graveyard haunt.ten minutes before, and you are holding my hands in concrete parking structures. cars are melting into gray, obscure oblivion and i can taste your heart on the wind. you are whispering words that sound like blank storybooks, pressing truths into my clenched, desperate fists. you kiss my chest and kiss my fingers and you kiss my lips and you kiss my salty eyelashes. i am shaking and pleading and you are straightening my spine. you are a whisper and you are the wind and you are a face in the backseat window. you are taking my humanity and you are leaving my hunger and you are planting needs in my pores and letting me deal with the oncoming weeds. i am dug into the asphalt of the abandoned structure and my leaves are falling to scatter over the rusting cars. i am alone and i can't taste anything but goodbye. i am alone and my veins are cracking for want of water. i am alone and life is a faded dog-eared memory sinking into tidepools in the back of my mind. i am alone and nothing remains bgraveyard haunt.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Againi.Again4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She was the quiet one
Who faded into the backdrop of glossy high school yearbook pages
Waiting for her Prince and her happy ending, although he never came in time for Prom
She was the kind of girl who was too eager to please anyone
And apologized over and over again, for herself and for everyone
Though no one paid her much attention anyway
She first fell for him
When he brushed her trembling lips with his steady ones
Alas, she fell for those honest eyes and gentle hands
That made her heart feel several sizes too big,
Threading promises of happiness and offering her the world
So that she pledged her heart on a silver plate to this Prince, and never looked back
She married him
On a November day, under a sky as sharp and cold as a knife
In a flurry of discounted second-hand wedding dresses and cheap champagne
Complete with a single wilting bouquet for the blushing bride
And a ring from the pawnshop that was a size too small
But she donned it despite the pain, and smiled to ple
Castle of MemoriesFaded tapestries drip like cold molasses from the stone walls of your memory. Not an inch is uncovered in the castle as you walk along the carpet before you, charred with burned bridges. Somber portraits line your steps, woven carelessly through the fabric. Many are altogether unrecognizable, having hung in the same spot for so long.Castle of Memories4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Colors blend grotesquely into ugly, twisted shapes, unbearable to look upon for more than a second. If you can find it in you, delve deeper than the colossal mess of wild and unruly spirals. There are horses and people, buildings and books. They connect. Although their pictures are no longer clear, can you still feel the emotions? Anger. Fear. Jealousy. Pain. Do you sense them without your eyes to guide you?
Unspoken thoughts are scrawled haphazardly beneath each captured moment. They are there, not in hopes that someone else may stumble upon them and read, but so you don't allow yourself to accidentally forget. They are for relearning and reteaching. Each
not animal.she says i'm lazy and i saynot animal.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i'm fine even though sex
is the only thing
anyone's mind and
everyone is scared of
everyone else so no one's
and we sung about
our semi-charmed lives for
three hours while we waited
for the song to
change and the drugs
to wear off so we could drive
to someone else's house.
i feel like i could die or
fly and it'd be alright either
way but i really don't
i burned down modesty with
alcohol and cigarrettes and my
friends kept trying to corrupt me.
i was always too good a listener.
6 Painful Truths About MeNYoui.6 Painful Truths About MeNYou4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I feel like a grenade just went off in my head and your words are the shrapnel buried in my brain.
I wish I could erase the marks on my thighs but they will always say fuck you and remind me of what you did to me.
I can never sleep anymore because every time I do you turn my dreams into nightmares. I would try sleeping pills but I'm afraid one will turn to two, three, and four, and then I would surely overdose and crumple to the floor.
My knees still hurt from begging you to stay but you said I was pathetic and wasting my time. I guess you were right.
I saw my reflection in the mirror earlier and didn't appreciate what I saw. I punched the mirror hoping I would fall to pieces just as my reflection would. You broke everything I thought I used to be; now I hate all that I see.
I wanted us to last longer but I ran out of words and you ran out of patience and we both ran out of time. Now I have nothing left but cold bed sheets and this goddamned rhyme.
Suffering MindWords do littleSuffering Mind6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
But drift between lines
Of this still, suffering mind.
(tell tales like
secrets born of
or creaky old floors.)
Something is gone,
The sense of the 'other than',
Beyond self or reason.
(water over or under
up and away
from what was.)
But what won't be,
Is the still thought of
(stuck underneath weight,
histories, in re-dug
excavated graves like
picked scabs raw
to the air and
fresh to the mind.)
Lost to him, the subtle differences
Between being alive and living.
MIESOMIĘSOMIESO7 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Pani Lusia... pasowała do swojego imienia. Lusia kojarzy się z miłą, przysadzistą kobietką o nieznacznej tuszy. Pani Lusia była miła i przysadzista, tuszę miała nieznaczną. Pani, nie panna, co znaczy że za sobą miała wizytę w Urzędzie Stanu Cywilnego.
Mąż jej, Rajmund, obchodził właśnie dziś, dnia 18 stycznia 19XX roku swoje trzydzieste szóste urodziny. Jako taksówkarz, lubił dobrze zjeść, dlatego Lusia stała w kolejce po mięso. Nie byle jakie, planowała kupić wołowinę bez kości. Rarytas. Wsunęła rękę do wewnętrznej kieszeni palta w jodełkę, gdzie trzymała portmonetkę. Dotyk sztruksowego materiału uspokajał ją, był biletem do uszczęśliwienia męża.
