SorrySorrySorry4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I've screwed up pretty badly,
And I don't know what to say.
My only option, sadly,
Seems to be to go away.
Only your forgiveness will
Restore this love gone cold;
Redeem a lovely friendship
You and I might have and hold.
FriendshipFriendshipFriendship4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Our lives pass like a dream,
Revealing only what is on our minds.
Inside the prison of the self we see
Each object as a shadow on our wall.
Nothingness awaits, as sure as night.
Did I not have you, dear friend, I might,
Shadow on a shade, not be at all.
How much we need a word beyond our sea:
In love and laughter, thoughts of different kinds,
Perhaps, with luck, unraveling a seam.
Halt vs. GoatTitle: Halt vs. GoatHalt vs. Goat6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Fandom: Ranger's Apprentice
Word Count: 3,486
Dreams that die..Once I felt important.Dreams that die..6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Special and adored.
The world revolved around me,
In your eyes.
How fleeting is it,
That all good things do end?
No matter how much you try
To avoid it.
It rests on my shoulders,
I feel it like a weight
And you, you are so perfect,
I cannot live up to the pedestal
I was once placed on.
Set up to fail.
Your illusions were magic
I believed. And I fell.
You pulled me in to your web
And wrapped me tight.
I felt love.
I gave all I could.
Time, hours, minutes.
More than I should.
More than I truly had.
But I cared and I wanted you to see that.
I gave what I got.
I knew fairytales were just dreams.
That moments of feeling special, were false.
The efforts once given dissipated.
And you wonder why I cry?
Yet you dont see it.
Dont hear me.
It is me, all through and through.
Im the one to blame.
Im the one at fault.
Dont you see how youve changed?
How the moments of laughter and light
Were once so special to me?
The small th
DreamsA caustically fabricated memory sets a spark in the first exhalation of morning (afternoon?) and she has the urge to cry.Dreams3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
To think that dreams -nightmares- could hold her heart with such terrible claws (but the thoughts of him hold reigns so tightly on her back; he knows many pretty women, and it's only natural to worry after the undressing, the holding hands, the crying in front of him). To think that even sleep, once repose, could beckon tears and heart-shivers and immobility.
She ponders why, all of a sudden, sleep is frightening again.
Perhaps it's the empathy of her nature. She feels heart-wrenching guilt for moments long past; she feels hardening regret for things said to unkind people; she feels more love than she's allotted for those closest to her (goddamn, devotion is terrifying).
Perhaps it's the fear of vulnerability and pretty women and how sex is never right a few hours after (unless she can see the adoration in his eyes she will always feel objectified), and, though the
Fallen From GloryFallen From GloryFallen From Glory5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
First the idea is formed in your mind
An adventure full of glory
The perfect story
Time to write it you will find
Now you sit to type your tale
The words pour forth like rain
You work hard but still are sane
In this task you will not fail
Suddenly you hit a wall
You know exactly what you wish to write
This writer's block you must fight
From glory your story must not fall
It takes some time but you soon break free
And the words you needed you again can find
The story you write will be one of a kind
Your story's glory you once again see
Finally you finish typing the last word
The last line of your story
In all of its glory
Your exclamation of triumph can be heard
Your next step is to show your family and friends
The praises of your skill they do sing
Their approbation of your story in your ears do ring
Glory to your tale their approval lends
With a happy heart you put your story away
The printed copy you tuck in a file
You shut the drawer with a satisfied smile
PurgingThere are momentsPurging5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
As I sit here in the dark.
Where that brief light of happiness
Just beyond my fingertips.
in hope for a dream
That can never be fulfilled.
A history that will never be written,
And a tale that won't ever be told.
A legacy of truth,
Of pain and torment,
Of lust, delight and love
That lingers deep within my heart.
It is empty.
It is hollow.
It is void of sensation
For a simple touch in itself will
Leave it ashen.
Would it be
That a darkness churned
From the strength I do have,
And for a moment,
I can see a hope,
a glimpse of light that teases
just beyond the reach..
But dreams are just that
Imaginary and solitary
For there is naught else
That will taste the flesh as it purifies my bones.
