I believe in...I believe in...5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I believe that being true to yourself is the only sensible thing to do,
I believe we should never stop trying.
I believe thoughts run at the speed of light and love must, too, because it reaches so far away.
I believe blinking should be banned because there is so much to see,
I believe thinking is a beautiful ability of ours but you should really let me sleep sometimes, you know?
I believe in singing 24/7 and then denying to be able to when someone asks you to sing for them,
And then surrender because I can't say no to the ones I love.
I believe that "Inside me a lunatic sings" and its echo is what makes my heart beat.
I believe in "These Things You Can't Unlearn" which are like a birthmark on my soul.
I believe in "Fire Flies And Empty Skies", and
I believe that home is where the heart is.
I believe I am a flower that blossoms during Winter only,
One feed with snowlight and starflakes.
I believe in wax wings and Icarus and a "flight" is not always a physical journey, you see.
She Sings of Life They speak of a tree, deep in the forest, where the sunlight barely filters to the moss-covered ground and the birds flock to the sky. They whisper of a silence, a stillness and shyness and of the blooming of flowers long forgotten in the mists of time. They shout of power, of the seed and growth, the potential to reach the skies, to challenge heaven itself in the lofty reaches of vine-encircled limbs. They chant of chaos, lost in the far-flung reaches of the twisting riversShe Sings of Life5 years ago in Open More Like This
and they dare to believe.
There is a tree.
A tree that sings of the joys of the earth. A knotted cedar, a towering oak, a silvery maple, she has long since faded from sight. But she sings of triumphs, of beauty and love, the powers of creation alive in the world. They
.:w o r l dit's eight oh eight, and you pick up the phone, dialing the numbers you have etched into the insides of your eyelids. you wait with baited breath as the phone rings. four jarring notes of nervous fear, and he picks up, with a mumbled [yet ohso clear] "hullo,".:w o r l d5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
you suck in your breath, silently, feeling your stomach go all funny. "hey, it's me," you say, then immediately hate yourself for it. it's not exactly the most beautiful way to start a conversation.
"oh, hi," he says, surprise and something else - nervousness? you smile somewhere deep inside... there's hope, maybe - lacing his voice. you can hear that voice in a crowd of babbling teenagers, always. there's something about it that stands out from the rest, and it always reaches your ears over the general hubbub of background noise.
"what's up?" he wants to know why you're calling - you don't do it often.
you remain silent for a while, flopping over onto your bed and gazing at the stars - the same ones that he sees? "i was thinking.
Embers of MemoryA flash of dancing red. A searing pain in my foot. A scream in the distance. A name shouted out to me. A muffling cloth restricting my breath. The crushing blackness.Embers of Memory5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The smoke permeated my senses, forcing me to taste it with my nose; to smell it with my mouth. To see it with my ears; know it with my eyes. I could feel it with my mind, and hear it with my fingers.
Someone was holding my hand to his burningly painful face, and shouting at me, begging me for something. "Don't you dare leave me!" he shouted, "I won't let you! Fight it, damn it, FIGHT IT!"
It hurt so much; I just wanted the numb blackness to come back.
"No, don't go," he sobbed, "Call me selfish, but I want you here. You just can't go away!" I hadn't the power in me to even wonder vaguely who was speaking.
All I knew was that the voice was male, horrified and sorrowful, and that my heart gave a painful lurch at his words. I didn't even have the strength to wince, though I could feel my heart pump its last beats.
InceptionInside dreams, you do not realize how much real time has elapsed.Inception5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Napping can seem like a lifetime- when really only a few hours have passed.
Caches can form within your mind, allowing you to keep things there.
Entrapping the things you feel that you cannot bear.
Perhaps it's a feeling of guilt for something you've done.
The feelings you don't confront, but instead, choose to shun.
It's a terrible feeling to hold on to, but you don't have any other choice.
Only through the dream can you see her, be with her, hear her voice.
No other place does she exist.
