I'm SorryI'm Sorry9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
today I accidentally
killed your ladybug
tangled in my mess of hair
onto my shoulder
not thinking I grabbed
for the tickle and
with a fingetip
on her round
and I watched her fade
God Is DeadGod Is Dead11 years ago in Humor More Like This
God's robes flapped around him as he looked over the edge and onto the street below.
"Don't do it! Don't do it!" cried the security guard behind him.
God said nothing, climbing onto the raised edge of the building. Five storeys below, people were beginning to take notice.
"Jesus Christ! Look!
"Oh my god!"
"Where's my camera?"
He turned and faced the security guard, who stopped walking and gazed upon the face of God. He'd been crying.
"But... why? You've got so much to live for..."
God gave a wan smile. "So have all of you."
He spread his arms wide, closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh, falling back and off the building.
* * *
A crowd was gathering around the black, sticky mess that remained of What-Once-Was Our Lord.
"Is he dead?"
"Who is it?"
"Where's my camera?"
The bystander effect was operating at maximum efficiency, causing everyone to just stand there and looked at the mangled remains. Presently, however, a fine upstan
Fulfillment through DepravityFulfillment through Depravity11 years ago in Horror More Like This
They call me crazy. I beg to differ. I'm sentenced to die only for their lack of understanding. So, here I sit day after day in this cold, lonely, dark jail-cell. Fed once daily, I'm slowly thinning away, still filled with the lust of my chosen delicacy and the hatred that was bred upon me. I don't know how long I've been here or how long I'll stay. No windows to the outside world are present to accompany me, only one diminutive hole near the top of the door shining in a small beam of light through from the prison corridor. I've grown somewhat accustomed to this new lifestyle of mine however bleak it may be in comparison to the stirring existence of my past.
I was born on August 13, 1974, putting me now at slightly over fifty years old. My mother unfortunately died during labor, leaving my single father to raise me alone. My unstable father was traumatized b
Maybe if I hate enoughrat-faced man yellow and drawn long yellow fingers, long yellow yawnMaybe if I hate enough9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
reaches for unfamiliar spaces sweaty ideas of greatness
the unsuccessful lover winding down
atrophied ass, skinny bowed legs,
sickly bulging belly, shoulders childlike and narrow
a defeated posture infused with hate cast a weak tea shadow
sabotaging fate: a new idea for each new moment
(we could be famous... we could make a million bucks)
seals them in dirty envelopes to fall through the greasy grate
a gutter by the darkness where nothing really takes shape
plagiarizing ouroboros believing his own lies
at his core a sinister emptiness, so appealing
to the alternative strata of the trendy elite
who have forgotten their true nature
as the abused dog forgets how to be a dog
he was attracted to my wound, my beautiful malfunction
but when I was resolved he couldn't be contacted
man of straw in a house of cards waiting to fail
a child inside a man inside a disease, vampiric and shining
oiling his trap, an ugly broken outdat
Inaction and ReactionInaction and Reaction11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
This demon's taken control of me
I curse myself and my incapability
I wish, I hope, to go back to the day
When I didn't care about it, either way
Why are my thoughts so out of place?
Mayhap it's someone else with my face
Punish me, now, for I spit and I curse
It feels so bad, and I want it to be worse
I look for a way out of all this
Shadows hide me, my courage I miss
I see it there, my eyes it will haunt
I look for the moment when I can taunt
It looks away for a moment or three
I wait for too long, cannot get free
It holds me
It molds me
It makes me
It takes me
Possession is nine-tenths, don't you see?
Depression is deep and wont let me be
Regression perhaps is the way, but
Dispassion makes all those doors shut
Displacement causes me to sit and stare
Abasement is the punishment that I share
Chastisement is something I have heard
elephantasmaelephantasma11 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
this is forgetting:
moon-drenched ivory, and grey flesh
made hollow with lead.
The Importance of Being FrankThe Importance of Being Frank10 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The Importance Of Being Frank
At the end of this story, a Frenchman will be eaten by African driver ants.
* * *
Silvie closed the stall door behind her; she closed it timidly, with an empty expression on her face. Her hand shook. She paused for a moment, her mouth half open, her lip curled upward, and a frown on her forehead.
Then she walked over to the wash basins.