There is naught else,
That bursts within me,
Be stilling to dust
As daylight rises
and darkness completes me,
Journey To HappinessJourney To Happiness4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The deeping twilight silence heard
In the whispers of a half dreamed word,
With new moon in a dreamless sleep
And sun, nostalgic vigil keeps.
The black-red light, a pulsing flood.
The ocean sky, from her virgin blood
That drains a living death, is born-
From the edge of time are softly called,
Two women walking, their sacred feet
On either side of the horizon meet.
One stares with eyes of burnished gold
And round her shapely figure holds
A robe of molten, blinding light,
Her face, in which, is hid from sight.
Each footstep burns an eternal road,
A tuneless song around her flows.
The growing things she once did mind
Have quickly withered, slowly died.
The other weeps from cloudy eyes,
A world of pain in each tear she cries.
Buried in a grey-mist gown,
Her face of steel, once more cast down.
Each footstep is a sodden march,
Her moaning wind is drifting past.
She regards her charges with a shifting frown,
All living things, she slowly drowns.
In the world upon the line,
We, between the tw
twelve hours green.he calls me and tells metwelve hours green.7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that his toothbrush
is an ocean green like
his fading bedroom
walls. and i call and
think that i dont have
a favourite number. but
i dont even know what
we should spend twelve
hours watching the
clouds fly past
and twelve staring at
the fragments of shining
rocks plastered across
the sky, until we leave
a dent in the grass
in the shape of
the different type of
world we live in.
i paint my hands in
speechless patterns because
colours always spoke better
Perspectives, or What if Feminism was sexist?I wish I could just vanish from this place. Right now.Perspectives, or What if Feminism was sexist?2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It's almost 10 pm, though, and it would be too dangerous to even go for a walk. Mom and dad would never let me. Yeah, okay, I'm 14, but still, it's just a walk! Mom would go if she wanted to. But dad wouldn't...
I have to study, anyway. History is boring as hell, but sometimes I find something worth reading while I'm going through all these books. Like for example, when it talks about the beginning of computers.
"Hey, did you know it was a man who first invented the computer?", I asked my parents, while sitting on the living room floor with my books.
"Huh?", my mom replied, trying to divert her attention from the television.
"Computers. It was a man who invented it."
"Ah, sure", she said. "It happened a lot, actually. Men creating things."
"Mmhm. As long as there are women to make it work", she laughed at her own little joke and focused again on the screen.
I sighed and looked over at dad. He was obviously finding that TV
ParanoiaDime a cuantos pasos me encuentro de está, tu última morada;Paranoia3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dime que razón me das de calor, de inocencia y de trovador.
Ya que las superficies inhóspitas de tu cordura me son ajenas, debo de entrar navegando en las arenas de tu locura, verte a los ojos cociendo caricias ignoradas en la historia de nuestra unión, viendo por siempre y hasta el fin estas creencias exageradas, banalidades de petulancia y de prejuicio, o el fondo de las arenas de este tu desierto abierto de pecho.
A media noche descubro tu realidad, no veo mas haya de tus vítreos ojos, que no han dejado ver tu horizonte, que no me permiten tomar el sueño, el manto de mis lamentos ni la realidad de tu cuerpo.
¿He visto aquellos viejos lagos de sal solo para perderme en tu ironía?
Si es así la verdadera elocuencia de tus preocupaciones son un fiel reflejo de tu verdad inédita, de tu color ajeno, de tu maligna prioridad, que no es más que no quedarte sola, no quedart
Be My GuestBe my guest!Be My Guest4 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Be my guest
Put my patience to the test
You can read most any book you want
Whatever you like best
You do anything you please
But no Twilight, it's misleading
Don't believe me? Ask Stephen King!
It's a sham, it's a ruse
Miss Meyer is all confused
And nobody in their right mind is impressed
Go on, play your own game
And let me do the same
You'll be my guest
Oui, my guest
Be my guest!
Twilight ain't really quaint
It would make Shakespeare faint
Yet, for some strange reason,
The author's regarded as a saint
Be wary, be afraid
Be sure to run far away
It's all most excruciating
No worse form of entertaining
It's a joke, it's a trick
It's enough to make one sick
To be frank, it's not even the thousandth best
How long will this spree last?
