Fallen AngelFallen Angel7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is how they found you -
mouth full of brambles,
the rub of matches
against your knuckles,
with rocks pillowing your limbs
in the blind tangle
Hate is a dirty bruise
left at your temples,
the crucifixion of words
pressed like stones
into your wounds
where blind awe
runs deep like blood.
In case of emergencyI saw the roots of prairie grassesIn case of emergency8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Like carrion beetles in their yellowing shells
Nibbling angrily, at the concrete beneath my feet,
At wood sheared to fence posts near the road.
The very earth they rejected, drawing what peace they could.
When did stained glass become the standard?
I have forged narrow mountain paths and stumbled over
Bottle caps secreted between the mica flakes and quartz.
In this city, in the sectors most pregnant with age,
Trees testify shamelessly into the sky.
Clandestine, one coils his reach toward
A flimsy cable, twisted and strung precariously
From corpse to shabby corpse, on and on.
Graceful and altogether stoic, another refuses to wince
As the merciless force of a school bus violates its skirts.
All the monstrous lizards reduced to macabre exhibits,
I fault them for dying. With cold blooded savages
Of the biological nature, the world was better off.
Save the best for last is never the real philosophy.
Find me the soul that cares for what happens to its carca
Breaking Free for Love-100 T.Breaking Free for Love-100 T.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
we sleep where the sun worships your touch,
where the moonbeams
and midnight silhouettes
and words disappear
beneath the strokes of your fingertips painting skin.
was that promise true, my love?
the one you grazed
across my neck at dawn?
you light up my fantasies with kisses
as you catch my eye
with two whispering looks,
and i guess i must have lingered
It never leaves you, the addiction.No matter how long you live, you never stop being an addict. Once you have become one, it never goes away. Once you’re labeled an addict, you will always be one. Some people may forget, or you may move away someplace where nobody knows your past, but you yourself will always know, and you yourself will always remember. You never stop being an addict, the illness is tattooed all over your body, your insides, your brain, it's everywhere. It's slavery: being a slave to your self-soothing medication.It never leaves you, the addiction.2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Everyone always says that admitting you have a problem is the first step into recovery, the biggest step. They never tell you that the hardest part has yet to come. You can admit you have a problem ten times a day, but still let yourself give into temptation after each and every admission.
Withdrawal is its own circle of hell. The misery that encompasses your life when you’re in withdrawal eradicates all desire and motivation to fight. If by some miracle you manage to get past it,
the cruelty of your smilesit's six-thirty a.m.the cruelty of your smiles6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and my ribcage is
with every thought of you.
i can see it clearly:
the turned-up corners of a smile
trying to take control of your face,
the wild wind-intensity
of your sea-green pebble-eyes
raking my hands as if you're dissecting me,
the way your palm-lines molded to my spine
as you pressed me close one last time...
i can still feel your lips
whispering me closer to you,
drawing me out and down,
and in the still of almost-sunrise,
the backs of your hands look like claws
scrambling for purchase on my skin.
i can hear you.
it's six-forty a.m.
and i've got the radio blaring,
but your halting breathstrokes
have me paralyzed,
the wings of a hummingbird
pulsing the air into mini-whirlwinds
of your peaches-n-cream locks,
the lotion on your legs.
it's six-fifty a.m.
and i'm lying half-awake in my bed.
the pillow that used to be
It's the Women's Heart"You surely are hard to find, aren't you, Windrider?"It's the Women's Heart5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Putting the glass back on the tavern bar, Sywyn glanced at the young man who sat on the wooden stool beside him. Brown curls flickered in the firelight, and clear green eyes returned his gaze, inspecting him and looking for a reaction.
"I see you do recognize me. I must admit I really wasn't expecting so much," he said smiling, "it saves me the embarrassment of introducing myself again, at least."
The scarred elf looked away without a word, while his new companion kept staring at him with genuine curiosity.
"It's not like I thought you were going to be happy seeing me either, of course..."
No response came, and the young man just nodded peacefully, his smile still on his lips.
