we, the freshIt started with a tiny bottlewe, the fresh5 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
His Fading ButterflyHis Fading Butterfly9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
He clipped her wings,
And broke her flight.
But she'd given it all away,
Without any fight.
He told her she wasn't beautiful,
That, she didn't want to believe.
But it wasn't too long before:
The mirror's reflection deceived.
Then he said she was the only:
The only one for him.
And soon turned what was pure and innocent,
Into a cold and lustful sin.
He told her she wasn't good enough,
And tore away at her with every little speech.
She didn't even notice,
Her life was somewhat out of reach.
He clipped her wings,
And she still didn't care.
Though for the people around her,
It was too much to bear.
Seven years have passed,
And all she knows is pain.
Every time she looks:
Her reflection stares back in disdain.
She flutters her wings,
And finds she cannot fly.
He took away all she had,
His fading butterfly.
Chapter One"So... what's his story? I've never seen someone like him."Chapter One5 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
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
Hope....Hope....5 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"
The Station of a PoetThe Station of a Poet9 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
Mr. and Mrs. BottleFor a while now, she has been convinced that with a bottle in her hand, she could tackle the world.Mr. and Mrs. Bottle5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Like lightning, alcohol had taken control of her life. One night, in the chaos of a party, the vile liquid touched he lips, and she was in love. A few more nights and they eloped one Saturday morning. Day in and day out her spouse accompanied her secretly, hiding himself in a pocket or bag.
Unfortunately, her husband did not come cheap. At first, he demanded money from her parents wallets. They were newlywedshow could she fail to comply? This provided the couple a brief respite, but as the girls need for her lover grew, so did the cost. She had to get a job, otherwise her parents could not help but notice the money liberated.
She could not work in any store or company. If she drank during hours, someone would catch her for sure. Once the secret came out, they would force the two to divorce. Her parents would say their marriage was unacceptable. Others would say s
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
Love is DEAD.Poke.Love is DEAD.6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
What could this be?
A figure in her head?
What my eyes can see here
Have to be true.
The words she recites;
The miracles she hopes for
Can only be a lie!
A tale at best!
Delusional little girl!
We must fix her.
Strip away her happiness!
Break her down;
Are not to be trusted.
Tear apart her limbs;
Reassemble her again!
Implant in her a new heart
To show her the light in
Reveal to her our worldly ways
that all make sense;
Give her new lips to speak
Against the one she loved.
A serpents tongue,
Venomous and bitter.
Crack her porcelain skin;
Glue it back together again
With paint and jewels so jaded.
Give her teeth from the bones of the others
Who believed in this love.
Lest she be judged as a carbon copy,
Reward her with ears to
Selectively sift through the words of
Love is dead.
Love is not real.
There is only us
the future is for gypsieswe are all twenty three point five degrees shythe future is for gypsies5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of even, a people off-kilter and invariably prodigal, timid
as our buffalo. you have a hometown, i say out loud
while driving in it, and you murmur something about murder,
the dusky war over your head. you say those birds don't
even know about the obliquity of the ecliptic, and here
they are, trying to change it with all their weight in the sky.
twenty three point five, you repeat, your mouth around it
gingerly as a psalm, as a lioness with cubs, and we keep driving.
there are sights: a stripped-wire cherry tree, its fragile arms tipped
with ravens, their children unstrung and clinging to
the window screen. people here grow thin and taut as their
nerves, hysterical with sedentary fear. we've stayed too long,
grown roots, become as player pianos too comfortable in
our tilt. twenty three point five makes echoes in the canyon
of your mouth, awake with heavy birds, bloody with desire
for symmetry. we pass our house and we keep driving.
Justified SlaughterThe brown steed was breathing lightlyJustified Slaughter5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sweating a bit
but he had been riding her hard
he pulled back on the reins a bit
let her slow to a trot.
Up ahead a small group of soldiers
armor glinting; swords safely sheathed
faces hidden behind helmets
He dipped his head even lower
face hidden in the deep shadows
of his black hood
He passed by the soldiers
and started to sigh in relief
as the world spun
and the sky filled his vision and then earth.
He rolled his head to the side
heard the soldiers laughing even louder
saw his horse on her side
struggling to get up.
He felt the blood rise to his face
hot and muddy, he pushed the ground away
hands and knees
he reached inside his cloak.
The throwing knife impaled a skinny soldier
stuck firmly in his thin left arm
a splash of blood as it entered
and then he started screaming.
From his hands and knees
he leapt from the ground
to the skinny soldier's chest
knocking him down.
A stiletto emerged from below the cloak
extirpate collab01.extirpate collab5 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
Resurrecting SylviaResurrecting Sylvia5 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.
Isn't it funny?Isn't it funny?Isn't it funny?8 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.
TrippedThe dog looks likeTripped5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it may be asleep
on top of the luggage
in the back of the car.
A furry bundle
more prized than all the
suitcases and clothes
it has made into a bed.
