shame
Torn against tides of a weathering heart
He took the waves in shameful plunder
His soul, drawn paintings of wicked art
For all about him, he looked down beneath
A mirror, reflecting every painful a look
And whence he look'd in such eyes of grief
Away Nation.There is a song.Away Nation.6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
I've been told it's about a girl named love and her story of pigeon-toed tragedy. I wouldn't know, my radio only sings about alive, textured things. Love is a color, a person. A color, an adjective, maybe a verb. Possibly a shape, but definitely a color. Everyone says it's red, but it's really clear, like glass. Cold and shiny and see-through and sometimes - well, sometimes plastic. This would never make any sense to you, you who always thought you understood what I was trying to spell out (stuttering red lips in the shape of love, screaming names of cities of people I used to know, places I dream about flying to. I'm terrified of planes, but I'm a bird) and whisper into golden Goldilocks' hair. Your face changed with the weekdays. Thursday. I loved you on Thursdays, but you listened to that song, that one about love. It's false advertisement. They say love's red.
You don't know. I mean, they don't. Know, that is. They don't know and neither do you and I'm left st
SPC: The CastleI will build myself a castleSPC: The Castle5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of ifs and evers and might-have-beens
and I will place in on the sand
in the middle of hurricane country
just because I know you will protest
And I will fill this castle with things
such as you dont like to see:
suits of armor and battle axes,
silken dresses and glass slippers,
and Monsters and Angels and Heroes
who will sit at my table and have supper.
My halls will be lit with starlight
and lined with the stone from Heavens floor.
The clocks will never strike the same time twice
and we will ignore them anyway.
Guests must dance the tarantella with a stranger
or they will risk eviction from my home.
I will laugh in this place, but it will not be that sort
that we make in polite company
when the jokes arent really funny.
No, the laughter here will be real!
Giggles and guffaws and belly laughs
and snickers and chortles and snorts.
You may leave your Sorrow at the door
and collect it if you must leave.
Worries and Cares
Ant Farm InhabitantsThe man in black stood outside another random home in another random city, as if he were sensing for something within each cookie-cutter residence. Casually, he walked down the street, trailing cigarette smoke and broken promises behind him. He was the only one out tonight. The chill air of November would have forced another to bundle up, but he acted as though he didn't feel anything.Ant Farm Inhabitants6 years ago in Spiritual & Occult More Like This
He walked through a park full of run-down playground equipment and sandboxes filled with wood chips. A rusted swingset was half-shrouded in moonlight, illuminating a girl with long blonde hair and pale eyes. The man's eyebrows twitched slightly before he managed to regain his composure. He approached her with a less-than-confident step.
"Isn't it past your bedtime?" he asked the girl, his perfect mouth turned up in a sneer.
Her pale eyes showed traces of amusement as she countered, "Isn't it past yours?"
"On errand from your boss?" the man asked. "Doesn't he have anything better to do than send his under
Little Doll Number eightI take a step forwardLittle Doll Number eight5 years ago in Other More Like This
Spends, expands, snaps
Little doll, youre on the shelf
New and alive as youll ever be
As youll ever be, aloof,
As youll ever be, marooned.
Learning to walk in little increments, I stumble
I take a step back
Girly girly, tainted now.
Paint chipped off those darling eyes
Blinded in the darkened cries
Back on the shelf
All by myself
I take a step forward
Curiousity frenzying up a storm
Re-enact this historical moment
Plague, a whisp of regret consumes thee
What did you do? What did you see?
Little one, oh, little me?
Take a step back
Stumble and fall
Tucked in a corner, blanketed by darkness
Found a new sense of comfort
Joined a new shelf
Now youre not alone just playing by yourself
Hauntings through stepping forward
Reek in their silent seething stealth
All by yourself
All by yourself .