I Hate LoveI Hate Love13 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I accepted my love for you as whole.
A hole in my chest.
Gouged out like soup from a bowl, tossed into your mouth like fudge, twirling uncontrollably. Until I die. Then you'd be happy. You'd do a rain dance if I died… you wouldn't realize that the time I spent repenting the sins I inflicted on you was so cumbersome and so meaningless because you let me perish like a dolphin in a shark's mouth.
Remember that day at the park when we first told each other that there was something special between us? Remember when you said we could never be apart – that it was "my life's ambition to make you happy"? Do you remember saying that to me? Or were you too busy telling yourself that you were happy? Convincing yourself that you loved me because it wasn't true. What a child you are. What a child.
I remember this time, late one night, when I rolled over to look into your eyes, and they were open, staring straight ahead but completely vacant, full of solitude. You were not even awake, but your eyes w
the Solipsistheaven isn't a place or a time,the Solipsist5 years ago in Letters More Like This
because place and time are so irrelevant...
a house that eliminates sound-the drenched lung flapping soundlessly for air. this is our house; the hollow noises echo and compress deep in us and we are so afraid to live, feeling the bleeding pressure, the ardent floating in our bones.
but we do anyway, each morning rising out of the earth, a broken sun scraping into white porcelain sky. molten honey cigarette flesh, it is slippery, seeping in through your fingers when you wake up. finally you wake up. i am so warm and soft and bruised from the sleep.
you are distant, ethereal, whole. big cat eyes with a black sparkle like tar rolling slow and thick down a circular curve. you have a very strong dislike of speaking in the early hours so i move to the kitchen soundlessly, adoring the lonely tin heat the kitchen brings me.
boiling water, sacrificial bloating of liquid- it's just a tuesday on the calendar but i am so aliv
CruithneCruithne3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I hurtle through scattershot stars
secret unseen in a liquid night
silent and eternal cold
across seven centuries
my heart resounds in yours
like ten blind eyes
splay and seek
that core of warm
past Mercury, past Mars
my orbit echoes yours
We never meet
but I return
again and again
Inuyasha Fanfiction - Letting GoTitle: Letting GoInuyasha Fanfiction - Letting Go1 year ago in General Fiction More Like This
Words: 591 (flashfic)
Disclaimer: You know the drill. No own IY.
Pairings: none - OCs: none
Rating: G - Genre: Introspection
Continuity: Manga. Post series
Summary: Sesshoumaru has gone to throw away his attachment to his father.
The cold breath of the afterlife sighs through the portal. Cool light comes with it, almost blinding, but Sesshoumaru's nose tells him more than his eyes ever could; the scent of the dead land is changeless dust. He can picture it without having to set a foot beyond these gates again, a single eternal day in a barren landscape of skeletons. A place of conclusion.
He resheathes Tenseiga and holds it in his reborn left hand, ready to let it go. The warmth of the simple scabbard feels somehow to resonate with the light of the doorway, two expressions of the same power. It is clear to which world this sword truly belongs.
Nothing of any consequence will happen if
Creatrix Till BirdsongDo not wake me.Creatrix Till Birdsong3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am not a dreamer, I am a creator of worlds.
Had I a little more imagination, and a lot more time, I could breathe you into life.
Dark-eyed stranger, I cannot tell if we are two or one.
Never wake me.
When I ask your name you curl around me like smoke, and it is I who becomes alive when I take you in.
Pulling me closer, you bring your mouth to my ear and tell me in a whisper that you are honey and sin.
'Of course', I reply.
I knew it all along.
'Come with me', I beg. 'We have magic enough. Come with me when I wake.'
You smile, but when you part your bitten lips to speak, your words turn into birdsong...
ripplesin the small dark pool where youripples4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
slip into yourself my friend
take your name like a pebble
cast it away
cast it away
cast it away
The Cat MistookNo zebraThe Cat Mistook3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but the old mare;
she bumps the stall door,
seeking sun with blind eyes.
only the neighbor's dogs
drunk with escape;
the ferment of wet woods on a grey day.
The cat mistook itself for a tiger,
not knowing that the caught vole
was one of a vast race--
that it had happened before.
Stories about our fatherOur father is fourteen in this storyStories about our father1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
so we must imagine him young and slim
bobbing on his toes, the quiver
of his racquet like the quiver
of a cat’s tail.
We’ve seen our father play before,
sitting courtside with our action figures
and paper dolls,
deadened to the minor explosions
of balls striking asphalt.
But we are surprised now by the
in his face, his eyes moving the tight loop
from court to net to opponent
and back again.
And it occurs to us
that we haven’t occurred to him.
