With the Strength of a Child His ripped shirt is barely visible in the dust and smoke. He kneels in the rubble, bloody faded jeans loose on his hips, tan skin lined with ragged cuts and bruises underneath. Long dark hair, now dusty white and matted with blood, ripples in the wind like a tattered flag of surrender.
He can't feel the pain.
Broken jaws whisper of sadness.
Broken voices scream of loss.
And his broken eyes turn toward the ground, shadowed with fear and weakness. He clutches his head in scarring hands, ignoring the sharp debris biting his legs. He stares vacantly at the cracked concrete lying in the dust.
He can't see it at all.
Young eyes glisten with tears.
Injection She gripped my arm tightly and looked at me with eyes as black as sin. "This won't hurt."Injection4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I nodded, not meeting her gaze. "I know."
I wasn't looking, but I still felt the needle. She held my hand and ripped my skin apart, whispering lovely burning pain. I felt the cold in my veins as my pulse quickened and I forgot how to breathe.
I can't even describe the agony she gave me. I felt fire in my heart and I passed out from the pain.
She injected poison and called it the cure.
And now I try to smile and my lips start to bleed. When I look at her my stained heart aches. My eyes burn and I don't know why.
Bleeding HeroHow can I explain my feelings to you? My bitter, tarnished love, how it burns in my throat like too much soda. How I hate that I love you more than you know. But I love you all the same.Bleeding Hero4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I am the burnt-out streetlight under the falling night sky. The fleeting joy of a balloon that slips away to the clouds. And I'm sick of band-aids that don't work, I'm sick of being the bleeding hero.
Don't you realize what I'm worth? You dropped me like a penny on the street corner and everything went black. I gave you a choice and you ripped my love to shreds.
Love isn't what I read about in sweet-dream magazines. It's not worth the doubt, but I doubt even that. I can't fit this band-aid on my broken heart.
You are everything to me, but I don't even know what everything is anymore. You used to burn in my thoughts, but not anymore. I'll let go of the balloon and I'll drink a sweeter poison.
I am the world's worst Romeo.
An Angel's DespairThe throbbing pain against her ripped jeans had gone numb, as had the cold bloodstained pavement, covered with shattered glass. In the whirling haze of lashing wind she could still see the thundering clouds of night. She whispered in darkness, rain wet against her cracked lips, "I broke my wings."An Angel's Despair4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The Boy in a Sweater of TearsI saw a boy in a sweater made of tears and dirt,The Boy in a Sweater of Tears4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Held together with earthworm stitching (they were still wriggling).
He had a toy in his hand made from the bones of an animal;
Fingers bloodied and calloused from where he cut himself on the teeth of it.
He smiled out from behind his saline muddy hood.
Are you my father?
I walked away with no misgivings though this face was familiar.
I tossed a coin over my left shoulder and said something condescending like
Have a gum ball on me, kid.
I put in my headphones and I was lost in my world of rhythm and melody.
The sound of quick feet emanating behind me.
I turned and he was there, hand outstretched.
I patted my pockets as if to say
tears laced with poisonthis little lost boytears laced with poison4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and his throat
has a broken heart
with a rhythm
this lost little boy
Fighting for Love Isn't it funny how a girl can mean so much to a boy? They call it romantic. Not age thirteen, at age thirteen, it's not love, it's biology; let someone test their blood and tell them they're fine. But these are just kids: they know little about biology and less about love. That's the way it always is. You learn a lot and lose even more, but don't tell that to the boys in this story. They don't know that.Fighting for Love5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Anyone would have noticed how the two boys' gazes lingered on the girl; she was the one that every guy wanted: beautiful, charming, genuine. A summer girl, warm and as fleeting as the sunshine. And when it was cold, her eyes snowed, little snowflakes flickering deep down inside. But it was October right now, and if you looked closely you could see the leaves in her eyes turning colours.