"You're not very talkative, I see... is it just because of me, or shall I assume you have other qualities to make up for it?"
Sywyn clenched the glass in his hand and held his breath in an effort to remain calm, teeth gritted behind pres
tomorrow's headlines--c.i froze last night,tomorrow's headlines--c.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dull eyes filled with white noise
and the chaos of moving forward
as your departing words tore my smile to shreds.
in my heart,
raindrops turned to icicles
and my oxygen fled the scene,
turning my numb lips dark blue.
and i can only imagine
the headlines of the morning's news:
love turns girl into a popsicle.
rescuers still trying to melt her veins.
the cure to one goodbye
said much too soon.
I froze like a deer in headlights
It was all a little too perfect
All a little too well planned
Your voice was too steady
Too fucking steady
My breath was sucked out of me
I wanted to roll into a ball
I would be the main attraction
People would travel moons to see me
Curled in a ball slowly rocking back and forth
Back and forth
people would come from miles
to watch me shatter,
watch my eyes fill,
watch me bleed myself dry of words...
and they'd all know
that it's because of you.
i froze last night,
but not from the cold of snow
blame the sandmandear paradise girl:blame the sandman6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you have seaweed in your hair
and your eyes are painted with mother-of-pearls.
the sand between your toes
has crusted over
and when i place my head against your chest,
because i can't find a heartbeat.
and you laugh,
a clogged-up gurgle,
because you know that i've forgotten what you're made of.
you don't have a pulse.
i hear the rhythm of blue waves beneath your skin.
dear paradise girl:
you have crabs clipped to your earlobes
and you wear seagull feathers for a dress.
there are blue-kelp tattoos across your shoulders
and a ring of suction-cup stars around each ankle,
and when you move,
you move like water.
and when you wrap your arms around me,
i draw back in fear
because your skin molds to mine like mud...
and you grin,
a snaggle-toothed vision,
because you know i've forgotten once again.
your skin is cool and clammy
and i can't stand to hug you
anymore than i can chew on sand.
dear paradise girl:
you're crying grains of salt
and the b
Joy.We had been shooting down stars with harpoon guns since before we knew what we could do and howling at the moon before we knew that it was calling back. You slept under your own silver midnight on the opposite side of the universe while I woke up to empty houses and hospital stays. Age wasn't something you measured until you could open your eyes without seeing her face.Joy.6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Maybe we didn't grow up so far apart after all, our childhoods blending together like your tears in the ocean. The mother's we couldn't reach, the father's we never knew; sometimes you feel too much like a reflection of everything I've tried to forget to possibly be just some other lost teenager who believes he's misunderstood.
But believe me, I know you feel alone.
I know you still dream about the blue of her eyes and the texture of her old sweaters. And when you're alone at night, I know you search the sky for shooting stars to wish her back to you.
But I wonder if you remember anything more than butterfly kisses and
SeasonIn the somber autumn silence theres a song upon the breezeSeason7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Pouring from the amber forest, like a symphony of trees
Can you hear how they are singing?
Through those sanguine pillars ringing
Natures requiem is soaring, roaring up in full reprise
Its a chorus of the dying; its a choir of the damned
And the death-knells ringing out lament their passing close at hand
Can you hear the leaves are falling?
Can you hear their spirits calling?
Their enthralling anthem falters as they force their final stand
Now the final leaves are plucked away by winters whipping wind
All the colors of the forest slowly by the snow worn thin
Though by mist and cold encumbered
Thrive does nature here, not slumber
Midst a vast and frozen wasteland life refuses to rescind
Down from leaden sieves it drifts and paints the ground in pallid hues
Alabaster mist so fine it into everything intrudes
Not a death, a resurrection
Natures renaissance through flexion;
The Drivers DanceA quick glance in the rearview mirror confirms that it's still there, the silver car, gliding through the dark streets behind me. And with every looming roundabout, we ski forwards on smooth cool rubber, skimming the curves elegantly.The Drivers Dance6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
At the red lights, the golden streetlamp spills over the car easing to a halt behind me. The driver is illuminated, hinting at the frame of a man, an arm propped casually against the steering wheel.
