RomeoThe name's Romeo. Yeah, alright. Don't bother. Whatever you were about to say, I've already heard it: considering the fact that probably everyone in the world is force-fed Shakespeare at some point or other, it's not surprising that all the stupid puns that come my way aren't exactly original. I've had English teachers yell lines at me, thinking that, for some dumb reason, I've got the whole play memorised. Not likely. My parents didn't call me Romeo because they're Die Hard Bard fans. Dad lost a bet to a mate. Not exactly enchanting.Romeo4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I was watching TV in the living room, minding my own business. All of a sudden the door slammed open, and there was Mum, glaring at me as though I'd left a week's worth of socks stuffed behind the radiator. I was about to remind her that I'd taken out the rubbish that morning, but before I could say anything, she strode over to the windows and wre
DepressionDepression12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Days in class seem pointless,
Hours go by without notice,
A void of saddness creeps in,
Our world as we know it seems to spin,
To many questions no answers found,
Can't stare strait must look to the ground,
A dark cloud hovers over my soul,
Not letting me free, not letting me go,
Holding me in heavy metal chains,
Keeping me in, keeping me restrained,
Depression attacks my once flourishing heart,
Turns it cold, rips it apart.
ten years ago.ten years ago iten years ago.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
knew i was still
a romantic because
my dreams were still
filled with white dresses
and golden rings and
now, i know i am
a skeptic because
i am haunted by
and heated passion
and the faces
real, too real.
'tis the seasonanother december's defeated me'tis the season6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
one more winter
to the ghosts
who keep leaving me
choking on hope
'til I'm hoping
they'll leave me be
'round my bony tree
forced to flee
a certain we
surely she loves
but her I's
keep deceiving me
as snow melt
as they appear
when the numbers
have no meaning
about the year
dirty musicianthe street lights pukeddirty musician6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
cloak of yellow
and black spit away from cracked-
and it was
as if this man
or had been
to the place
from which he played
probably stolen from
or hell's only
a pawn shop
dollar bills fell
into it's coffin
as if hypnotized
by the guitar strings
in a slow-
sway only found
The EndThe End4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And the uncollected rushes past the damn
whistles words, dry and
used up, old souls too far gone-
to turn around and try again
memories rotten in mind leap over edges
Old lovers, forget each others scent
and the dark passion that used to rage between them
one desire for June and for evening
the bough of summer and winters branch
Labor and pain, glory and love
like a fixed heaven
on the planet of which they were part
symmetrically still and
forever over edges, flowing on
How Are The Cats?How are the cats? they say to meHow Are The Cats?6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In the space where How are the kids? should be
As though compelled to obey social pleasantry
But confounded how to categorise me
When I'm clearly such an anomaly?
Not a mum, not a career girl
What else is there for a woman to be?
So I see them thinking.
Time after time I see people fall
At the how-are-the-kids fence
Like it's the barren elephant in a sterile living room
My supposed heartbreak, a 'fact' that must never be mentioned
A woman my age without children?
Why, it can only mean one thing
Especially when you look at the family history,
They whisper soundlessly, pityingly, thinking I can't hear them
Just because the words aren't spoken aloud.
I observe the delicate verbal tiptoeing
And feel touched and frustrated both at the same time
How I long just to tell them the simple truth:
I don't have kids because I don't want kids.
But I've seen it too many times now:
The surprised look, the puzzled frown
P.S.I'm not writing this naked,P.S.5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
But my heart is.