Well, you've got a free pass
To be my guest
If you're stressed,
It's therapy I suggest
Be my guest!
Be my guest!
Be my guest!
Life is really crazy
When you're in a Twilight frenzy
Fans aren't whole
alone is just another wordI want to think that I'm not self-centered and conceited when I notice how all my words are aimed at your heart, your chest, your lungs. I want to feel empowered when I say, "you're not strong enough to hate me." And I want to hate myself for you because I know how god-awful I must be, but I know you're lonely. Because we are all just lonely people.alone is just another word6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It's the way you say "surrender" like it's supposed to mean something, and the way you shout "I'm leaving and never coming back," like I should be scared, worried, or upset. But I'm perfectly fine with knowing you'll spend a night in the old subway station with it's untold stories and glaring addictions. We're all just lonely people, right?
I told you I used to be in love just to make you feel better, because between the heated altercations about last night's affections, you had a look of that puppy dog before I let it run away from home. You're still trying to figure out how to loosen the knots. Maybe I should tell you, I sometimes wonder
wake up, let goi used to conjure up promises from the ringing in my ears,wake up, let go3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
exchange your empty words for a sonnet.
it was less painful that way.
(your voice is only beautiful at 7am, all rusty
and torn up like a broken washing machine.
the honesty fades the minute you have coffee.)
we are only true to ourselves when we sleepwalk through wednesday mornings
with half-remembered dreams clogging our thoughts.
you dreamed of me standing on a barren field,
saying this is us, stripped bare
of the textbook truths, the pauses between
lies and heartbreak. this is us,
as we are becoming, only dead grass and
scar-crossed(my fingers are colder than the solemn bluescar-crossed3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
buried in her eyes. so much dead beauty,
like an ocean without waves).
she is fading and i cling to her,
and in this tiny little moment
we barely even exist.
when a muse stands silentdo you know what a feather is?when a muse stands silent3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a whimsical quill,
drooped at the top
like a willow tree's branches
hang their heads.
the ink at the tip,
a tear on the corner of an eye
smudging a porcelain face,
a writer wiping it away with his thumb,
the rest of his fingers
cupping a chin,
and he chokes out whispers that embrace
his broken muse.
mirror/daughterwhy is itmirror/daughter3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that my mother can't stand the quiet
as we drive down the same
road as usual?
she talks and i nod, turn on
the radio to escape her endless banter.
always finds a reason to say
things that hurt me
but not her.
i try not to listen, try not to yell
and cry and
(i paralyze time, inhale/exhale
this is just a 15 minute drive, and maybe
maybe she will understand.)
but she never realizes
i'm not a younger version of her,
a copy, with the same data installed.
dead things can be alive tooi have something in the deepest of cellsdead things can be alive too3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
under the smoken crooks of my tongue, ghosts,
the teeth in my bones clicking-
grinding to the beat of your flesh on mine.
it's an aloe hello, winter feeding the goosebumps
collecting on my shoulders, wings on the freedom
of your fingertips- a tantalizing breadth.
but my organs have blood too, a beating over and
a carrying under the cages of our chests,
a living chemistry with sulfers and leds- lithiums-
and there are places where i'm supposed to be
where you are, and the flesh is too heavy,
a constricting in my throat, an ash in my mouth.
it hurts- a dying feeling seeping in my spine.
it's a good thing, i think.
red like a lie.
Premature AnxietyIt is this fortune telling curse thatPremature Anxiety3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
breaks my dreams in half and has my nightmares grow
like mold across my gullible membranes.
It's my future that scares me, because-
i don't see one with him.
Old TricksYour lonely collarboneOld Tricks4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
whispers of destruction,
and flowery obituaries.
it sings of has been stories, and
But, only when I
dare open my eyes.
You weren't the pixie goddess
I painted with pretty words.
You were hard life pains,
and those nasty little pleasures
[ we never dared to talk about. ]
But, I'll save you the trouble
of a halfhearted denial&
AcheI'm chasing shadows.Ache4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Weaving words together
along the silk threads
between villain ribs
and an ice queen heart.
I feel dizzy from
tornado fingers clawing
my empty eyes,
[ pulsing through
of old flesh wounds. ]