existentialism in heaven1. First, we have a lesson in breathing.existentialism in heaven6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
(I stutter, and in the back of my head there is a slide and small children are slipping down and losing their lungs, tucking under inside of them, and I came around afterwards and picked up all their organs and buried them inside the tanbark, hid them away in a little box that only I will have, every thought they expelled with their breath and would've liked to keep, and I press my fingers down and they are gathered around me and they say st-st-stutter with their necks like paper cranes for hope and peace and a hopeful mouth. They do not love me.)
She opens up my mouth, peeling back the ridges of my lips with her claws, and she looks inside and peers into some sort of mess and she says I can't sort through this with my hands alone, I can't, and she closes it up and says no, no, that will not do. And she holds her palms against my stomach like twin suns framing my belly-button with her rabbit-colored thumbs and she peers into the hole and wrinkle
Quotes 41. I never doubted you; I just doubted your love for me.Quotes 47 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
2. Something taught me that I have to move on like the rest of the world is and to stop living on a bunch of old yesterdays.
3. Your heart is completely cold, and now I am wondering how I ever though you were capable of love.
4. I guess we were the dreamers that became lost in their own dreams.
5. I wish I could write my name all over you and say your mine.
6. Never regret a moment that made you happy.
7. Laughter, some say that was my cure, but we both know it was you.
8. Falling in love, or falling apart?
9. Youre my miracle without you there would be no tomorrow.
10. If happiness was a gift I would it to you.
SadnessIt hurts you. The pain.Sadness11 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
You want it to go away.
Sadness. Please. Don't stay.
O' SisterStart with something, whether it be words or thought or action. Just do something, anything to avoid this dissipating grey matter, neurotic erosion.O' Sister3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"I don't exactly remember everything." My words are timid, pensive.
The moments revolve, coil and ignite; flashing images with no particular order.
I scrunch my iceman toes, attempting to conserve heat, but the cold still surpasses the fabric of my Converse. My muscles tense against abrasive arctic gusts. The bitter wind raises bristled hair above goose bumped flesh.
These pink fingers quiver in the grasp of an 'I heart New York" shot glass. I guzzle down Stolichnaya. The vodka is dry-ice against my tongue; molten silver.
Blurred peripherals detect a lone ember drowning in the ashtray, a Marlboro Smooth choking beneath garish glares of moonlight.
"And this kinda s
the trouble isi'd like life to bethe trouble is2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
quiet and lovely
like distant church-bells
chiming through snow,
muted by the smell of
an old book and the
feel of a fire warming
me into my chair, and
a mug of tea, steeping
the moment in hushed
gratitude, easily in reach.
do you remember...i rememberdo you remember...i remember5 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
DO YOU REMEMBER- I REMEMBER
Do you remember?
I remember the way we used to be so close
flesh upon blood, blood upon skin
are hearts melted together, that in which made us kin
Do you remember that old house we used to have?
the one with the rusted old club house that we made
Do you remember when i couldnt get into our yard, so i cried
tears upon tears, a bounty a lot
and you were the only one, that gave a second thought
the bucket upon bucket fights of snow,
the way the cold winter wind did blow
Do you remember,
your face covered so white
as fluffy white snowflakes, came billowing down on you in one descend?
but do you?
Now the years have passed by, mind you, and so you might forget
but i no something, i no something, you bet
you cant forget everything, for the past is your now
looking back at it all, we've come so far, its hard to begin
shh... i hear the wind..listen closely...
it says to me....
Do you remember?
I remember the running,
the slapping of
BIRDIf I regret anything, it is the reticence of birds--BIRD4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my reticence, the uncertainty of the word "today,"
which rusts like the flute before Judith one.
If there is a time to undress, it is now,
but my thoughts close in on me, like a tunnel,
and I lose sight of everything except the wind.
Beneath it all, my hollow bones
are icy blue, each joy expunged--
I feel it keenly, here, and there.
Grains of Red Sand pt1Grains of Red Sand pt13 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"This inexplicable torture had not only torn my body to shreds, but my mind as well. I felt no part of my former self in what I had become, after all the pain had quelled."