When amber hits green, we both indicate, simultaneously choosing the left path, and swinging our metal hips that way.
Through urban straights and country twists, he follows, keeping a respectable distance, casually trailing my tracks in the rain. Our driving dance is intricate, mapping miles of uncovered ground, minutes and hours sailing by. I wonder if, like me, his destination is uncertain. If the beginning of his journey was like mine.
We travel like this for over an hour, equal speeds, equal minds. A two car camel train, perusing the deserts of a tarmac st
I Was ArmedI was armed. I was prepared. I had everything I needed to take out the evil lurking in there. I was Rambo, the Terminator, Sherlock Holmes and Martha Stewart combined into one. My hair was in a handkerchief, my clothes were old and ratty, I was barefoot. I was prepared.I Was Armed6 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
I was a goner. In the battle of me vs. my room, I didnt stand a chance.
It started out easy. Thanksgiving was coming, and since I was away at college, and had been adopted as the group Mom for all of my friends (and I was the only one who could cook), the responsibility for hosting dinner fell to me. Everyone else would help pay, but it would be made by me, at my house. The only problem was, my house was in not shape for Thanksgiving company.
I wasnt always such a messy person. My mother still swears to this day that when I was little, I was the cleanest child in the neighborhood. But somehow, in my teenage years, all that changed.
I became a slob.
Not a true slob, mind you. I cannot live in my o
time-spinning, frail organsdecembertime-spinning, frail organs6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
i signed the form today, the dark clouds beyond your window--swollen with rain, bruising the sky--echoing the mood trapped behind closed doors. at six, i took your bandaged hand--careful, dear, you told me six months ago. don't bump the i.v.--and whispered goodbye with my tears. i whispered my secrets before you let yourself go.
do you remember growing up? we were twenty-four, fresh out of college, and you were beautiful. your crimped-up, decked-out, rust-red-tinted hair smelled of black licorice markers and cups of chai tea. i buried myself in its webs that night. begged you to take me away.
and you did, love. the sway of your hips kissing mine stopped the world, and for ten seconds, i forgot what you told me. for a moment, i forgot you were already moving on.
your eyes were yellow, feverish, the frailty of your failing organs much too
Education is a GunEducation is a gun. When you first pick it up, you may not be sure how to use it. You may not be aware of its potential. Heck, you might not even know what the point of it is.Education is a Gun6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
But gradually, you will learn. You will learn how to hold it and marvel its body, so mechanical yet so full of life. You will learn to load it, hearing the bullets of knowledge click past your ears. The noise will scare you at first, and doubt will assail your thoughts. Are you really good enough to wield it?
Eventually you learn to cock the gun. The readiness, the excitement that bubbles from the gun makes you smile. At last, you are in control. Your teacher then asks you to point at the target. A boy grins at you. You recoil; you can't shoot a child, surely. Then the child transforms. It becomes square-ish, box-like; it becomes a TV. Propaganda blares out from suited leaders, deluding hundreds of poor, illiterate people clinging to hope rather than fact.
Your teacher steps in and utters the word.
Random Murderhe said, "i am crushed."Random Murder6 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
i put the car in reverse.
now, he is flattened.
he said, "my heart's dead."
i aimed the gun at his chest.
now, his heart's holy.
he said, "i don't cry."
i gave him the knife. his eyes
are red with onion.
he said, "forever."
i sent him a gift card and
wrote, "you mean never."
he cried, "i love you!"
i threw a stick and waited.
he never came back.
he screamed, "it's over!"
i hid my smile. i had
already left him.
he asked, "how could you?"
i showed him my secrets and
let him walk away.
