ambienti like the night sky.ambient4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
stars of only white criss-crosses
purple sword blades called milky-ways
moonlight, which promises never to stare
clouds rolling somersaults over each other
galaxies with medication lulling you to sleep
i like the rain.
drops falling so your tears don't have to
bows of colors forming from fallen rouge
kiss the smell away because it's nostalgic
of those nights where rivers looked so comely
so perfect to slip into on accident
and to be swept away into every past rainfall
i like the rapture.
like a game of life with five people,
two boys, three girls
each with dreams of immaculate love
but only four achieving it.
life is always a game of who's better at the time;
not who's worth it all in the end.
i like lights.
ambient glitter falling throughout the atmosphere
that reminds me of the little times where crayon color only mattered
not whether or not he loved you back
wisps of sparkles flying through my eyes
it's like heaven without those people who're better
silence.it's been said that duct tape is silver, but silence is golden.silence.4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
and this silence between us is like a bomb ticking down, just waiting to be set off at any given time. it's a comfortable sensation, but it's nerve-racking enough to intensify these unspoken thoughts constantly sizzling along my spine. these desires that are raging through my mind on a rampage just craving to be satisfied.
whether it be from the touch of your skin, igniting fireworks that are exploding into a million tiny streaks of longing onto my palms. or it may be from the sight of your lean muscles bulking out from your short sleeves. while i'm sitting there biting my lip, trying with all my might not to just reach out and trail my fingertips down your shoulderblades in hopes of feeling that fire and ice reaction. and everytime our eyes collide, it's like a whole lifetime of things we've been needing to admit, are said in that one glimpse.
whenever we're at your house downstairs, i'm doing all i can not to lose my bre
SkinVerden looked out of the window and sighed. It was a summer's day, complete with fresh grass, singing birds and rainbows. It was a good day, a perfect day; or it would be if the weather was real, and the window for that matter. It was just an illusion, a curtain, if he pushed it aside, it would only reveal the damp wall behind it. He grimaced; it had taken him almost a year to make all the windows on request of the King who was catering to the whims of the Higher Ups. The snobs who couldn't stand the fact that they were surround by grey brick and the green slime that seemed to trickle down from the ceiling. Not that there was anything good to see if the windows were real, just the occasional dead tree, miles of wasteland and the eternal black sky.Skin5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He hated being in the service industry, catering to the wishes and 'needs' of the stupid people, the Higher Ups who couldn't see a decent bit of magic if it slapped them in the face. He ran a hand through his dark green hair as he
Ironic Fact." We are powerless. "Ironic Fact.5 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
said 7.000.000.000 people.
Opaque Seas of TransienceHeidrich walked briskly down the open hall, his feet echoing sibilant metallic notes between the polished steel support beams. He wasn't in any particular hurry, though his quick pace said other wise. He figured it was the many years spent living in this bustling city, running to and fro in the almost oppressive crowds, every single person he had ever met always in some kind of urgent hurry. He mentally berated himself for missing this opportunity and slowed to an even walk. The appointment was still a good thirty minutes away, it made no sense to run. Heidrich was determined to glean a small portent of unhurried peace before he found himself busy again.Opaque Seas of Transience5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
And, for but a few precious little minutes, he found his peace, and that made him happy. He had never really thought to stop and actually see what he saw every day. The thought had simply never occurred to him. And yet here he was, thirty long minutes away from a procedure that would change his, and humanity's, life for good, at perfec
The Medium - IntroSometimes, he still dreams about the girl.The Medium - Intro4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He is always blind in the dreams, must be blind, because there is no way it could be too dark for him to see. He is blind, but he can hear everything, feel everything, and reality dissolves.
She gasps when his hand closes over her mouth, and he can feel that tiny suction, then the wriggling and flopping as he holds her tightly from behind, muffling her screams with his flesh. He whispers desperate consolation in her ear until the feeble spell of his voice finally takes hold, and she relaxes into his arms, shivering with the sobs that cannot quite escape.
