The Seperation FadesI know that a few decades from now, I won't be able to picture the freckles on your shoulder so clearly they might be before my eyes, and I wouldn't remember the curve of your smile, and your face won't be the first thing I see every morning.
And that scares me to death, but it keeps me going.
Homosexuality's a DiseaseCan't come in today; still gay.Homosexuality's a Disease3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
And Tonight My Prayer Was XIIIAnd tonight my prayer was:And Tonight My Prayer Was XIII3 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
You once asked me: "Why do you look to the ground when you walk?"
"So I can see where I am treading." I said. "Why do you look to the sky?" I, equally bemused.
With a smile you reply "So I can see where I'm going."
The Former And The LatterI want to have a child, who asks me what war was.The Former And The Latter3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
The Way We Built Bridges"You waste too much time on your words." You once told me.The Way We Built Bridges3 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
"No," I replied "you don't waste enough time on words. Words are a tool to you, not a treat. A pragmatic means of communicating, bargaining, exchanging vital snippets of information. Calm down. Stop speaking so fast. We're not fighting a war (not us, not here). You don't prune and select your language. You've forgotten how to roll it around on your tongue, or try it on for size. Revel in rolling Rs, or the sweetness of a string of vowels and consonants, arranged in such a way to create more beauty than you ever thought possible.
Language can be a delicacy to contrast your paltry recital of data. You should try it."
Statement of ReasonSanity is the equal battle between logic and feelings, at which none becomes the victor. Insanity is the point at which one of the parties in the battle is beyond reproach.Statement of Reason3 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
The Inked BladeJust as painters live for their artwork, poets live for theirs. But for a writer it is more so. For a writer, the writing will take on not only a life of their own, but a personality, a whole separate soul. A writer can converse with their pieces, argue with them... Feel jealous of them. Sometimes you might tell him his words are beautiful, and you'll see a shadow briefly cross his face before he responds with a 'thank you' and a smile, stretched too tight. Eventually, he'll become angry at his work. He'll stop writing; he'll tear up old notebooks in the hopes he can forget the words seemingly printed across the inside of his skull. He'll snap all his pens and pencils, so they can never damage someone's life as they have damaged his. He'll drink so the letters dance blurrily before his eyes, phrases drop off and lay forever incomplete in the dirt - so he never has to be the one to write them down.The Inked Blade3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
All this, just because he knows he can never be as beautiful as the words he w
The Blissful IgnoranceYour face was bright, as you looked at the blood splayed across the floor, with the kind of joy I now always associate with small children, who can find wonder in things they do not understand.The Blissful Ignorance3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Becoming InhumanI want to scream in colours.Becoming Inhuman3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My words would be painted in blood;
your blood to be exact.
Every vulgar, unfaithful ounce of it,
But you'd bleed for anyone.
You'd die for anyone
You knew this was sacred.
Bodies maimed and desecrated
But when I cut into the skin,
It was no suprise to find
Wires had replaced your veins.
We Are Prostitutes And JunkiesThe ribbon binding our cervical ribs togetherWe Are Prostitutes And Junkies3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is resolved fire and
quantum mechanics wrapped in beat-one-egg-until-fluffy.
Cut your teeth on my frightened way of life,
point fingers at the spiders in my closet,
I told you
together we could divide the universe by zero
and find the answer in the rubble.
But I was too delirious
to write down the name on my night-stand,
so I might have been wrong.
Forewarning was rolled off my shoulders
and picked up by the orphans
who wanted to have a life,
and yesterday I found
why I must listen.
are no more entrancing than my sighs, you said.
The sway of her fiending lusts
held no ground, you said.
But I told you poets never find
Strangers tell me I should eat more,
the world is not nearly as revolting as I write it;
I told you the sun would swallow us up one day
and you asked
what became of my opium laced assumptions.
The Apathetic YouthHe's mad that this is as good as it gets. The big house, the good school, the nice neighbourhood. It's difficult for kids these days, in a way. The country's very prosperity had become a burden, a dead end. Everything works, doesn't it? At least if you're white and middleclass. So it must often seem to young people that they're not needed. So, in a sense, it's as if there's nothing more to do.The Apathetic Youth3 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Except tear it apart.
The Society and The IndividualI was born independent and the biggest mistake I ever made was falling into the arms of society. Free will has become an option, and that is where we have all lost ourselves. You can either choose to live, or avoid the things you will never know by experiencing things at your own discretion.The Society and The Individual3 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
We are the creator of our own lives.
And Tonight My Prayer Was XAnd tonight my prayer was:And Tonight My Prayer Was X3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
So today the brightest green of new buds met the clearest blue of the sky. And the blue met the yellow of a freshly picked daisy, which brought with it the clearest white of newly fallen snow. With them travelled the soft pink of a child's cheek, blended with the black of a starless night and the orange of this summer's brightest midday sun. On the road the purple of heather ran alongside as dog to his master. And as they moved on together, they left our world the bleakest grey.