Dreamscape _an Inception fic_ Ariadne was slumped in one of the crappy chaise, the pseudo-IV trailing away from her wrist and over the arm of the chair.Dreamscape _an Inception fic_5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
It had been six months, Arthur realized, since he had seen her. It suddenly felt like a long time, and though he was never one to yearn, he had to admit that he had missed her. Fortunately, Eames wasn't there to ridicule him for the softening of his features as he settled a hand on her arm.
He would be lying to himself if he pretended that he hadn't grown inordinately fond of the sleeping woman. Her emphatic gestures when she spoke, the unrivaled creativity and stunning subtlety with which she manipulated and built dreams, the way her hair framed her facethey had all been reminders of how close she had managed to come to things he rarely let people near. Things like his heart and his emotions, things that he tended to keep as f
It's Called Sky Why does it matter? Youre not going to keep me anyway. Darrien Mourn looked out the car window sullenly, the setting sun illuminating his young brown eyes.It's Called Sky6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
You dont know that. I replied.
Ive been rejected by four families already, he said quietly, with a mixture of defiance and shame.
I didnt know how to react to that. Was I supposed to be impressed? Intimidated? Sympathetic? I tried to imagine what emotions must be running through his head. Hope, fear, doubt, anxiety, excitement. Deciding to attempt to be understanding, I said, Look, Im sorry youre an orphan "
He interrupted, Im not an orphan.
NightYou are not the crags and the forlorn coast.Night4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Nor the forest damp with dew and majesty.
Nor the fading star after the roar of sound.
You are not who you think you are,
Your myth will never be written.
But hold your head up high,
Because you can still hold breath.
And your breath can still hold spirit.
And if you look closely at the spirit,
You will notice it holds
Crag and coast and dew and stars.
There is no danger.
Coffee, cigarettes, a newspaper,
A bastard son of
Waiting for the stream to
Swell, and take us away.
Waiting for the moss to envelop
Poetry IsPoetry is the work of a poet; he is a craftsman like any other. The notion that anybody can be a poet is ridiculous. It's the same as saying anybody can be a mason: it takes rigorous devotion and effort. Anybody can be inspired, but not anybody can write a functioning poem-- that is a, a work of rhythmic literature that uses figurative language to convey something. That "something" is what makes poetry so difficult. A poem taps into some aspect of the plethora of human emotion, making poetry universal regardless of time or place; that is, even if a reader can't identify with the situation or time period of the poet, the underlying sentiment will tap into something already within the reader. Poetry is that machine which artfully created to make the reader confront that which always existed.Poetry Is7 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
There is a smell like rosemary and tobacco at night so I write. Ink? I prefer the eye straining array of electroluminescence. Letters sparking into stale black and forming complex thought
morningssunday.mornings3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the croissant crumbles in my fingers
buttery flakes drift towards mismatched
and your lips are stained with
sleep clings to your eyes
like a shadow
and i watch you breathe, while
i trace your collarbone with
we wake before the alarm
and count how many times the
neighbor's dog barks
before she finally lets him in.
your soft laugh blends perfectly into
the early morning sun.
your fingers trace the curve
of my spine
the old window rattles
in the wind
and i press my cold toes against your leg.
i mumble how the faded, flowery wallpaper
looks pretty in the sun.
you tell me i look prettier.
i tickle your cheek with my eyelashes
and make my fingers do
off your nose
and wonder out loud why
the room smells like oranges
[you tell me you ate some
for a midnight snack.]