Betrayal of Morphine She was sitting beside the small boy's bed when he opened his shadowy eyes. The first thing he noticed was her hair: it was golden and glowing faintly. He couldn't remember if hair normally did that or not, but it hurt him to look at her; she, like sunlight, burned his eyes in the darkness. In the dim room, in his numb thoughts, the girl's hair looked like a halo, and he imagined he saw her unfold wings and fly away, but then he blinked and she was still there.Betrayal of Morphine5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The first things the girl noticed were his eyes. They were dark and clouded with pain, flashing like a stormy sky or an emergency light on a sinking ship. They flickered like incandescents losing power; his pupils dilated as he blinked, struggling to focus on her. She looked at the IV meter indicating the level of failing platelets and morphine, and the machine hummed as she watched the blood swirl unfaithfully.
just another desperationheartbeat(en)just another desperation4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
- bruises cover his skin like trophies of failure, the dull pain throbbing to the rhythm of his pulse. his veins are hot, too hot, and his heart beats violently in his aching chest, burning with adrenaline.her gaze makes him feel so weak.
- his cheekbones are lined with scars that blind his eyes and make him afraid. choked with rage and helplessness, he screams with fear, his voice soaked with blood and sweat,
- you're breaking me.but she looks away and tigerboy slams him to pieces.
- poor little beaten boy, crying doesn't help.
- he presses his face against the asphalt to hide the tears. it feels like waves of pain are drowning him; he gasps for air. he feels a girl's hand on his shoulder,
- are you okay?
- he feels like he's going to suffocate, there's tears and blood smeared across his lips. lashing out, trying to defy his pain, he slams his fist on the
Straightline People always say that they hate goodbyes; they say leaving someone behind is too sad. But I guess I'm different. I love it when people cry over me.Straightline4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
She left without saying goodbye. I felt betrayed, in a way. Angry that she'd just leave like that, and angry that I'd just let her go. And hurt: my shoulder blades ached from the oh-so-sweet sensation of being stabbed in the back.
At the same time, I felt a fleeting swoop of joy. This is what I wanted: proof that I was living in the past. That I really didn't stand a chance. She'd trace her pretty, torn-up nails across my throat and we'd both agree: "I don't love you anymore." I'd drink her forgotten tears and she'd bite my Cheshire smile.
And my wild imaginings would disappear.
Maybe I'd fall asleep at
spare change.so i dreamt of you last night.spare change.4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
as usual, you are with me, but as usual, i can't find you. so i scream your name, again and again until my throat goes raw and i wake, with my fists clenched, swallowing my sobs.
and i see him there, lying peacefully on his side, stray strands of hair fluttering under his breath as he sleeps. i look at him and your name pops into mind, but it's wrong.
i fear i'll say something i shouldn't, and he'll just love me more. i know when he wakes, he'll flash me a smile that breaks hearts. he'll ask for a morning kiss, and that's when your name will run repeatedly over and over in my head and spill over onto my lips. and i'll pray he doesn't taste it there.
he'll run the tub for me, somehow knowing the perfect temperature and amount of soap suds. he'll wash my hair for me, fingers trailing along my skin, and my tears will fall into the mixture of warm water and bubbles, leaving no trace, just a little extra salt.
he'll make me coffee, a pot of warmth and c
Victim of Love I guess we knew this would happen,Victim of Love5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
somewhere deep down inside,
things I wish I'd never told you,
all the thoughts I had to hide.
It might have been inevitable,
something faded in your heart,
I never thought to fill the silence,
and we're drifting apart.
Another starry-eyed romantic,
forever lost in the the lonesome night,
the moon sings of her returning,
I won't go down without a fight.
I could tell you that I miss you,
UnexpectedUnexpected5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I watched him carefully. He didn't notice because he was concentrating on his hands as he twisted the Rubiks cube again and again. His long blonde hair was blowing silently in the wind, and his lips curving slightly in the silence. He was good confident and quick, but I wasnt surprised. Id taught him everything I knew about how to solve a Rubiks cube, and he was a great learner.
He spun it around twice and smiled with his eyes. I still don't know how he does it, but he smiles without moving his lips. His eyes were alight with excitement, a deep gray-blue, like an icy cold ocean. Yet warm, somehow. I pretended not to notice how they shone when he looked at me.