Właściwie to nie planowała
bleeding ink-throats_c.I'm forgetting how to pump these rotting thoughts through my grasping, skeletal fingertips. I'm a well run dry and the only thing left is the bucket at my feet, cracked and aging; blank, broken pages with nothing left to say. And all my body's wishing for is a way to spell the words that will write you back into my arms. Because you're a thousand miles and a million wishes away and I'm starting to believe I've just got no words left to say.bleeding ink-throats_c.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I am bleeding syllables and pulling phrases from between my teeth, but they're broken and empty. I know if I breathe my poisoned sorrow into your mouth, your lips will dry and your flesh will crack and the beauty of your wordless joy will turn vile with the hopelessness of my wordy existence. Perhaps we should live in silence and bury my words under the porch. Perhaps we should turn our cheeks to the strung-together sentences of my questions. Perhaps we should just run into muted existence and forget how with each separate vowel, I am digging up
Long-Forgotten FutureI'll drown you in my tears and enfold you in the cool caresses of sorrows best left behind. Miniscule snippets of memory and foresight pirouette across the insides of your eyelids and you falter in your resolve but never shatter.Long-Forgotten Future4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
While your mind is echoing with the shadows of a long-forgotten future, I'll hide behind frosted glass memories and my silhouette will fall in circles across your heart. Smears of grey and red will cross the outlines of your lips, they'll never come off because I kissed them there with my broken heart and shaded spirit.
She'll try to colour in your lips and face with shading in all the right places, but she'll never get the smears of my broken heart quite right because the last time she had a broken heart will be after you come back to me and I wipe away the red from your cheeks and draw your smile back in the way it was before you broke your heart.
tautegorical -collabSomedays, I'm the sound of slamming doorstautegorical -collab6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Shutting out the whisper of threehundredandsixty apologies
That maybe just don't deserve to be heard
And still other days, I'm television static
Surfing channels faster than fingers can click
Speaking through the mixed up voices
Of every game show grin, sitcom laugh reel and car crash news anchor out there
Trying to piece together the sentences I've been meaning to say
Since maybe my words aren't enough
Even if they are saying the same thing
[I'm almost fairly sure you deserve prettier phrases
than these chapped lips could ever mumble]
And Im standing here in crumbling doorways
Pulling suburban needles from your veins before
The infection spreads; tell me if beyond your
Glassy-eyed stares you can feel something
All I want to know is that beyond the numbness
That is suffocating your bones and crush
It's okay to have cheesecakeI get overwhelmed quickly if there's too much of something,It's okay to have cheesecake7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That's why I steer clear of long lists
I hate Dora the Explorer.
We like TV, but it doesn't make us happy.
So why do we spend hours in front of it
Instead of doing things we like?
TV is a narcotic. We're addicted.
I'm compulsive. I inhale food.
I don't want it. I'm not hungry.
I need more.
I have no self control.
I act on impulse.
If I want something, I need it now.
I'm obsessive. I have intrusive thoughts
About death and scary images.
I stayed up late to watch a show that I thought would be good.
But I still watched it.
I like even colors, numbers and days of the week.
Yellow, green, orange, white.
2, 4, 6, 8.
Thursday, Friday, Saturday.
It doesn't make a difference though.
It's just being irrational.
I complain about washing dishes.
But I don't mind it.
I sort the dishes in a certain way.
Spoons, forks, and knives first.
Little plates, medium size plates, big pl
Rendezvous and yet here we are with the same empty barstool between us, a separation all unto our own. I don't know why we insist on these formalities or why we pretend that we have no rules rules that you set on us, condemning our halves to remain incomplete and unattached.Rendezvous4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I take a swig at my fresh beer, allowing the cool liquid to leave its bitter kiss on my tongue. You sit, that one seat away, a glass of chardonnay swirling in your hands, pretending this isn't happening. Pretending that you don't know me; pretending this isn't real. Sorry to tell you sugar, but it is.
And it's all your fault.
And before you start huffing with indignation, I will admit to putting the seed in your head; to giving you the notion that you could be free. Free to explore yourself without restrictions; I'll entangle you in no binds. Of course, if you want me to tie you up before the sun reaches the horizon of my bedroom window that can be arranged. I can entrap you in those Hermes scarves you love so mu
SepulchralThere is a realmSepulchral4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
that I cannot reach,
and it dwells within
the darkest corners
of your stoic heart.
Barricaded by grief,
these walls have yet
to reveal an emotion
that has been sought
by my very own soul.
July 28th, 2010
Shes the Girl Nobody Noticesi.Shes the Girl Nobody Notices4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
She was the girl with the burnt orange skin and blonde highlights. Her skin emitted UV rays from too many trips to the tanning bed and she changed her hair color more often than the calendar changed months. She only wanted to fit in but it just made her stand out even more.
She was the girl who would always use cherry lip-balm because she knew it was his favorite flavor. Her kisses made his knees weak and her will power too so one kiss would turn to two, three, and four. Then a week later she was pregnant and everyone was calling her a whore.
She was the girl with wings made of scotch-tape and printer paper. She tried to fly when she was 7 but she ended up just falling off the roof and breaking her collarbone and right arm. Her wings were torn to shreds and so were her hopes of becoming somebody's angel. She swears she will find better material and a more suitable launching pad and one day she will flutter instead of crash into the floor.
She was the girl who had always