He tapes her arms and legs, wraps her in his jacket, and sits with her through the night. Her breath freezes on the air, and he can almost hear the chime of those ice-crystal clouds. His skin freezes and cracks. He would bleed, but he has no blood left, and the cold makes him tired, as if he were a reptile. He could almost sleep.
Sebastian is in the dream, too. He plucks the telephone away and
juxtaposablelike blue lipsjuxtaposable4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
& the sounds
of a thirty ought-six
on the black
A game of dice'There are more cats than tables in this café.' I remark.A game of dice4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He tilts his head in his characteristic brisk nod, 'Aye, well, there will be no rats in the cellars.'
I brush off the crumbs from my napkin; he lets his drop into a crumpled ball of cloth onto the table. I step off the raised pavilion, past the bougainvillea and onto the road. I hear a chair grating, someone shouting something to me in a high pitched voice, and tyres screeching.
I twist my head and see a sedan speeding towards me, its burning tyres shrieking curses at me; in slow motion, I register the type of car a Honda accord -, its registration number a couple of years old at most and throw dice in my head.
I stand my ground.
The car screeches to a halt inches from my knees. In the distance, an old lady is screaming; in the vicinity, someone is shaking my shoulder, asking if I'm OK; the odour of burning asphalt and rubber assault my senses.
I look down at a cat looking up at me, pawing hungrily at t
A Journal Of DepressionPlease read the description before you read the rest.A Journal Of Depression5 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Don't hold strong opinions about things you don't understand.
My time has come, and so I'm gone. To a better place, far beyond. I love you all as you can see. But it's better now, because I'm free.
Sometimes you need to run away just to see who will follow you.
It's hard to answer the question "what's wrong" when nothings right.
Maybe one day it will be ok again. That's all I want. I don't care what it takes. I just want to be ok again.
I guess there comes a point where you just have to stop trying because it hurts to much to hold on anymore.
You say I'm always happy, and that I'm good at what I do, but what you'll never realize is, I'm a damn good actress too.
Just because I'm smiling doesn't mean I'm happy.
Tired of living and scared of dying.
I don't necessarily want to be happy; I just want to stop feeling miserable.
I'm just learning how to smile, and that's not easy to do.
I want to be remembered as the girl who always smiled
JarsMy childhood home, a gray, old farm house, sat nestled near the small town of McKean Pennsylvania. My father moved us there from Pittsburgh in 1954 when I was no taller than a limp potato sack. I was their only child at the time. He said the city was no place to raise a family. We needed room to run and explore and my mother needed a quiet place to work on her writing. However, in three years of living there she gave birth to four of my brothers. So much for peace and quiet. There must have been something in the water.Jars4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Folks in town liked to whisper about that house like it was some kind of architectural Jezebel. By the time I could spell my own name I had heard dozens of rumors and stories surrounding our home. There were certainly enough to keep my young mind racing through many sleepless nights. Some of the more elaborate stories suggest a mass murder of the previous occupants by their deranged
HubrisThe world is not a skeleton. It does not ache bone-deep with our atrocities, nor is it fragile and ready for the breaking. It knows nothing so human, except perhaps to forgive our pride. Let me explain:Hubris4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Young, I am a bright star with small, pudgy hands for guiltless flower-crushing. Before even that, I am a wispy squall for food, unused to knowing anything but myself, and warmth, and hunger.
The concept of a hero is a natural progression from understanding speech. I am Me. I am the one all the stories talk about, born special, to whom both innocence and wisdom are possible. I am so great a part of my own self that I do not know it can be detached.
I am eleven, narrow-boned and alone in the red earth, when I first feel it.
A seagull slews out of the bright sky and pegs its beak to the stones, draws it up wriggling. I watch its gullet bob. My hand floats up to mirror the lines of its head against the air. There is a cry, and its eye is a pond of yellow fire staring at me, the air a storm