A fly buzzed between her and the mirror. She turned on the faucet, filled her cupped hands with water, and splashed it on her face. She looked at the stall's reflection in the mirror, closed her eyes, and slapped herself.
Let us slow down to take in the sights. At the exact moment Silvie's hand hits her cheek, everyth
asea, tonightasea, tonight10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I'm at your door; can hear the brass and bass,
the snare drum, through the glass. It's jazz, tonight.
You let me in and suddenly I'm in
a room of profound poets, who sing their verse
through shining horns, sweet saxophone riffs.
The solos drift so richly, dance among smoke rings—
tonight, when everyone's somebody's cool cat.
There's a girl whose trumpet weeps when she woos its keys,
those wailing notes like Miles would have played.
And the long-haired bassist pains his face as he plucks
away at the tired shape the body makes,
he sways. And when the guitar's clean strings do sing,
it's melody carries a twang so sweet—it's jazz,
tonight. Tonight!— We can be alive, tonight.
And I'm in the corner, no horn in hand, not even
a cigarette for now. I'm just a shadow this evening,
no harmony for me. Just silent taps
of thumbs on thighs; of a breath before sirens sing.
Tonight, blue tunes knew the way through a smoky
sea—found me… Last I heard they were still awaiting
I AM TidusI began so ready, to journey with you..I AM Tidus12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
For such a special person, still more lay inside of you.
When I caught my first glance I was hooked..I knew..
From inside of you, you could summon beautiful creatures
With simple words you could heal my wounds..
Going along with you on your journey..The narrow path you walked
Sometimes it found you on a gurney, sometimes it had you blocked
But together we answered questions, that were deep in our hearts
We worked past the limitations, minding that we had our seperate parts
I saw you do a dance of death, saw it bring about new life
It almost took away my breath, seeing such animation in the strife
The pyreflies had a special feel, and around you they gathered,
Hard to believe it could be so real, yet you would not be bothered
As the days pass and I work to do my job
Sin prevails and many lives, it does rob
I have to watch this dance again, wonder how you find a smile
As the gravity of it all sets in, I stop to watch a while
I know now, that until
Elf vs. Orc 2Celadon Toadstool was delirious.Elf vs. Orc 29 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
The funny bit—uproariously funny, it seemed to her—was that she knew she was delirious. The world was billowing around her. It looked as if someone had meticulously painted the inside of a cottage on silk, and then hung it in a gentle breeze. The corners floated inward and collapsed back out again with a sigh.
That someone would go to all that trouble, painting a cottage on silk, was hilarious.
She knew she was wounded. She couldn't quite remember how she'd been wounded. Imagine not remembering a thing like that!
This also struck her as hilarious.
Her name, in Orcish, was Urrsharruk-gah, and she had skin the delicate gray-green of the gills of cave mushrooms, and eyes the color of stolen gold. Her hair was thick and dark and she wore it tucked under her helmet to keep enemies from being able to grab it, which was problematic, because she'd lost her helmet somewhere along the way, and she wasn't in the best of shape anyway.
Even in her immense good humor
Spanish OrchardSpanish Orchard10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the roadside orchards were
bright as peaches
firming in autumn breeze
I was broken in lay-by pieces.
a lightly-painted lady,
elephant faced with
horse's complexion, approached.
Her expression --
that of dripping canvas.
I glanced and turned politely
(screwdriver in hand)
toward my choking car.
The pointed sound of her running,
heels clicking, dress
coating tarmac lime.
She clawed onto my arms with
pushing varnish nails
into male flesh.
Her thin lips flickered pastel dust.
time stood between us, as she
rambled words of
who'd walked into the orchard
convinced he was tree.
She told me of how he stood
proudly growing fruit.
which come the autumn fell imperfect,
rotting into earth.
I dance in clown shoes.I dance in clown shoes.11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
You compose your conversations.
Fitfully gesturing with whatever you hold,
ending arguments with a flourish.
Make a point, now whirl, quickly.
Make it impossible to counter with your unpunctuation.
You duck and weave, spin, sidestep, pirouette:
One, two, one, two, faster, harder, stronger.
You leave me confused and two steps back,
just far enough behind to appear lost and unsure.
And if I catch up, if I make a point,
you spin again, a trail of words falling like pixie dust
as you make your escape.