And it writes with all the partially healed wounds of yesterday,
Beating perilously strong with this love of you.
something to write about...I'd been drug sniffedsomething to write about...5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
addled & otherwise
by agents in
points of origin
hope to heart to god
like father thought
hand to fist to mouth
like mother taught
as if no one had
colored those pale
so I shook
as all good books
to the shape
you've made me
I tried to trace
as a map
but found you'd
the bare bones of bulimiathe day i turned eleven was the day i fell in love with my bones.the bare bones of bulimia3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i am fourteen now, and my innocent soul has ripened and festered until i was thrown in the wastebasket with all of life's other leftovers.
i hate how my skin keeps me from seeing my fragile skeleton.
i hate that my bones are obscured by blue-pink skin and delicately knotted flesh.
i hate how slowly the world turns and i wish i could pull it faster- make it move quicker.
a wise person once told me not to dwell on the bad things in life- that it messes with the future, and the future is too beautiful to mess with.
i never really listen to wise people.
i am eating my lunch in the skillful, muscle-memory way that a professional dances.
two pieces of pasta- one on every other tine of the fork.
[constant speed, slower digestion.]
feet shuffling in a rhythmic pattern.
i tread upstairs. i always go to the upstairs bathroom. i don't want you to see my weakness- i don
jokesi promise that i will always amuse;jokes6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
proud pieces of promiscuity
and vivacious displays of vulgarity.
surprising fountains of profanity
spouting from the mouths of barely babes,
but i want you to know something.
i am not the laughs under your tongue
i am not the smile upon your lips
i may never be without one of the two
but they do not define who i am.
there are half-baked scars burned, but raw
stretching across my face and they
curve at the right piece of time,
parting for the red sea of dead cells
i'll pretend doesn't exist at all.
just because i'm the funny girl
because my nose is a touch bulbous
my voice a sound raucous
and because i never seem to cry
doesn't mean i don't.
jokes have feelings, too.
if i'm not speaking, maybe there's a reason.
i'm skating on thin ice without blades
a shuffling across frostbitten souls
i'm ready for the lake to break apart
and leave me sinking to the bottom.
i'd tell you that i want to die.
but i've got a better punchline.
Portal: You MonsterYou MonsterPortal: You Monster2 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Characters: GLaDOS, Caroline, Cave Johnson, Doug Rattmann (cameo)
Setting: Post Portal 2
“Ah. You’re awake. Finally.”
Cave Johnson opened his eyes.
There was an enormous robot hanging from the ceiling. He didn’t recognise it. In fact, he didn’t recognise anything in here. It was like this room had been added after… after what? The last thing he remembered was working on the Perpetual Testing Initiative…
“What’s going on here?” he demanded. Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t move anything but his eyes. He couldn’t feel his arms, or his legs, or –
“They’re not there.”
“Your arms and legs. They’re not there. Neither is anything else, for that matter.” The robot tipped its head in a way that he could only describe as cur
Lucifer x Reader [Request]*/Request for mrslokiodinson\*Lucifer x Reader [Request]2 years ago in Humor More Like This
"So Miss (l/n), would you mind telling me why you're here?"
"Well, for a few months now, I've been... Seeing things."
"(f/n). (f/n), hey! Are you even listening to me?" The blonde man asked.
Two days. Two, freaking days it had been like this.
Every time you tried to do something or go somewhere, he was always there, tormenting you.
You didn't know how or why, but the guy would never shut up. Not when you were driving, not when you were eating, he would always keep you up past midnight and wake you up at eight a.m. sharp, with firecrackers. FIRECRACKERS. Jesus.
Who is your mystery tormentor? Well, he's blonde. He's tall, ish. Bit pudgy but you don't judge, as you aren't exactly a twig yourself.
Oh, yeah, and he calls himself Lucifer.
Honestly, you don't really mind him, though you could do without the firecrackers. The megaphone isn't your favorite thing either.
But, he does have a sense of humor. A very, very twisted sense of humor, but you're kind
SupermoonI sit here, quietly battling my demons over a cup of tea,Supermoon5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you at the other end, receiving my transmissions.
We talk, or I do tonight, because I have things to say, mindless things
like how my hair breaks, the random coldness of spring, what I said to this and that and nobody,
how I have a black hole for a heart.
You listen. You disregard the fluff. You reply at the right moment, every time.
We've danced this one before, after all.