Fighting for Love Isn't it funny how a girl can mean so much to a boy? They call it romantic. Not age thirteen, at age thirteen, it's not love, it's biology; let someone test their blood and tell them they're fine. But these are just kids: they know little about biology and less about love. That's the way it always is. You learn a lot and lose even more, but don't tell that to the boys in this story. They don't know that.Fighting for Love5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Anyone would have noticed how the two boys' gazes lingered on the girl; she was the one that every guy wanted: beautiful, charming, genuine. A summer girl, warm and as fleeting as the sunshine. And when it was cold, her eyes snowed, little snowflakes flickering deep down inside. But it was October right now, and if you looked closely you could see the leaves in her eyes turning colours.
not a writeri'd love to be a writer, but i'm not one. i can't be.not a writer4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i don't write, i feel. i don't verbalize in my head, i think through my hands. i breathe through the pencil or pen or crayon nearest me. i express emotions using words i had to look up because i don't know how to define myself and it's just this side of scary. but then i realize that i'm not afraid, i'm excited jubilant, joyous, euphoric. i'm all that and more and it's all because my brain doesn't work like everyone else's. but i don't know what i'm gonna call it until i nab a dictionary or a thesaurus and a part of me says that that's all right. because i'm not trying to define myself to me that's all for you, since you don't know me and you can't possibly ever understand what it's like inside this skin, within these boundless walls of swelling emotion. it's chaotic and heartbreaking and all at once too much; it makes me wanna laugh and dance and sing off-key to songs i only half remember.
at times like those,
the air i breathei never thought it would be you, but more and more i want to tangle you up in my brain like swirls of smoke from an exotic pipe. you're the drug i'm not addicted to, but keep going back to for more, more, more. okay, i lied. i am addicted to you. you're my gateway drug to love, and you'll linger in the bottom of my lungs forever.the air i breathe5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
it all started when we were children. we didn't know back then that putting up with each other because we had to would turn into slipping off alone together. we didn't know that arguing heatedly in our shrill kid's voices would become whispers in the dark. we didn't know back when we were young, like brilliant stars in the sky, that one day we would collapse into supermassive black holes and nearly collide, nearly devour each other, nearly fuse into one.
we didn't know that we'd nearly destroy each other.
when i realized that i wanted you, it hit me like a hammer between the eyes. i desperately started looking for signs that you wanted me, too. maybe you moved
instead, instead, insteadi can't remember the last time i saw you.instead, instead, instead4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
instead, i trace your name
along my arm:
goosebumps like braille, raw
the soft side of my wrist
you've never touched.
i know me better than i know you
and i don't know me at all.
i can't remember the last time i spoke to you.
instead, i erased your number
from my phone:
i'll miss your static, my poor
pretending to have nothing to say.
you never guessed that i was penning novels
beneath my tongue.
what i do remember is
the last time i was whole:
my hand and yours
now i'm left with splintered palms and
ghosts between my fingers.
Love AutopsyName : Sasha ColtLove Autopsy5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Coroner's case # : 2009-605
Date of birth : 21st February 1993
Age : 15
Race : White
Sex : Male
Date of Death : 12th December 2009
Body indentified by : Unidentified.
Case # : 002152-51D-2009
Investigation Agency : Castalos Investigation Services.
EVIDENCE OF TREATMENT
Autopsy started at 3.00 P.M. on 25th December 2009.
Subject is presented in a black body bag. The victim is wearing a brown printed T-shirt, a pair of female jeans and brown sneakers. He is wearing a black necklace and a silver ring on the necklace, the silver ring has a diameter of 2.5cm
The body is normally developed for a teenager. He stands at 172cm and weighs 57killograms. The body is cold and the stance and rigidness of the body shows us the he was in pain. The eyes are open, the irises are black and the scleras are yellow and red. Pupils measure 0.4cm. The victim has short brown hair that measures 3.5inches at the longest point.
tigers in cagesthere's a leopard under my stomachtigers in cages4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and a boy above my back, feral creatures
marking my peripheries.
everything is made of hands slipping,
curling, gripping my thighs, of
cold glass on my forehead,
of two sets of bent knees and too much
confined heat and...
there's a blue gleam from the front seat
that reveals sweat on my spine and dark
curls sticking to my shoulders.
the moon comes and this space is crowded,
secret, shrouded by not-quite-midnight,
by four locked doors,
by one wild cat licking at my stomach,
and one who kisses my neck.