And as you storm out, you slam the period behind you,
Ending your sentence with a door.
And I must follow you, my thuds down the stairs preceding my statement,
trying to catch up before the page break.
Now I capitalize a W, and follow with an a, i, t.
And you pause, spin, speak, gesture, spin, continue.
A waltz to counter my four-four.
You don't dance your words-
you speak a dance.
You speak a dance Baryshnikov couldn't follow.
You rapidly reverse the rhythm,
changing tempo in a blur of sound
Annie Comes Home to RufusAnnie Comes Home to Rufus11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Annie tumbles from the car
and onto the driveway.
I watch from behind the curtains
as Mother and Father trudge behind,
dragging duffles full of god-knows-what
(sweatshirts, I figure, and a toothbrush, and gallons and jars
of bitter white pills and injections).
"Daddy – keys!" she cries,
and his mouth stretches, baring teeth
(he smiles, he thinks)
as he tosses a jingling cluster.
The latch clacks, and Annie comes home.
I hover in the kitchen –
I never know what to say.
She spots me before even hanging up her jacket and kneels.
"C'mere, mutt," like she expects me to pretend
I'm happy to see her
eight pounds lighter than last Sunday.
Annie is tired.
Only I am allowed in her room,
where the angled light shafts and the dust motes
turn the plastic hairs of her wig
into faceted filaments.
She slides it from her skull
and drapes it on the sleeping styrofoam
the golden ratioII.the golden ratio6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
six guitar strings that whirred
under your hands
like sweet mosquito wings
seeking my blood
and that heart that bore it
one shoe swallowed somewhere
below the water-rafting bridge;
the movements traced
by our joyous limbs
into its flailing, free laces
eight cassettes that buzzed
through steel wool speakers
in their scratchy eighties' voices
as our car rolled down
puzzle-lines of scenic summer;
each mile allotted us
one thousand words
have we pretended
to have one another
three loads of laundry
that flapped on humid cords of June
as we threaded our toes
through sunned grass
and dandelions that fell apart
under the weight of our whispered wishes
three blankets we took
as cotton skins
in order to hide us
from December's huffing, wet breath
when the world seemed
as frigid, tired, and unyielding
as our stiffened fingers
when we completely
eight failed jack-o-lanterns
that trapped befuddl
DMCA letterDear :DMCA letter8 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
I am writing to you to avail myself of my rights under the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA). I wish to report an instance of what I feel in good faith is an instance or Copyright Infringement. The infringing material appears on the Service for which you are the designated agent.
You are registered with the U.S. Copyright Office as the Designated Service Provider Agent to receive notifications of alleged Copyright infringement with respect to users of the Service for which you are the Designated Agent.
1. The material which I contend belongs to me, and appears illegally on the Service is the following:
2. The material appears at the website addresses:
3. The material appears on my Web site at these addresses:
4. The infringing material is available through the following search results and links
5. My contact information is as follows:
6. I have a good faith belief that the use of the material that appears on the service is not authorized by the copyright owner, its agent,
levensleszuivel vergaat snellevensles6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
net als geliefde bezittingen
en onvoorwaardelijke liefde
teleurgestelde hoofden schudden
vaker dan dat de zon onder gaat
emoties komen en gaan
welke is nog betrouwbaar
dialogen zonder inhoud
ze lijken haast normaal
het treinverkeer ligt stil
laten we dan maar wachten
Ascension Chapter 4Ascension Chapter 410 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
Chapter 4: Varying Intensities of Light
Cotter-Lynn sat at the long table on the stage amazed that Harrison Villert was able to find the damn podium with the dozens of flashbulbs igniting in succession. Villert was his secondary sponsor in the campaign to retrieve the Edge of Sin. Owner and CEO of the Villert-Avalle' Corporation, Harrison held the corner market on a variety of textile and scientific research industries, as well as a few other small companies which he quietly oversaw. We say quietly because in the aftermath of the Age of Machismo, it would be an impediment to public image if a man such as Villert was widely known to have firm ties in weapons production and armaments instead of working solely on terraforming and medical advancements.
The climate was insufferable for Cotter, standing in ovation for the aging CEO. He tried to sneak up to his top shirt button to undo it as he applauded, but his father next to him was just as smooth and served him an elbow meant to blend in