we, the freshIt started with a tiny bottlewe, the fresh6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of hand sanitizer
given as a gift
and at first it was forgotten.
Tossed into his car
the passenger seat.
But it was only a short time later
he strangled her to death
and chopped up her body.
of course, no one knew about it then.
He hid the body parts well
burned some of them
buried the rest
a flawless execution.
He cleaned up his house
and took a long warm shower.
He pulled the steaks out of the freezer
and cooked them on the stove.
He poured of glass of fine wine
and sat down to eat his victory dinner.
He realized he had forgotten to get a knife
and made his way to the kitchen.
With his knife in hand
his thoughts wandered away
pondering what the neighbors might say
if he got caught and they got interviewed
certainly none of them expected it
he was such a friendly neighbor.
But he wouldn't get caught
he chuckled vaguely
and walked back over to his steak
and started to cut into it.
As he lifted the first bite,
he smelled it.
the reek of blood just under his
Scared Crow - Chapter 1Scared Crow - Chapter 16 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
Come with me
It was late autumn. Thick, clammy mist hung low over the country and made the forest trees look as if they were floating in empty space. In the middle of the field, a large puppet stood on a stick. The loose rags barely covering it were idly moving in the wind alternately rushing or fanning over it.
The wind was cold and sharp. The girl stood watching as the crows flew around or sat on the puppet and wondered why it was supposed to scare them. It didnt work after all, did it?
On her way back to the city it started to snow.
She shivered and wrapped her jacket tighter around herself. Branwen always was cold, but today and not only because it was snowing she felt much colder. Her fingers were stiffer, her breath was harder to take and her skin felt dried out. She assumed it was because of the harsh weather changes they were experiencing.
One day it was hot like summer and you could walk around in a shirt and the next it was raining or ev
Hope....Hope....6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I will never bring a blade to my skin.
Not with the intent of seeing a
River of Red.
No matter how far I fall,
Into that darkness in
No matter how tempting the silver is,
Though I see very little appeal,
I will not let it come to that.
Even if the pain grows nearly unbarable,
And the weight seems to heavy to hold,
I'll push on through the tears.
Because I know,
"The night is darkest just before the dawn..."
And I know
"...The dawn is coming"
Beyond Absolution: ProloguePrologue: Sweet Raptured LightBeyond Absolution: Prologue6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
I broke the surface of consciousness like a drowning man. Gasping thin breaths, I strained for air against the angry band of pain that crushed my throat to the width of a narrow reed. My fingers felt as thick as sausages as I dug them into the rope. A weak, phlegmy cough rasped air painfully past my throat, dragging me back towards unconsciousness as the pain threatened to spill over.
Im dying, screamed the wild part of my brain. Im dying Im dying Im dying Im dying!
Darkness blurred the corners of my eyes; coughs wracked my body, doubled me over on the floorboards. My pale, snatched breaths werent enough to save me; they just prolonged the inevitable, kept me conscious as I scrabbled about my neck, tugging desperately at the rope that cut into me like fire. A heavy knot was tied at the base of my skull. With my last reserves of
Chapter One"So... what's his story? I've never seen someone like him."Chapter One6 years ago in Spiritual & Occult More Like This
"Xander? You won't meet another... well, it's easier to tell you the story than to try and explain..."
It starts off real simple... Man finds a book. A tome so old, it's literally falling apart; buried underneath the Earth since time immemorial. Book is said to contain some of the most powerful spells ever devised. The strongest barriers, the most lethal attacks, regenerative abilities that can pull one back from the threshold. Magic so old that the verbal incantations are lost to history.
Through some bookwork, he finds that the words weren't lost, they never were. None of these spells have ever been spoken aloud, because they can't be; not properly. It would come out as unintelligible gibberish.
He also learns some of the massive history behind the book. The confirmed history is that the book itself started as Sumerian, proven by the type of binding and parchment, but the language and spells inside are second to none. So
The Station of a PoetThe Station of a Poet10 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
The station of a poet is one that connects the mind of man with the mind of god into a fluid consciousness. This unity is one that helps the world grow and thrive, amidst all of the heartache, oppression, and depression that can be seen today.
We are the vanguard that continually, in every age and sector, force the envelope that makes people think, debate, and dig into their psyche. Take John Donne, as a prime example: in the fourteen lines of Death, be not Proud, the poet creates both a well of hope, and a clearer understanding of the ideas regarding death, the afterlife, and mortal fear of that death.
But poets and poetry dig further beneath the skin; we, a rather eccentric lot, reach for the curtain that separates man and god and attempt if not to rip it away, then to unveil for a glimpse. Most poets will no doubt understand that the supreme powers we define as god are in fact, scarcely definable, and in most cases difficult if not impossible to articulate in any human tongue. There
Resurrecting SylviaResurrecting Sylvia6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And like the cat I have nine times to die.
This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.
Even amidst fierce flames
The golden lotus can be planted,
So let the mystified crowds begin amassing!