He looked back at the cube and his eyes narrowed in concentration and his tongue darted out to wet his lips in the wind. I looked down to the Rubiks cu
Pseudo-love-- [we are hiding from pain.]Pseudo-love4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
For the first time she notices his hands are covered in scars. He follows her gaze and his eyes grow worried.
"What " she starts to say, but her voice trails off.
Eventually he answers her unspoken question. "When I was three my dad got smashed and gave me a knife to play with.
My mom came home and found me covered in blood and crying."
She's shocked. "Didn't it hurt?"
"Hell yes. But I didn't know the knife was causing it." He pauses. "I think he broke her heart."
She doesn't know what to say. He's watching her, waiting for a reaction.
Finally he pulls down his sleev
How My Eyes Are Glowing The worst part is the people all around us. I wish I could ignore them, but I am too nervous to look into your eyes, and I have to look somewhere.How My Eyes Are Glowing5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It's the kids that are too scared to dance. You know, the ones that make a joke out of it and pretend they don't care, pretend it doesn't bother them that they are all alone. I hate the ones that wink at me slyly or grin and snap a photo, blinding me and making my cheeks burn.
I glare as hard as I can, believe me.
But it's kind of hard to glare when you see blue dots everywhere.
You smile at me and I look down shyly, not knowing what to say. And you whisper something, but I can't hear over the music and my heart pounding. I just see your mouth move and I bite my lip uncertainly, not meeting your dar
It Was Always You It was a beautiful clearing. I bent and picked a brilliant red flower from the long still grasses and set it in my hair. It was peaceful. But kind of lonely, just another reminder of all the differences from back home. Across the country and all. My mom said Id meet new friends, but so far, she was wrong. I sighed and sat with my back against a large oak tree.It Was Always You5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Id just begun to read my book when I hard the sound of muffled laughter from the branches above me. I looked up in alarm to see a face peering down at me from the leafy canopy.
The boy in the tree had his palm over his mouth and looked as surprised as I felt. He slowly moved his hand and bit his lip. It was obvious that he hadnt meant to make a sound. He looked at me solemnly and hesitated before saying, You have a flower in your head. Thats why I laughed.
addiction.damn, it's addicting.addiction.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
it's when your touch brings the voices of the angels up in heaven to me, just to sing a song of joy. it's when my heart starts beating double-time when you're less than 10 metres away from me. it's when i tell myself i know every inch of your body - because i do -, from the curve of your hipbone to the sharp edge of your nose to the oh-so-lovely dimple in your cheek.
it's so addicting that it starts to burn, flames licking my insides like it was blood to the heart.
it's when i can't be in the kitchen because it's where you fed me ice cream with marshmallows that were a little too hard for my liking. it's when i can't bear to lie on my living room couch anymore, because there's a stain of coke where i accidentally sprayed it all over you from laughing too much. it's when i can't look at myself in the mirror without thinking of your fingers on my face.
it's so addicting that i know i'm going crazy.
it's when my body hurts to the point it'
how you'll take my breathwhen i arm youhow you'll take my breath4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
with a paintbrush
and a blueprint
you can create
your Sistine chapel
at the bottom
of the ocean
and when i visit
my breath will cease
in an afterlife of bubbles,
not because I'm drowning,
but because i never knew
you were an artist
and that you knew how to swim.
you'll stun me
because you'll make
god look vulnerable
gasping for air
as if in memory
the book of Genesis
and Adam will reach through
shackles of seaweed
just for the sun
because when god's
sitting at his side,
his faith falls
as if it has lost its legs
and can't tread
the water any longer.
you'll craft Noah's ark
without an anchor,
without a victory
when you've traded in
your creation dust
you're going to let
the first man be David
and you're going to forget
the existence of Goliath
and it's never going to be
and broken bones
and dying at the blow of sin
because I'm going to let him
have the breath
and heavy lun
Never Enough Big brother looks so broken, all covered in tubes and needles. I want to rip them out of his wrists and take him home. I want him to play with me and laugh like he used to.Never Enough4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
My little brother stands in the doorway of my hospital room. I hate to see him cry. He looks so alone.