Butterflies...Our lives are filled with ButterfliesButterflies...7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
In moments that we seize
They guide us with our heart and soul
Placing themselves in our memories
In days so dark we find them there
We feel them midst our pain
Guiding us to all tranquility
Till we are whole again
We see them in each golden day
They flutter strong and true
Each one more glorious than the next
Their colours a vivid hue
Our laughter guides each Butterfly
To peace and harmony
To place them amongst the flowers
To dance in reverie
Such gentle creatures as they fly
Their silence creating calm
We watch them with surprise and mirth
A cool and soothing balm
Butterflies are our gifts from God
To show us all the light
To guide us in our daily quest
Turning what is wrong to right
So next time you see a Butterfly
Treat this creature with your love
Filling all your memories with their beauty
As they flutter up above
music notesShe was sprawled across the mattress, eyes closed, as her fingers pretended to play sonatas across the bedding. Her hair rested in tangled curls, overlapping blank sheet music and nude legs, a life printed on cut-outs and photographs. Piles of them were scattered here and there cognizant of their destinies, organized by "date-taken" and "place." Some of her, some of him, some of something else entirely. An unfolded album had been laid to her side, inhaling what was left. The pictures infected her. They were souvenirs of someone she used to be, something she used to believe in, somewhere she wasn't.music notes6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She had been in the kitchen when he started playing. The piano wasn't his forte, nor was it hers, it was a gift. He could play nonsense well, that much she knew, and when he did, she would stay and listen.
She was sprawled across the mattress, eyes closed, as her fingers hung at length over the edge, infected from holding old memories (mostly fiction), she was allergic.
those pesky elves--100 T.under the rainbow,those pesky elves--100 T.6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
three bad little elves
play cops and robbers
and make fools of themselves.
they guard a large pot
to the brim filled with gold
and play hide-and-seek...
or so we are told.
but don't fall for the trick!
take a look at that cloud.
it's edges are too even,
the rainbow, too loud!
swipe at your eyes;
is doubt setting in?
blink, blink, once more!
and now, look again.
the gold pot is missing,
the cloud lonely and bare.
but where did the elves go?
well, they were never there.
Mental GravitationUP:Mental Gravitation6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Like the edge of a mindgasm
And one little breath
Will push you over the edge
Like knowing you can never
Breathe that good air again
And the bad isn't worth breathing
love always, your mommy.dear littlest one,love always, your mommy.6 years ago in Emotional More Like This
i hope my words reach your tiny beating heart
because i'll never get to know your face,
to feel your fingers and toes,
or whisper in your ear.
but a heart is all you need to hear me.
so, i'm going to talk,
..and i know that you'll listen.
it was a snowy Christmas evening when something more than holiday spirit permeated my veins.
a warm rush and dizzying tingle came over me.
like moon dust sprinkled above me,
a cool shimmer dusted over my eyes;
Under Construction-100 T.Under Construction-100 T.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you put a sign up yesterday.
"heart currently under construction.
sorry for any inconvenience."
the words settled into my gut
like sapphires at the bottom of an ocean;
how could you be hurting so badly
when you only gave it to me a month ago?
i wonder if the mask you wear to bed
matches the show you put on at dawn.
do your eyes still glow
a feral yellow-secret-hue
or do you dismiss me at the door
because you're afraid of what i'll see
when the stars collide?
i'm begging you to yank me around.
at least then,
your walls will budge beneath the weight
and i'll recognize some part of you
just kiss me once.
i promise not to cry when you let go,
i just want to see emotion in your eyes.
i begged for you to let me in.
and for a minute,
the door opened just a bit wider
and i caught a glimpse of red over your shoulder
before you snapped the door into place again.
that it was your heart peeking my way.
Simple TravellerI am a simple travellerSimple Traveller6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
passing through this time
Leaving little bits of me
on mountains that I climb
No life is just a fairytale
although we wish it so
we dream of what is perfect
but live with what we know
Behind each door is magic
we need to see it clear
To find what makes us happy
and ward off what is fear
Each day, it is a blessing
we must live it to our fill
Is what our God has granted
in giving us free will
Be careful what you wish for,
as greed can leave its mark
To drag us from the light
and shroud us in the dark
Beauty is in the simple
in love and friendship true
As life will take you by the hand,
from buds to flowers grew
So be a simple traveller
and pass within this time
Leaving all what you do learn
on mountains you will climb
For others will walk behind you
and see what you have shown
To help realize the beauty
from buds to flowers grown..