Only then did we notice we'd chased all the colours away.
The Child WatchesThe sun in my eyes felt like someone was kicking me in the jaw. I was so high I thought my eyes would fall out. Standing shaky on the thinning grass, I realized I had to catch the train home. I ran 5 blocks and got there just as the operator was locking the front compartment. Resting up on the 701, with the sterile light slipping beneath my eyelids. Puerile breathing in front of me. I open my eyes and am being stared at. Eye contact with a child is always easier than eye contact with an adult. Adults always look away quickly, embarrassed of their booming thoughts, convictions, judgments. Children stare straight at you and lay it all out on the table.The Child Watches3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"You look tired."
"I know," I said
Nothing VictoriousI saw a new universe begin with a dream,Nothing Victorious3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
there was no one else around to notice the difference;
The others, having followed pied pipers for years,
remained motionless, as they had been processed
and were now all plastic icons of Jesus, resting on pallets,
ready to be shipped to China.
They screamed, uttered "Mama," and sometimes
shouted obscenities at the Holy Father,
while in the distance, the occasional bleats of
black sheep told me to stop counting my
blessings and begin noticing the near future.
I looked and saw a white horse, and sitting on
its back was Nothing.
And Nothing told me about his plan:
Nothing will bring order, Nothing will erase our history,
Nothing will make us forget all we've done, and learned.
I climbed on the white horse, and I rode away
with Nothing, heading toward the sunset, where I,
along with Hatred, Bigotry, Greed, Pride, and so on,
perished with the final setting of the sun,
following to the east, the dawn of humanity.
The IntrovertI'd rather show you my soul than my scars.The Introvert3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
The End That No One NoticedThe Universe blinks and humanity, in all its cruel glory, comes into existence.The End That No One Noticed3 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
It blinks again, and we are gone.
100ThemesChallenge - LoveDespite what people may think, not all guys wants a stick thin barbie doll with a fake smile and dull eyes. I like girls who curve. Girls who when you put your arms around her, feel like they fit perfectly against your chest, not like you're hugging a stick. Homely girls. The ones that wear soft cotton shirts and sweaters, and have a warm smile and eyes you can get lost in. The ones that walk around with a smudge of flour or toothpaste or paint on their shirt all day because they haven't noticed or just don't care. The ones whose apple-vanilla smell you could recognise from across the room, but still never becomes mundane. The ones who, when you curl up with her, no matter where you may be, it feels like Home.100ThemesChallenge - Love3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
And Tonight My Prayer Was XIIAnd tonight my prayer was:And Tonight My Prayer Was XII3 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
I don't care who remembers what. Eventually everyone who remembers will be gone. And then everyone who remembers them will be gone.
And then, someday soon, a boy just like me will be born, on a planet just like this one, in a universe a thousand infinities away. And he will fall in love as I did, and he will hate as I did, and he'll fuck up the same as I did, and he'll open his eyes like a child, and he'll wish he was blind.
And then he will die. Once he's gone, people will remember only how he died; only say 'he was a nice lad' or 'he went out doing what he loved.'
And then they'll forget, and die.
And the people who remember them will forget, and die.
And then, someday soon, a boy just like me will be born, on a planet just like this one... And so it will be forever hereafter.
Solitude With Falling LeavesI'm terrified to stop writing, because when I do I'll have to think about all the things that are slowly killing me.Solitude With Falling Leaves3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
More Than a PassengerIf the world keeps on like this, then I'll refuse to inherit it.More Than a Passenger3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
The Death of Bin LadenI walked out into my street this morning to find people dancing, celebrating, shouting. I was momentarily confused this was too late, surely, for royal wedding excitement? I could think of nothing but sadness saturating this particular morning.The Death of Bin Laden3 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
And yet. There. An image of Obama. Another of Bin Laden. Angry slashes through his face. Jeering red paint mocking at his throat.
I felt mine close.
They are not doing this.
Celebrating his death. Celebrating it like it could ever be anything good. Celebrating yet another example of the countless times humans have resorted to, and yes I shudder at the word, necessary killings, because we cannot accept one another. Celebrating as if you could force liberty and peace into a land with the tools only of violence and death.
So I swore. Loudly. And again. And again. FUCKITFUCKITALL. Over and over again. Not because I'm not capable of saying so much more, but because you do not seem capable of understanding anything less.
Little Price To Pay For YouThe whole way home I thought of blueberries and blood; indelible things, and wondered how long it took for a soul to come clean.Little Price To Pay For You3 years ago in Emotional More Like This