Our father is pre-marital,
his world blazes between these
But soon we look where our father won’t:
To the stands where
our boy-faced uncles jeer
beside our grandmother, thin and erect
where we know her
soft and stooped.
She raises a hand to the metallic crest of
her hair and calls out,
David! What’s the score!
And it is understandable to us
that he pretends not hear.
That his shoulders twitc
FallFor a while it will seemFall3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as if I was never coming back,
like summer or a childhood dream.
Your toes twist in the September sand
and the chill reminds you
that some thoughtless time,
some apple-scented eve
the old dog will growl low,
the night shadows stir;
moths will dart desperate
through an open door--
and you will watch solitude disappear
like broken, restless love.
Paper Cranes (1)I'd lost track of all the days and nights that I'd spent here. I knew it was something over fifty at least. It was cold and the stone floor was hard but where else could I sleep? I had lost all sense of time down here and my night began whenever I felt sleepy, which was often. What was I supposed to do instead, anyway? A prison-like basement was hardly a suitable room for a human, yet here I was, locked away like some kind of animal. Pokémon briefly flickered through my mind.Paper Cranes (1)3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Down here in the basement, I had been removed from the world, just hidden away in a little room. So far, I didn't think anyone had any idea about what happened to me and I couldn't care less at that point. The only thing that kept my heart going was hope and the dreams, or rather, nightmares, I had. They were wild and endlessly fascinating. Some featured a green-haired man who was tall and towered over me, while others hold a brunette female, her face blurred.
Lying on my back, I faced the ceiling and exhaled deep
Hunting CoyotesHunting CoyotesHunting Coyotes1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Footfall of a frost-faced hunter
heavy with a winter kind of hope;
one paw raised above the stream.
You thought I would shatter with the sharp bark
of the gun, but moonlight still sparkles
in a spray of wet pearls along my sides.
I am cold teeth, I am the blood-stopping stare.
Time, Spaceand nameless things-Time, Space3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the cold, the unrepentant
are nearer to God than I to you.
Petty deaths spring forth
erupt like cannon fire
till I am down, I am on my knees.
and the shades of thought bleed thick
as wounds; take what is offered you-
ten miles from the trenches, myself,
into your arms.
50 Consejos para estudiantes50 Consejos para estudiantes6 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
+ de 50 CONSEJOS PARA ESTUDIANTES DE DISEÑO GRÁFICO
Escrito por Chii-Original.
Por motivos de que ya acabé la licenciatura les comparto este magnifico tutorial , con tips y consejos que me hubieran ayudado al momento de entrar si alguien me los hubiera dicho.
Espero que los lean y los pongan en práctica , porque en verdad ayudan. Espero que no cometan los mismos errores que yo cometí y disfruten su carrera.
Les deseo muchos éxitos a todos los que esten empezando su carrera o quieran estudiar diseño gráfico.
¡Vamos a los tips!
1.Escojan una universidad que tenga laboratorios visibles de diseño gráfico. Que cuenten con programas tales como Photoshop e Illustrator como básicos. No se preocupen si usan Mac o no, esto es relativo, ya que en la vida real muchas empresas no tienen suficiente capital para pagarlas. Y , es muy importante , que esten certificadas por el ministerio de educación
Volpi.You will find that the story you tellVolpi.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
Seventy-FiveWhen spring is impossible to recallSeventy-Five3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
except in the eyes of fresh-hearted young
I will seek a new tale in the grey autumn woods.
EqualsThe train moves slowly down the track, steered by the young man. He crouches, his left hand resting on his knee as his right clutches the train, tightly. He smiles at it, but it is not a happy smile. His smile is the saddest, most lonely smile in the world. The train makes a turn and Natural watches it as it passes by the little buildings constructed of his building blocks. Each building is black and white, void of colour. His lips part and he makes a soft 'chugga chugga' noise. A lone tear slips down his cheek, he is unwanted, not needed, a disgrace upon nature.Equals3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
On the opposite side of the track, another man crouches. He rests right hand on his knee and reaches his left out. Touya smiles at it, a happy, loving smile. He guides the train along another path, where the houses are colourful. His lips part and he whispers, 'Choo-Choo' noises. No tears fall from his warm, brown eyes for he is perfectly content. He is loved, he is appreciated, he is praised.
Silver meets brown and the smalle
like candylike candy11 years ago in Transgressive More Like This
Shaking. Every piece of her was shaking. Her mind jostled inside her skull as a thin stream of spit sailed from between quivering lips. It felt like an explosion from the inside, and it was as if she felt her pupils dilate, and the fire start burning across her cheeks. Her breathing grew ragged; quickened, and her heart pulsated under seemingly cracking ribs.