Again she will rise like a climbing rose,
Lady Lazarus, lifted from soil, decomposed
But lifted, living, sepulcher sprung; she cries-
I have risen again, once in every ten!
Thrusting upon the crowd a demure smile,
Reminding them with coy cast of amber eye:
And like a cat I have nine times to die.
Blame not her tempest-mind for the tragedy,
For amidst those flames of madness and insecurity
Her grave-bloom yet sprouts its mystery-
Her verse, a curse: a blue flame filament
Unfurled from the nadir, a testament
Suckled on the siren song of Lorelei.
From the great beneath she claims: I will rise
Yet again, to bid you recant and to reclaim
A lyrical promise penned in misery:
This is only number three.
So amass, friends, 'round the funerary shroud
Ademir ReturnsAdemir ReturnsAdemir Returns5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A Brazilian bricklayer reportedly killed in a car crash
shocked his mourning family by showing up alive at his funeral.
The Associated Press
This is how we will speak of that day
We will say his legs walked him
out of death. We will say his steps
kicked their dust from the road
into the sky, and the sky touches everything
the road cannot. We will say we must
sometimes go forward to get back,
taking the hearts from these things
as we speak. We will say we believe
all we know that his is only one way
for a man to become a stranger among
his own that we see now how he was
unknown to us, but that his eyes
have shown us how to look
at his return. We will say Ademir
is back; he lives like us, still
and again. We will say we understand
that looking is among the hardest of things.
if my heart could talklight plays off the curvesif my heart could talk5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of your skin,
the salience of your lips,
releasing prayer like birds;
the silence of your jaw,
a midnight orchestra
under heavy streetlights;
and the bone of your chin,
constellations like the
way the world turns.
it must be
the year of the rose,
and pink like clouds
pressing your fragile skin
between pages of
a beloved anthology
New York TimesPolished her nails red and ran away with a copy of the New York Times.New York Times6 years ago in Mystery & Suspense More Like This
She never was of that much use to me, but I believed her to be better than that, all the mystery, all the calamities that she would never speak of made me believe that she would do more than simply walk out of my life.
She left the netting of her wedding gown over the shower curtain rod, the rest of the dress was gone. That was the only dress that she had kept during the year, every week she would buy a new one, and once bought she would throw her old ones into the alley on the side of our apartment. She never stayed there long, but she would look out of our kitchen window, in to the bin where she had placed it, and just stare at it quietly. I don't know if she was regretting giving it to the dogs or if she simply thought it looked beautiful.
I will never know now. I didn't want to find out before but now it haunts me, because she left the veil, but not the dress. And I will never know why.
She took nothing with her
slimy little sweethearttoday somethingslimy little sweetheart5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i realized the importance
of having a body.
why we are just not
spirals of sweaty souls
i think it is because it is important
to be touched
to know that your mouth
is warm. to throw my arms around your neck
in a sloppy, slutty wreck
to look at you and not be able
to see anything else. to find you
undressed, unguarded and regressed
into a slimy little sea animal.
unbeautiful but most beautiful just
because you are, honey
and also. because
it is important to see
how ugly and terrible we really
how to miss a boy who's sothere's no comforthow to miss a boy who's so5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the way you hold me
with the fire in your palms.
you have mud in your boxers,
grass in your hair,
and i am not moving;
you are butterflies on your cheeks,
you are soft music on your lips,
you are thin ice and my heart
breaks in its beauty.
please let me
i have bloodstains on my sheets
and streaks of red ink.
it all makes me want to say
that i am sorry
i am alone in this bed
and i am cold
your bones are not my bones
and i shiver as
they sleep with
themselves in a cold cocoon
letters home-don't I deserve it?letters home-6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
dear bitch with one leg-
stop wearing shorts. the absence of your left leg makes the grown-ups uncomfortable, and the childrens brain's go crazy with scenarios of how you lost it.
from- the grossed out teenager with the scowl on her face (yep, that's me)
you do not deserve it. oh no, no. not at all. can you hear yourself, do you listen? you are a terrible person.
dear mom and dad-
fuck I am having a good time. I shoot shit into my veins all day, and I blow guys that I don't know all night. I will never come home, don't expect me.
from- your high and happy daughter
of course I can hear myself. do I get any points for being honest?
dear asshole that stole my tv-
I really just wanted to fuck you. your personality was terribly dull. I am glad you took that piece of shit.
from- the horny bitch you knocked out (and didn't even fuck!)
no. you do not. your honesty is ugly, and it makes me si
her name was anne xietynor alive.her name was anne xiety6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
she was neither dead
and her heart was left with the
because her eyes belonged to a crying bird,
always half blinded by tears
Isn't it funny?Isn't it funny?Isn't it funny?9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
How a heart only breaks in the night,
When you're alone,
And there is know one to tell you you'll be alright.
Isn't it funny?
How the tears only fall,
When you have been hit,
And your backs against the wall.
Isn't it funny?
How can you see nothing at all,
When your eyes are wide open,
And your hopes about to fall.
Isn't it funny?
