this is nothingthis is nothing12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
everyday I'm led on
but it's hard to
if I won't allow
but continue the
you tell yourself
you'll be thinking that
when I'm crying in your
dying for your
numb so deep
frozen to the core
against my will
like the others
I won't feel
bruised and broken
I'll try another
this is different
you'll ever be the
unknown but still
you tell me that I'm
don't die while
tearing down the wall
and watch for
pieces of me
don't fuck with me
I'm not ready
back and forth
I'm sick of
I'm sick of
lines describing love
but love's not real
I'm of sick
I'm sick of
words to describe
I'll just shut mine
NothingThe pencil slowly scribbles doodles,Nothing11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
As the writer starts to think.
Her imaginations blunted,
So her feelings start to sink.
She's filled with blank emotion.
She doesn't have a thought.
And although she wishes poetry,
Time spent is all for naught.
If by chance she writes a line,
It too would be bereft,
Of any strong emotion,
So there's no need to write the rest.
The rhyming all is screwy.
And vocabulary poor in taste.
So why should she continue,
If the poem is a waste?
The stanzas are not constant,
In their flow and beat,
And a topic forced to paper,
Will always come out sounding cheap.
And so she drops her pencil,
And with it all the rest,
Of the little world worth living in,
Her apatite for life suppressed.
SuicideSuicide9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Knife in hand.
EmoA tear seems to fall from spaceEmo8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and land on her check.
It adds to a river
that falls off her chin.
The stain of blood on her sleeve,
She looks at her arm
with pulsing eyes she stares at the blood,
like her tears, running.
Afraid of her peers comments
labeling her for something she is not.
Emo, the word rang sourly.
The tears ran faster,
as though racing the blood.
Her black hair clings to her face,
and again she cuts.
One for the laughter,
Once for the looks,
another for her pain,
Her arm pulsing,
One for the names,
One more for the pushing.
She watches her pain drain from her arm.
She smiles, then thinks,
they will pull back her sleeve
and laugh at her pain, again.
Emo, the word rand sourly.
Emo, she thought.
Emo, she said out loud
and she cried.
CutCutting,Cut9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I cut my self,
To keep my heart on its proper shelf
If I do this,
Nothing goes amiss.
I keep things inside,
Long ago the love inside me died.
My emotions shown are few.
I will pay my dues.
Make everyone think I'm fine.
Make them feel I'm fine.
I watch the blood flow from my veins.
I stay locked away,
In my cell, in my chains.
All I see is darkness, I know no day.
I shed no tears,
I show no fears.
I've done this for years.
I am an actress.
Showing no distress.
My life is a stage,
The spotlight, tis a deathly cage.
I don't let them see
I'm a mess.
I show them what they want to see.
Who would dare?
I am alone.
HerThe way she captivatesHer5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is a mystery
How is it possible to feel so deeply when
I thought I'd already been
to depths that became my boundaries
but the ocean of her eyes wears them away
And I cannot see anyone else when I think of
Her voice is embracing, soft and sweet
funneling through my ears and
into my soul
velvet where I can rest my weary heart
Picture of LoveLove.Picture of Love4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I don't see him and me.
I don't see pretty little hearts
I see an old black and white photo.
A simple scene in the forest.
Tall, leafless tree in the near right.
A small lake in the background.
Pines in the very back.
No one in sight.
No little birds.
Not a soul.
In the very middle,
there's a heart.
Bright red amongst the dull.
Light illuminating from its core.
That little scene,
is love to me.
CensoredCensored9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Boy hops, skips, tromps inside,
dirt-water dripping into a sentence
on the linoleum forum beneath:
"The mud is especially good today."
strikes the statement from the record,
appeal to Mop v. Glo denied.
The dissident is thrown into prison (porcelain)
and Mother ensures freedom of speech
is revoked, even behind the ears.
paper-thinThe following story is a work of fiction. All events and inhabitants are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living, dead, or supernatural, is entirely coincidental. Take my word for it: it's all made up. Never mind what the story says.paper-thin9 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
ACT I; Scene 1
This is a true story. I have recorded everything as it happened and have neither added nor removed anything.
We open upon an opened home: imagine an apartment building minus the fašade, like a doll-house, its rooms exposed for the divine female from beyond to reach inside and pose its plastic inhabitants in humorous situations. We do not see the little girl playing with her little world, but we can picture her: blond, of course, and pony-tailed, immersed in her own miniature play. She breathes life into those static toys and settles their fates between luncheon and dinner.
She is not malevolent.
Let us inspect the house again. Barbie and Ken have ne
You and Me, Black and WhiteYou and Me, Black and White5 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
*You and Me = Black and White*
There as something about you I cant figure it out
I feel different things all messing me up.
These emotions and actions are confusing and rare
Ive never felt them before for anyone I know.
I hate you so bad but I love at the same time.