Grains of Red Sand
Sand; I felt its grit in my mouth, crunching as I clamped my jaw shut. I felt it packed between the glossy shell and the pink under tissue of my fingernails. It was speckling my black hair, like beige dandruff.
I was laying in it, though I can't seem to recall why. The sky was dark, and I could hear the lapping of waves upon rocks. I was near the ocean. I flipped over onto my back and dragged my arms through the sand, making an angel. It felt nice; the billions of tiny grains brushing against my skin simultaneously.
Everything was still; the placid waters created a rhythmic white noise, lulling me to a state of sleep. I was completely at ease, completely oblivious to the concerns that should have been gnawing at my mind; such as how I had come to be here and where exactly here was.
Out on the table.Out on the table.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I just gotta put this out there.
I'm gonna admit all these things, because I can't be afraid anymore.
Yeah, I wanted to make a milkshake without waking up Dad,
so I took the blender into my bedroom. It's still sitting there.
I am a chocoholic, and yes, I do eat all the M&Ms you hide around the house.
I eat just about anything else with chocolate too.
I know this disappoints you, and you think I'm just gonna keep getting fat. I'm sure I will. I'm not very athletic, even though I try.
You remember a few years ago when you asked if I liked a certain person, and I said no? That was a lie. I wish I had simply stated the truth. Maybe admitting it to you would have given me the courage to admit it to him. Look at me now.
I don't think I will ever make the bed of my own accord. Even when (and if) I am married.
I rarely feel pretty. People can tell me they think I'm pretty, and I can blush for a second. But I only share the pretty parts of me. I can be pretty dang ugly. And not just physically.
The Ocean Smells Of DecayI am washed up carrion,The Ocean Smells Of Decay4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on plastic sand beaches.
Sea urchins eat away
at my cardiac muscle,
hermit crabs find shelter
amongst my flesh.
The salt brine has me tasting of
tears and high-blood pressure,
Seagulls are regurgitating me in chunks.
Not the urchins,
they liquefy my filth
the clawed-hermits live within
from my rotted tissue.
I smell like low-tide
and smoothed over
pieces of glass,
stranded with me.
Dawn reveals the stench
of my dissipation,
and I find
The Harlot, the Whore, and ISolidness, yes, I will reach for it, because if I do not hold these sand deserts into stone, who will?The Harlot, the Whore, and I4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Say it once more, forsake me in whispers. Fork-tongued murder spewing from platonic back-stabs. Yes best-friend, I'm talking to you. Shhh.... speak not of your austere heart, the visciousness impersonating affection.
My nerves are but lightning bolts, sputters of static disjointing through uninterrupted sky. Betrayal inflicted as a glittering, feeling sparked with flame and intention.
An attempt to accept sensation pulsed through neuron,
but !! NO !! I do not require such frivilous attachment to skin.
Hush now little beggar-lipped liar, Kings don't speak with thieves, and you are by far too tainted to take seriously.
Your pride; my amusement.
You call this alive?
I pleaded to no longer see you, and I told you, I told you.
Autopsy Confessions I must have a dense sense of autopsy because I never could feel the scalpels, and before you know it, I was rendered gutless.Autopsy Confessions4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Who's to say the novicane was responsible? Dirty syringes were the least of my problems.
I was considering the possibility of cadaver DNA when surgical steel spread across my naval, splitting my milky virgin-skin, and revealing the wastes of this carrion rib-cage. Scalpels sink into the spiderweb tissue and I find I am numb to this metal intrusion. Rancid nerves ignorant to the spark of knife on flesh.
The sterile aumbiance of bleach white lights illuminate my disgusting chest cavity and I blush embarrassment for this lack of feeling. I apologize for the cobwebs between my bones, and the spiders searching for insects of decay. Fortunately for them and you, and this autopsy table
NostalgiaRocketing in wavelengths emaciated and impeccable.Nostalgia3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Irregular pressure palpitating
Looking through kaleidoscope distortion
Prisms shouting shards of fragmented color
And she mindsNameless and facelessAnd she minds4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is the stranger built of flowers,
with the rose petal-eyes and the lips of a tulip,
but a heart made of the sky.