Dear Mr. Tin ManDon't do it. Hearts always break.Dear Mr. Tin Man4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
house of the rising sunit's 4 in the morning.house of the rising sun4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
it's not getting any later.
it's 4:01 and when i get up in 2 hours, i won't regret anything more than this, but
it's 4:02, and i am restless.
it's 4:03, and i'll never be as young as i am tonight, because now
it's 4:04 and there will never ever be a 4:04 like this, because soon
soon it's 4:05.
it's 4:05, and the moon is silent tonight.
it's 4:06 and the internet is dead in this part of town, anyway.
it's 4:07 and i have nothing left to lose, so here goes everything:
love may or may not exist.
but you do.
and for right now,
it's 4:08 and i'm suddenly more tired than i ever will be.
hey world,why aren't you beautiful?hey world,5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i realised today
that i am
hanging open at the edges, like a sentence
without an end
today, sitting on the bus,
i kept on telling myself:
but it wasn't.</b>
and i can't pretend anymore.
barbed metal, flung gravel.
i keep on getting hit.
you have summer skies, winter seas,
black and starry nights.
and perfect grains of sand.
but why are you
so difficult to live in?
the things you never saidSend me all the things youve never said in post-it-note filled envelopes and seal it with the kiss I only got to experience once. Tell me what makes her better than I am, other than her rainbow green eyes and her never-ending legs. Let me know just why I was left for dead and why you never told me what I wanted to hear.the things you never said5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Show me how to sew with heartstrings and let me keep the scars hidden until Im ready for you to see every last one of them. Share your secrets with me; I promise Ill keep them just as well as I keep my own. Wipe away my tears and whisper assurances until I can breathe without shuddering, without it hurting. Keep me whole and Ill let you in, Ill let you be the one to fix me. I want you to be the one to fix me.
Share your dreams with me and Ill tell you how the stars shine in your eyes, how incredibly perfect I think you are and Ill make sure youre warm when you fall asleep at night. Watch the sun rise
Kick 'n Kiss _Inception fic_ "Arthur, we don't need a new Extractor!"Kick 'n Kiss _Inception fic_5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Ariadne was trying to catch up with him through a typical mid-May tourist flock, all ogling the Parisian landmarks lining the Champs Élysées. It was partly due to said tourist flock that she was trailing behind him. She blamed the other half of the problem on the fact that he had told her to look nice"But I always look nice." "Nicer."for this "meet and greet" (which, in Arthurese tended to mean "coercion"), and she had subsequently made the terrible decision to wear a pair of turquoise Mary-Jane heels that, while slightly less painful than the ordinary formal women's shoes, were still Hell on Earth to walk in, and she was running.
Also, Arthur was walking quickly.
And, finally, he stopped walking and turned around to giv
marla,dear marla,marla,4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you never deserved to be shoved under the bed,
like something that was worth forgetting.
i want you to know that I can still hear you singing in the bathroom
it haunts me like your smile does,
remember when we cried our first night there?
as i got better you got worse.
i knew that you weren't okay,
and i should of said something to someone.
but i was selfish, and together we were pretty and sick,
together it felt okay, to not be okay.
your mother stopped calling me when i had run out of things to say,
the day i had no words, all of you dissolved from her mind,
and i wanted you to know marla, that you are non-decomposing to me.
i have a journal of everyday we spent together,
on our last day, if i'd known,
i would of hu
Thesewe've both tread through these mountainsThese3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
sped right through these rugged roads
twined through hills,
blasted by dynamite
blow me up
a balloon animal you twist in your
fingers and share with strangers
wrap me up
the conclusion to your hardest essay and
drive home the point.
show me the bright life you lead and show me
the brightest stars in the sky.
we're both under these same constellations
so can't you connect the dots
between the burning ball of gas and
stardust in my chest to the supernova in yours?
you would always notice how beautiful
everything else around you was but would
never face me,
so look out the window, and look out in
the same direction as me.
and we'll both notice the path we tread
through these mountains
shouldn't even be there