My friends think im crazy for falling for yo
Blueberry - a Gargoyles one-shotBlueberry - a Gargoyles one-shot3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
A/N: I know I'm not that good of a writer, so please don't send me any reviews stating that. I just wanted to write a fanfic, and to actually finish it. I have a major issue with finishing things I start, especially fanfiction .I hope that everyone likes this I kinda created my OC on a whim . Oh, and yes, there are some Tokyo Mew Mew references (pre-Tokyo Mew Mew, anyway) and a very, very small Yugioh reference.
I took in my surroundings, realizing that I'm in what looks like Egypt. It was nighttime; I noticed that I was standing next to a huge building a building much bigger than the rest of the buildings that lay in front of it.
The night air was chilling; I wondered why I wasn't back home on Avalon, in my cozy bed. I felt like I've been in this place before, but it kept escaping my memory just as I was about to grasp hold of it.
My body began moving on its own, into the, what I guessed was, the palace. The guards to the front doors allowed me in
Random poem...Feeling lost and alone in the darkness.Random poem...2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My invisibility cloaking me from the world.
Flying through this cold planet, looking for hope;
constantly looking over my shoulder in paranoia.
Will the paint of life finally make me be seen?
Will others finally see the iridescent butterfly arise from the cocoon?
Will lives be changed
when that butterfly manages to sprinkle the dust of life
onto this frigid planet?
Endless Night - Second VersionEndless Night - Second Version10 years ago in Horror More Like This
Night had fallen across the sands, and her footsteps were growing slower by the moment.
Still, she trod onward, the goal of her heart ever-present, an entity of its own within her spirit. She knew it lay not far ahead now; her week-long journey was nearly complete.
Does it await me, still, she asked herself, and, expecting no answer, recieved none. She knew she would find out soon the truth of the matter. For good or ill, she was in it until the end, and was glad of it.
An endless eternity, it seemed, had passed since her feet had last traced their way here. The winds had been blowing that time; though they were calm at the moment, she knew they could start again at any given time. This barren waste knew no rules but its own, and those it followed only grudgingly.
Days upon days, time upon time... passing slowly while the air she breathed became blighted with the desire she knew would be coming. The need she would
Making TimeMaking Time11 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Vacation with the Buxleys was unbearable. They were all about numbers. 197 miles to Scottsbluff. 24 minutes to the next Flying J. Barometric pressure is 29.1 and dropping. And they didn't just talk numbers; they brawled numbers. If any of the three Buxley machines - man, woman, or prepubescent - committed an error minute as a hundredth of a percent, it was the job of the other two to gang up on the mistaken party and chastise until all of their boxy foreheads were dewy with computational perspiration. This is why I hadn't said anything in 150 miles. 156, to be exact.
What started as a well-meant ploy by my mother to get me out of town for a week had now escalated into a hostage situation. I was perched in the backseat of a plasticky SUV with a strange family, afflicted with reading-in-the-car queasiness and a terminal no-rest-stop-for-300-miles bladder infection. My trip was spent staring absently out the window, pointedly avoiding any sort of dialogue with the Buxleys' ghastly, rabbit
Dark HeartDark Heart11 years ago in Horror More Like This
I see her there, against the wall. My dark one, my lifeblood. She does not see me; I don't want her to. Not yet, at least.
She stands alone, set apart and adrift in this sea of humans, swimming through the smoke that fills the room. Loud music could be heard, punching from the massive speakers lined up on all sides. Over them the babble of the people. Through all the noise, however, I can hear her heart beating, pounding in her chest.
She is beautiful, long hair flowing gracefully across her face, though I can see a scar playing over her cheek. I wonder what must have happened to cause it, then file it away, perhaps to pull it out later for closer inspection. For now, there are other things I need.
I drift closer, feeling a longing in me as I get nearer. Though I walk in the open, she still does not
The Art of Voodoo/The Voodoo ProjectORIGINALThe Art of Voodoo/The Voodoo Project2 months ago in Settings More Like This
“Ah, yes child,
Please, come on in.
Welcome to my hut,
Why don’t you stay a few min?
I hear you are looking
For a teacher in the art of Voodoo;
But tell me this, if you so would:
Do you know why we do what we do?
Let me tell you a tale,
As well as a bit of our beliefs.
I promise it won’t be long,
But perhaps it’ll help you bear with your grief.
I once met a young girl crying at our lake,
She had just suffered from a terrible heartbreak.
Poor thing… she was such a mess,
Her heart was clouded from distress.
I gathered my friends and we practiced our art,
We gave her spiritual baths, some readings,
And even tried to control her eating habits,
But in the end, nothing could make her broken heart start beating.
I felt so painful for her,
I couldn’t bear to watch her hurt.
So I took her down another route,
And taught her of the secret art.
I handed her a Voodoo doll
And taught her how to use it.
The person you think of shall experience
SPM Love Stories - Nastasia«I, over all my life, had never seen something so perfect outside ours lands. These lands that I will talk in this letter are the one over the seas of the East, long after the Dead Desert. Yes, you must have guessed, it's after the Deadlands. Now, do not worry; even though the journey through the Deadlands was long and hard, I didn't suffer from it. It was pretty much interesting, especially for... well, that perfection.SPM Love Stories - Nastasia6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
You see, the Deadlands are, like all people will tell you, a field of rock, where the waters are fill with dark blood, where an eerie fog is hunting you. But, you see, the infamous walking deads aren't from this place. The skeletons didn't attack me, the rotten horses didn't look at me, the old constructions were sleeping at my passage, because, you see, these creations are coming from the magic of one single person.