But sins possess less syllables than virtues,
and even the softest of hands have
dug some graves before.
And as the flowers need their water
and the eyes will need to cry,
you will see the glass she's made of.
She's only sixteen, but she's just
a stranger, 6 syllables taking
all your courage right away.
And she minds.
Prisoner of AgonyI have seenPrisoner of Agony4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Silver angry strokes.
Lace inscribed in skin.
Wax melting between gapped-flesh.
I am secreting
from my wrist.
Surgical steel closing me in.
Metallic dust itching for vein.
Chrome memories ask
"Can you feel us?"
I only feel the silver
for another dance.
Life's WarehouseI drop hopes like smiles, folded up in will bes,Life's Warehouse3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Tucked away in forgotten dusty corners,
Shelved and alphabetized.
I live off interest for the storage:
Bursts of anticipation and pricy promises
To lull dragging despair to contentment once more.
Inventory is scattered and slow
As todays whizz past in the dreams of to be
Wrapped with the sticky bright haze of tomorrows.
Stacked high are the nows, blotted in mildew
Making room for the what might comes
At the counter rack beside happiness within easy reach.
Yesterday, I could not afford my naïveté,
So I settled for ignorance instead,
but they were out of stock.
With wisdom on sale clutched tight to my breast,
My steps led me, confused, to that long-darkened shelf
Dim from disuse, but still lining my pockets with coulds and aspire.
I opened that package wrapped so long ago
Faded paper in trimmings of ribbons and bows
You Look Like I Need A DrinkStatic verses quaking through crippled fingers, lisps written into inebriated meaning. And I tried with fervent failure to pronounce the sarcasm spewing from my palms, but they were naughty syllables, practicing cohesion without permission, and heaving disjointed language from my rotten, rotten teeth.You Look Like I Need A Drink4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She straggles with boulder bones sinking through infectious flesh, frantic slurs bleeding from her throat. And I stumble for words, endeavoring to compose rainbows of smeared thought, but my vocal chords stutter unintelligible sympathy, incoherent accents and forced definition.
So I draw this poetic slop from corroded neurons, eager to drain the deformity from metaphors, the dialects distorted by ancient tongues. But my every opinion staggers through intoxication, trying to find a stable image in visions of jittery focus.
Alcohol insinuating rough apologies.
Static verses quaked through your crippled fingertips, lisps I had written with poor intent.
Christians or CannabilismTo your blank minded, pale-faced question marks, I will proceed with especial caution, for little, violent lambs do not know the way of slaughter.Christians or Cannabilism4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
And oh innocent child, I will be the one to teach you. (Blood; candied sweet tooth)
quiet folding pressure
We both know you've never been one to resist.
Velvet of gushing-flesh caressing against taste bud. Christians would say it's monstrous, and repulsive, but they fail to inform about how cannibalism slides down the throat in a cotton-candy cascade.
Prescriptions of an InsomniacI was isolation.Prescriptions of an Insomniac4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Blizzard bed sheets amongst stormy blankets.
The slight tossing-turning of a cotton ocean, cushioned by pillows etched in lightning.
Eyes of a washed-up cast away, hypnotized by insomnia's sleepless seduction.
Fingernails of driftwood clutching the wide-eyed lust.
Me. I was the last breathe of frost-bite.
These ship-wrecked feet wander dry-ice beaches.
Pearls of sand grate against patches of blackened-tissue.
Obsidian bruises amputating limb.
And at that point
nerves forget the synapses supposedly screaming between them.
It was an eviscerated excuse for a mind.
The salt-brine cancer freckled across sun-bleached lungs.
Inconspicuous tumors of seaside disease manifesting solitary confinement from my flesh.
The straight-jacket struggles exerted from an island amputee.
Mosquito syringes sedating the sweet bite of insanity.
Me. I was infected.
OblivionMy eyes are crystal;Oblivion6 years ago in Surrealism More Like This
scraping against the howling wind;
it moves and speaks to me
about the tree angels,
the tree angels
that will grant me wings
above the screeching ocean
that opens its mouth wide
to swallow me up;
to pull me down deeper