He blinks through his tears and looks at me mournfully, "Mum and Dad say there's a way for me to help you."
I feel a rush of adrenalin and look away from him, watching my heart rate spike on the monitor. I don't want him to help me; he's in enough pain already. I won't allow them to put him through surgery with false hope, just because it might change my prognosis.
Realizing that he's still watching me with tears on his cheeks, I look back. "No," I say, trying to be
therapy.she is oh so fragile, made of pretty pieces of shattered glass and shards of clouds for eyes. she can sing her little heart out and tell you a story that you'll want to hear, while holding your heart out to the light you're sure she has. she will tell you she is strong, strong and true until you hold her under the blue blue light to find out for your self and then you will see the cracks and fissures and fractures that mean the end. she is oh so sweet until you unwrap the layers, one by one by one and then you get to her center and find something bitter and jaded jaded by time and doubt and regret.therapy.4 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
she is oh so fragile, and one would think she would have broken by now and scattered herself into a million little pieces of colored dreams.
'hold on to me. don't let go. i don't know how to stay together now.'
questions left un
awful tastes hang
ing in the air.
there is something, no, somethings that i want you to answer for. that i want to know how
From the Depths of InsanityI knew you once, when you were a tortured little girl, kicking and screaming at whomever came near. When you scratched and clawed and bit at your own skin like a possessed thing. I was there on those days you tried to throw yourself down flights of stairs, through windows and under cars. And every single time you took a hit off that bowl, a drag on a cigarette, or injected who-knows-what into your veins. I was the laughing in your ear when you spent hours sobbing in your mother's arms, then turned on her as well. When you were pegged as an unstable thing and thrown aside like the rag-doll you were. I was the one scratching at your brain as you sat in countless therapy sessions, mouth glued together.From the Depths of Insanity4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I knew you once, when you were a quiet little thing with malice in your eyes. People would fawn over you in the velveteen dresses as you danced around, the crinoline making your legs bleed. Then your arms bled, and your hips and shoulders and wrists lost blood and accumulated scars as the y
Happiness: The Perfect TriggerHappiness: The Perfect Trigger5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
I blew my brains out today.
Well get back to that.
Wednesday 6:02 A.M.
I rolled over onto my back and stared at the ceiling, thinking about what it was going to say. Dont be silly. I was assuming it could talk. I remember what it told me decades ago. You know, youre getting old.
Of course I knew. I was the one getting old! For example, when youre young, getting out of bed is one fluid motion. You dont like doing it, but all you do is kick and stand up. Thats it. When you get old, its four very unevenly spaced, unevenly paced and unevenly executed moves. Its all very complicated really.
1. You roll over onto your back, stare at the ceiling and smash the alarm-clock. [pause]
2. You roll over a little more and push yourself up with your one atrophied arm. [pause]
3. You swing both your legs over the edge of the bed. [pause]
4. You sigh, lean forward and use both your atrophied arms to
If This is What it Takes"I'm going to break your heart." she tells me.If This is What it Takes4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"You already did." I laugh, "I'm not going to let you do it again."
But she smiles and slams her fist into my chest.
"I don't love you," she says softly.
"I don't love you either," I lie. I pretend it hurts, but really, I can't feel a thing.
Our eyes meet and I start to wonder what we're saying.
But she turns and walks away, leaving me with tingling lips and a bruised heart.
I'm so tired of being sad.
It's hard, watching his heart snap under that pressure. He's no twig, but he isn't strong enough to hold the whole world on his shoulders. He's got cracks, just like the rest of us. There's no trying. It's do or die. He's too close to dying for my taste.
I ride the subway and think of him. I think of the way he curls up with his iPod in the corner of the battered car and stares out the window. It makes me wonder what he thinks about, what secrets he's keeping. I know he has some, and I worry that they're bad.
I want to fix him. I want t