The kids in the backseat
have little screens perched
a few feet from their faces
ears covered by big headphones
draw them into a world
an oblivious existence
but a quiet one
A weary mother
eyes hidden behind
with fake turquoise perched
a little blue travel pillow
smashed over the lock on the door
her head smashed into
the little pillow
an awkward pose
she seems to have slipped into
her clothes are wrinkled
and her mouth opens a bit
maybe in a quiet snore.
Across the armrest
a grown man squints
at the road ahead
the sun is bright
but no sunglasses adorn
he slaps down the visor
shoves it from side to side
a quick glance to his left
a quick consideration
he ponders steal
3 Stages of Heart BreakIndescribable3 Stages of Heart Break8 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Speechless and no words
can the describe the feeling.
Which is hidden so deep in a thought
to eyes it cannot be seen
what is left of a soul.
As you decided to let it go,
When it cried, begged and called
for you not to let it fall.
August 28th , 2006
I lay a hand upon my broken heart
to feel as heartbeats skip and never part.
I listen closely to what it has to say
and when it speaks to me…
I hear your voice whispering my name,
with bittersweet feelings of love and hate
because someday you will drown in my pain.
March 24th, 2007
Everyday I live in a stupid lie
my hurt and tears only to hide.
From deep down inside
denying those feelings I wanted so much.
Why throwing away something so real,
because to myself I cannot help what I feel.
Even a bigger fear of you seeing it through
how still I'm so madly in love with you.
April 2nd ,2007
Never Give Love a NameNever Give Love a NameNever Give Love a Name6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the Chachapoyas did not call
themselves the Chachapoyas
this name an invention
by the Incas the history
of the Chachapoyas recorded
in ruins fragments
of bowls tombs
tucked in mountain cliffs
breath caught in the throat
erodes the lungs scratches
against the empty caves
left by the ribs the broken
bowl of a shoulder blade
twisted bridge of the neck
that can no longer be crossed
ridges of the spine
a chipped necklace
memories of a kiss embalmed tucked
in the folds of an ear
now there is only this
Born AfarWe would beBorn Afar6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Matter of fact.
I'd turn into Penelope.
Pen-e-lope, like cantelope;
she was ripe, over ripe perhaps,
withered with the waiting years,
Penny parched from rolling tears-
enough to swim him home.
If he was water you are stone.
Sandstone. Solid. Something -
young boys need to cling to, something -
a bow to fit the string to, something.
That's not me but it's something.
You would be
weighted and one.
Entirely a second son,
a second son and quite undone,
Stay. Smile upon my
wasted weaving fingertips,
shun your father's treasure ship
and hold me close, alone.
Poetry...How you make me feel....Poetry...7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
When I first met you,
You were there for me.
You were a friend;
The first of a kind for me,
And I'll never forget....
The things we did,
The time we shared,
The fun we had,
Since then I've been thinking
About how much you really mean to me.
You were the first one to be there for me,
For me to call,
For me to be with and not care about anything else...
I remember almost everything about us,
What we did,
The games we played,
Where you loved to go....
And I know everything about you,
And you were my best friend,
And I loved you,
But what happened to us?
For two years....
Two long, long years...
Not a word to each other...
No phone calls...
No hanging out...
No real friendship or bond...
And then you said things
That melted my heart
And made me want to know you again...
And I wanted to be with you,
To love you,
To hug you....
But I'm glad I was told
You already had someone
Before I made a fool of myself...
But I was
Needs SayingIt's always the shy ones. Memories, that is. They hang back, letting bright moments of cartoons and Christmases hold your entire attention so they can creep away to a forgotten mental corner. They don't want your reverie; they want to be left alone.Needs Saying5 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
Some memories shouldn't be.
Some have something needs saying.
When I was eight, I thought I was a horrible child. I was greedy and selfish, wouldn't eat anything I was given, treated guest children like they were stupid, ran off three of my aunt's maids, ran out the hot bath water, could have gotten my cousin killed, and very nearly did the same for myself.
Perspective is funny that way. My aunt's ultrasounds, the ones that showed an empty womb, make so much terrible sense now. To be pregnant one day and then the next be told that you weren't, that you had never been...at least a miscarriage can be buried. How could she mourn an idea? And where was there time to? She had lambs to feed, farmhands to pay, and poachers to drive off or survive,
The Eleventh HourThe black, polished shoes produced a perfect squeak as they shuffled down the corridor, a single sound bouncing from one wall to the next in the empty thoroughfare. Where ordinarily, there would be scores of people walking this way and that, headed to the various departments of these hallowed halls, tonight was different. The body of people typically assembled were already in a meeting room, sweating over coffee and cigarettes and Mark Johansen was running late.The Eleventh Hour5 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
In their long history, the Supernatural Order had faced world-ending situations before. The splintering of bloodlines which formed the vampire faction they hunted in the first place almost provoked a giant cluster-fuck which ended life as they knew it from their very inception. That had been a millennium ago, roughly. Back when humanity still believed in magic. Sorcerers, witches, and warlocks dotted the landscape of the Dark Ages and one magician in particular drifted further into the darkness, looking for immortality. That wa