How my heart only breaks in the middle of the day,
Where everyone can see me,
Yet no one asks "are you okay?"
Isn't it funny?
How when my tears fall,
I still stand up straight,
And pretend there not there at all.
Isn't it funny?
How you don't know a thing,
About what's happening to me,
But you see my heart breaking.
Isn't it funny?
How it isn't at all.
on finding EdenOh, we have betrayed your brother-on finding Eden3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
bare-assed, raw on grass-
words are said and not said,
flourishes are understood.
four arms, one body two heads,
the moon is silent. she is
watching but unseen. but i see you!
i see you, baby, i see you.
was i perfect before you
said so? before you saw me
and took me, before you
held my anguish in front
of me and found that it
was not worthy of
and was i ever so alive?
every breath, every cry,
moan and groan, every
whimper of your name,
of mine, every plea
for the world to end
with your head between my legs,
every dirty word, your body
aching for my own pleasure,
(come for me baby, come),
blood in sync, the rise
and the meeting of breast
to chest, of glory to glory,
of cunt to cock, the arch, and then the
rise and the fall of babylon and then
the arch and rise again, again- again.
oh, we have betrayed your brother-
my blood belonging to the both of you.
his soul, small and selfish,
had already betrayed me.
there is no
i hear birds.this makes me sad.i hear birds.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it's winter, you beautiful beasts
there is snow on the ground
and there will be snow on your wings
if you do not leave me now.
your feathers will stiffen with frost,
hoary chrysalis over your beaks and bones.
your bodies will fall from high wires
and break like glass
as they hit the frozen earth.
you are the force of gravity
that keeps me grounded
but lets you soar.
leave me to die
so that you can live
and return when the sun
burns hot once more.
temper tantrumi had a poem in my head,temper tantrum4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
or at least a semblance of one,
ten minutes or so ago.
it was almost quite like
neon midnight treeline
nothing inside of me
stirs, save rattled lungs
and a whole heart of blood.
for a second, maybe less,
i forgot where i was and i become
the blood carrying tobacco, oxygen,
and heartier heart, to my heart
my eyes were opened of some
god's accord and what i saw
didn't make me happy.
sweet bells sing me into a hellish swing,
i'm tired of fighting my own body
QueerIt's not queerQueer5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
if it's all in your head
it's not pornographic or
fetishist if you
never breathe a word.
Every woman dreams
of the poetic honey taste
of her husband's
as she (sleeps)
beside her dear
behind her eyes
fair blond lashes
caressing those pale ankles
it's not cheating
in your little housewife head.
It's not queer.
extirpate collab01.extirpate collab6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
we've lived in darker places
but this blackness is unbearable
like this hollow feeling i have
in the space where my ribcage used to meet
and the sirens scream louder
when they're refracting dying octaves
and last chance words that spell out "i'msorry"
in the flashing of red lights against stucco walls
and as they roll out the sunny yellow caution tape
that seems so out of place in starless night air
i notice how the floor feels colder under my crooked spine
and i try to figure out when it got so hard to breathe
well, we've been in the cracks for quite a while,
but it feels so different now, and i figured
it's no longer fun when it's only you who's laughing
and it should be an awful sound, but it
sounds like the winterwind singing the prettiest lullabies;
cold, but so, so damn beautiful
and when i touch your peach cheeks
i feel the need to tell you
that you're the sky, the clouds that hide the lights up there
that you're the grass, tickling butterflies and all the little things
sneaking in a pharaoh's crypti think in tangos;sneaking in a pharaoh's crypt6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
haikus, but this
isn't some haiku
you can fuck up;
this is cleopatra
doing a famous
in a pyramid of
a jackal, a black
servant to the lord
of the mummies--
in a tomb fit
for a king or
a queen like
yourself, but suck it
because i live in the nile
and you just live in denial
and these tombs
aren't big enough
for dead skin cells
(you were always
like a desert, with
a dry dry sense of
humour, as scarabs
fornicate on top of
the sphinx has no rhythm,
and i'm no snake charmer,
but for the first time this era,
could you please be my cobra?
christmas is not only in decemberyou sleep through so much sunchristmas is not only in december2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that it is the moon
who rises for you.
born in the russian springtime
with cyrillic letters on your tongue,
you are endless.
you are a ring,
curved to infinity
your hands belong in mine,
or else on my hips.
curve me into the shape
of an s,
narrow me in the centre
to give room to your arms-
they belong around me.
you are a gift;
when i fall asleep
on the opposite edge of the bed from you
and wake curled to your chest,
it is christmas every time.
Enemies at the GateThere is devils' work afootEnemies at the Gate6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
where this earth cracks apart
and bleats my cursed name
in lilted breaths and tunes
I feel its lumbering touch
rip wheat from sodden plains
and batter down my world
in tattered strips and lengths
of cold brutality.
And I know my enemies,
where slumbering they lay
and share my holy pain
in brutal trials and jests
of harsh finality
while crevices, laid open,
rage kisses down like rain
and gather fragile flesh
in offered psalms and songs
of my duality.