A cold sweat glistened upong the plane of her forehead as her teeth clamped upon her bottom lip (later to tear right through it), pain searing through every nerve as she slowly pressed the plunger further into the syringe (it was barely past the first black line -- a milestone).
Her right hand began to tremor violently as her mind shouted halfway there, but her body could barely pay attention...she shifted her eyes from the trails forming along the soft part of her arm, veins burning...tourniquet hugging her bicep like a demented teletubby. The seconds seemed like hours as the fluid seeped into her system, sprea
Cyclical loveI see a beginning and an endCyclical love1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
clasped within the lines of your palms, echoing
in the ripples of your irises;
I remember the apricot april morning
stumbling over your outstretched legs
in the park which I had never seen as
anything more than a cut-through, but
my life changed course and the park
became a destination and I still don’t know
when I noticed that I was waking up
twenty minutes earlier just to
talk to you before work, just to hear
your lilting voice flow through my ears and
fill my mouth with ideas;
And I remember the dew drops kissing my feet
when you convinced me that it was practically illegal
to wear shoes in june and I watched as
the grass pressed hatched patterns into your skin
and for a moment I wished that they were my fingers
holding you in eternal summer lawns, swan choruses,
whirring rollerskates, the smell of peach blossoms;
And I remember you blooming and shedding
the remnants of your cocoon as you pointed out
made-up constellations littering a swelling augu
VisitorThere is a ghost doing handstands on my front lawn,Visitor3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
wrist-deep in fresh soil. Her hands are birds
It's late, but no one comes to take her home.
The pale moon offers a silver smile -
the clouds disapprove.
Too tired to dream, she buries her legs in sky.
Tonight she is invincible, untouchable,
this frail girl beneath the stars
this death in light.
There is a ghost doing handstands on my front lawn,
falling to her white knees. Her stare is a pane
The eyes of the living are often murky but
the eyes of the gone
The Lucky OnesEyes close forever at uncertainty arcadeThe Lucky Ones3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And the spine of the world breaks
Do I run? Well you'd better, or your clarity will fade
For the child and the girl's sake
They will always know
Sweat grows cold
The players fold
You're all alone together, and you know you won't be saved
And the road under your feet shakes
Heads float like feathers along the murkey lake
Before they sink under their own weight
They will always know
They'll do as they're told
Dispair's dream starts
At the light show before the end
You fall apart
It's lost now, forever, your bed is long since made
The sleeping child is long since awake
It's better now than never, or at least that's what they say
Do they realise their first mistake?
They can never know
Sweat grows cold
You fall apart
At the light show before the end
You fall apart
Before the end you'll fall apart
And if you can't see it,
You're the lucky ones
in the seams(a) when I was young I was a robin that stole the eggs from another's nest.in the seams3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
fitted upon my stare there was a warning
personal's too personal for me, well i
would not use wings if i had 'em.
a child of rye with a silhouette spoiled by the sun, I was, I am.
and sometimes I see some vengeful sparrows still under my fingernails;
their glistening beaks snap melodies that rib a hundred bird-bone cages,
so light you could blow 'em away with a twist of your lungs.
and there are still words jailed between my teeth and my tongue and I do not speak of,
do not think of
but they rattle between bone and flesh and I
drown them sometimes when I sing.
(b) oh, you:
"love is a hobby like anything else, and I no longer have the time."
she asks me what I'm writing:
I am constructing a corpse can't you hear
me as I speak the meaning out of my name and
you bleed like I smile:
slowly, and without malice.
.a scalpel from.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
wrist to elbow-
you will not be
living under my
An Open LetterAn Open Letter to the Wasp Trapped on the 71vAn Open Letter2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
You may not have noticed me, but when I stepped up in to the bus, I noticed you. I made my way to the nearest seat, careful not to disturb you. The other passengers and I watched you crawling on the window. Our eyes filled with worry, and we sat still, staring, each of us hoping we would not be the one you stung.
I felt your frustration, as you banged your head on the glass and crawled about it, watching the trees blur by. All of the exits were clearly marked, but you could not understand them. You could not know when the doors would open, which pane of glass would slide. Perhaps you would never be free, I wondered. Perhaps you would die there. I wanted to tell you that I have been where you are. I wanted to tell you that I knew how you felt. But I didn't.
For thirty minutes I watched you. I imagined myself sliding my hand under your six legs, cupping my fingers around your frail body, and carrying you outside with me. But when the b
When your hands can mimic birdsWhen your hands can mimic birds,When your hands can mimic birds3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
you lose the need for sound.
A flight of words that bear no chirp
are none the less profound.
They don't perch on a pitch.
They don't possess the need .
They fly until you've seen their song,
then silently recede.
No one could find more freedom than
the freedom granted flight.
No one can see more beauty than in
words passed left to right.