This, you see, perfection, is that person.
The dark Empress Nastasia vo Eræterna of the l
A Perfect MatchA Perfect Match11 years ago in Horror More Like This
"But my mommy says that I shouldn't play with you," the boy said.
"It's okay," it said. "She would not have left you with me, if she had."
"I don't know," said the boy again. "It kinda scares me."
"Don't be afraid," it said. "I won't hurt you."
The boy reached out to touch it, and brought his hand back just before contact.
"What's wrong?" it asked.
The boy frowned. "You promise it will be okay?"
A deep sigh issued from it. "Yes, it will be just fine."
The boy reached out again, and touched it lightly, before finally grasping it firmly and stroking it hard.
Frightened again, the boy dropped it.
It fell to the floor with a laugh, and said,
Captain Chenbeard the PirateCHARACTER INFORMATION:Captain Chenbeard the Pirate3 years ago in Profiles More Like This
Birth Name: Chen Yuan Wen
Pirate Name: Chenbeard the Pirate
Your Birthday: 01/08/1990
Description: A young asian male often seen wearing a black fedora. Has a preference for white shirts and simple black pants. Wears a belt with a golden buckle. His eyes have a unique colour of black, often mistaken for brown due to the person's reflection. He is quick to smile, but dangerous in combat.
Character Class: Pirate Captain (Wisdom Based)
Current Level: 3
Strength - 16 (+3)
Dexterity - 10 (+0)
Resilience - 12 (+1)
Intelligence - 12 (+1)
Wisdom - 18 (+4)
Charisma - 14 (+2)
Head - Guard's Feather (All reflex checks gain +1 roll bonus)
Shoulders - None
Body - None
Belt - None
Gloves - None
Legs - None
Boots - Happy Feet (Always strike first in battle, no initiative roll required)
Weapon Accessory - Spell Tag (+2 damage to any attack)
Ring - None
Amulet - None
Spare Equipment (5 S
busdust animalsbus9 years ago in Surrealism More Like This
loll and swirl against
fake forest leather
(around sable beaststrands,
sun-sullied to pyrite)
at a garbled missive
scratched and misconstrued,
its stories unvoiced-
"warm is uncomfortable;
cold is far worse."
The IntentionWho am I to draw up from this weary mindThe Intention3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and proclaim its labors to be clever or novel?
I am a stranger in a world of ash and dust.
Every song has been sung and faded;
Every poet's pen runs dry.
Every lover, every enemy, every heart begging repose
Has fulfilled its time in this space
And poured out its entirety for generations to come
(or at least this was the intention;
we are often lost in translation).
So, who am I to produce a creation borne of experiences worn and cliché?
Who are we--
each and every one, so anomalous to have this time to live--
Who are we to entwine our sorrows with sorrows long forgotten?
Who are we to dip our pen in the pain
poured from a late lover's heart,
Or fold ourselves intimately into the arms
of those who knew our lives
Before we came into this world?
The day my goldfish diedI'm feeling uninspired,The day my goldfish died4 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
sublime and bit mundane,
There's nothing left to tweet about
everythings the same,
I wish I had more to share with you
to make you laugh or cry,
But the only thing that's new today
is my goldfish's suicide.
Now don't tell me that can't happen,
It's all crystal clear
When I left he was in his bowl,
came back he wasn't there.
Now he's on the floor beside of me,
and he's getting kinda stiff
My dog came by to play with him
but left with just one whiff
I supposed I should take care of him,
but the hours getting late
And I'm well known for my knack
to always procrastinate,
So instead I'll just look at him
and wonder why he was so rash,
To just jump out of the bowl like that,
what he thought of as he crashed
I didn't think he was depressive,
I guess I never saw the signs
So I'll just sit here and write this bit
about the day my goldfish died.
Pirate: The Legend of Chenbeard 1 - 2Pirate: The Legend of ChenbeardPirate: The Legend of Chenbeard 1 - 22 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Chapter One: Dirty Work
Release One: Pages 4 - 7
CHENBEARD RAN UP to the group of pilgrims that were approaching the stream and upon reaching their group he dropped to his knees and began to plead with them, "Sirs! Please excuse this ragged man and take pity on him," he said, his strange brogue vanishing instantly to be replaced by perfect Common. "My companion and I were waylaid by bandits and she managed to escape them by hiding near the stream. They've taken all of my clothing and possessions and though I don't much care for the loss of my material wealth, I would like to beg you desperately for a set of robes to wear. Without them, I fear I will be unable to enter the holy city and my pilgrimage will end here in failure. I have little doubt that the Gods have sent the bandits to punish me for some of my past wrongdoings, but I hope that you can be my salvation and grant me a second chance to complete my journey."