Outside, not far from my window, a guy is shot in the head. He dies.
I take a sip of tea, tell you more about my problems. They fill my mind entirely.
His body lies immobile, more shots are fired, two others are hit. A black car disappears into the night.
I tell you something about how I can't get my relationships to work. This seems important.
They find the car in flames some miles away. The killer ghosts have vanished.
You tell me to sleep. It is a full Moon lunar perigee. None of us are superstitious.
The night is impenetrable, dark, claustrophobic. I reme
OscillationsGirl, I'd write you a poem.Oscillations5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'd write about your inflected accent
how it tickles my ossicles
with violent flutters
until the whole damn chamber
clutters with echoes
all the while
my heart's torm-
ented by the silent passion
in your eyes, and I
shrink away from you
like a Gorgon
from a mirror.
But words alone they mean but little,
and are fickle, and verbose;
and the Poem often withers
even faster than the Rose.
House of Good SenseI want crawl insideHouse of Good Sense6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a cleft in your
& live among people
who don't know
under typewritten words
the print mistakes
the white page,
my passion diffused.
In a world of
like the static on
the Hollywood sign,
I could be small
I wouldn't shake
from the lapse
I could be
the future inside
like film screens.
punchlines for dummies"you can see babies kickin' to this ultra-sound"punchlines for dummies6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i like your shoesyou stamped your cigarette outi like your shoes5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on the bottom of your untied shoe.
(that you deny)
that i'm infiltrating
your already weak immune system.
you say, about your fake disease.
i'm terminal, too, you know.
you walked away for five minutes
(an estimate, you say)
i stole a cigarette of yours,
among other things.
i'll admit i'm a
why oh Wyominga bright whitewhy oh Wyoming6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the snowblind
of god's former
and he whispered
of slow death
of the fading
of a self
in the murmurs
at the dawn
at the taste
the hollow shape
the bullet makes
a kind concession
this shedding skin
every holy wound
scrapes to make
in all this
we have made
fire works...america (the beautiful?)fire works...9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I courted you cross-country
and it was no easy ride
remembering time well wasted
with purpled mountains
and darkened skies
but your love leaves scars
and only sometimes
please pardon these promiscuous thoughts
scattered like miles left behind
and the last remaining years of youth
we've yet to let die
I've seen some
and rapid decline
grown tired of windswept plains
languishing in the shadow
of their great
and terrible god
on freedoms promised
and equality implied
US (that's) All
endless endingswellendless endings7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the spark took a twist
scissor-spit from her lips
a subtle shift and infinite
is simply split into bits
you're spinning sick
sinking quick and unmissed
every cheap trick unveiled
now scratched from your list
but that itch
it still persists
perching there on your wrist
sits downsleeve from your heart
or what's left of it
and what's this?
love's laid to rest
without a proper obit
transmit to your wits
that demands you submit
is a doubt
the charred remains
of a fire once lit
ghosts in a slideshowghosts in a slideshow6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
the skysick sun, fading woozy, throwing up.
dripping on the backs of conveying camels.
bodies of water, yes, every touch moves through.
grassland often. skinny belly atop the garden hill's slope.
train-track thap-thapping. smile, God's tap dancing on a saturday sundown.
you're watching the show frontrow. i'm watching you.
i say, "those mistakes on your arm look nice in this light." but i don't. not aloud.
instead i say, "do they hurt when it's cold?"
and you say, "it's not cold right now."
so i say, "i didn't notice." but we don't. not aloud. not allowed.
so i say, "you look hurt." no. i say,
"you look pretty."
yeah. i said that.
then you looked at me. then you cried. because i'm a liar. only to you.
i mean, to you only, i am a liar.
i mean you see me as a liar.
but you know what? everything's alright in my mind.
and that's good for me for now.
"hey, V?" that's what you said.
"yeah?" i said.
"where are we?"
"we're here, dear. we're right here."
tell me i'm lying. tell me there's a me a