Cold HandsHe was holding my hand.
I could still remember the first time he had done so. That time, I could tell by his trembling fingers that he was nervous. I could tell by his cold, clammy hands -- that he was nervous, and perhaps afraid.
But not anymore.
I could not tell anymore.
As he was holding on to my hand, this minute, this second, I could no longer sense what he was feeling. His hands no longer shook, and was no longer wrapped in a welcoming layer of warm sweat. Or rather, this was not even holding hands at all, unless placing his palm against mine counts.
"Okay, what?" I gave in with a teary voice.
He and I both knew for some reason, t
Inside My Head.Black.Inside My Head.2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Yes, it's definitely pitch black.
I'm pretty sure most of the time it is.
But then again, there are times when it's not.
Sometimes a spotlight drops and I see... a desk.
Normally the desk is messy. I remember it had glue, uhm, ah, yes, and gum everywhere. What else... there were paper clips stuck on to the desk by the lurid pinkish rotten gum. Oh, and we must not forget all those pretty pens and pencils suffocating in the sea of transparent glue. Oh right! There were CD's, and an earphone as well. Hmm... Oh yea, the desk was wooden -- which made it look even messier. Ah, wait. I remember, there was liquid, shooting out
More Than A Physics TestShe said she wanted to touchMore Than A Physics Test2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the ceiling of the world.
We climbed into the hot air balloon
the very next day.
It was warm, almost too warm,
but her hands were cold in mine
and her gaze was frosty,
her eyes starlit and heaven sent.
I asked which ceiling she'd prefer,
in hopes of stretching a smile across
that galaxy expression.
It was a multiple choice question:
a) The troposphere
b) The stratosphere
c) The balloon fabric in the hot air balloon
She picked d) none of the above,
and ignored the smile waiting for her.
She (distantly) wondered where we would soon be--
a) Heaven, slowly reeled in as if caught on a fishing h
GoneHe wasn't coming back. I knew he wasn't, but I wanted him too. I was desperate for him to come back, back to my arms, back to me...Gone2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
My love was gone, pulled away from me. He had been conscripted to go fight in the war; there was no way out of it. He was yanked out of my arms and sent off to battle; I knew he wasn't coming back. I had a feeling in my heart. Of course, no one believed me. They all thought that I was crazy; they all thought that he would be back.
"The war will be over in no time honey." That was what they all said, or something along those lines. Mothers, wives, daughters... we were all worried for their safety, but it seemed
Bittersweet LoverCongratulations to the girlBittersweet Lover2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Who made it into your heart.
From this distance where I'm watching,
You two seem so delighted
To be walking down the street together
Holding hands while snow falls down.
I see that you are smiling
More than you ever did with me.
I no longer try to wonder
Why I could never make you do that,
But instead I try to think of
How much better off you are.
You look so happy
From where I'm standing,
And I guess
I should be, too,
As soon as I get over you.
GameI'm convinced,Game2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm convinced that you have me going insane.
I feel lifeless and can't feel a thing.
I'm missing your laugh,
I swear it's in the back of my head.
I'm lying that it doesn't hurt that you're away.
But who am i fooling I want to scream your name.
Don't play this game unless you're willing to take that undying pain.
Actually What Happened WasI wished a junior postman a nice day -Actually What Happened Was2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Just put them down there, " I said to him as he staggered over my porch with two parcels and something invertebrate wrapped in grey plastic, whilst from my mouth I projected the ugly sycophancy of a convent girl.
And then - "Have a nice day," I said.
He said something back - a stout sound, just enough of a noise to qualify as a syllable. It did not have a smooth ending: it was not gratitude. As he tossed it to me, he lumbered away and did not slide the door back.
Why did he run from me? Did he sense the two goldfish I haven't been bothered to name, swimming around with no past and no future? Was he
The TreeIf you sit in one of the higher rooms of a certain hidden building high up in the mountains, perhaps you'll look outside and notice an old apple tree out the window.The Tree3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The tree remembers.
It remembers a time when lush green leaves doted its branches in the summer, and firey crimson reds and pumpin oranges during the fall. When there were small buds during the spring, ready for blossoming into apples.
The tree remembers a time when it was only a small seed in an apple, possibly someone's snack or a lunch.
It remembers when it sprouted into a springy, sturdy sapling.
And it most certainly remembers growing up around the strange, mysterious p
A Piece of BeautyA bitter wind sighed forlornly across the mountains. It left an eerie whistle in its wake, echoing softly from peak to peak. Snow lay in thick drifts like soft downy blankets over the ridges and slopes. Stark bare rock gleamed here and there among the snow, cutting through the drifts like knives.A Piece of Beauty2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
In a chill and lonely vale, a huntress glanced up from where she crouched among the trail of her quarry. Tilting her hooded head to the side, she listened to the wind for a moment, her expression inscrutable. Her mitten cocooned hand reached up to shade her eyes as she observed the angle of the sun. The other hand tightened upon the bow, held alway
Leaves of Memory.Since her childhood, she loved playing with his memory.Leaves of Memory.3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
When she thought, she tooks a certain pleasure to raise the thread of what had mades her thinking or saying something.
She dived into the sea of her memories and rediscovered them under all their angles.
She went up, always farther, still seeking more precisions, details, while rebuilding her thought, her thought scheme, and finally thinking about the thought itself.
She started from the trunk, then go down to the deepest roots, before raising to the most distant branches, then the smallest leaf, its stem, its nervures, its chlorophyll.
But the Winter of Old Age caught her up, and
lost and foundLost: 1 heartlost and found2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
If found you may keep it
The owner does not care anymore
The haiku bluesMy hearts made of glassThe haiku blues2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
and your words are like earthquakes
rebirth.i'll plant kisses into the cracks of your heart, water them with care, and together, we'll watch them grow.rebirth.2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
how about it?
The Pencil It's very odd, the experience of realizing someone doesn't love you anymore. Almost like looking for a pencil that you've stuck behind your ear earlier. You're so sure it's around somewhere, but not on your person then someone points it out and you laugh at yourself.The Pencil2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
You don't know it at first. You don't even have an inkling. You're so preoccupied with your own problems that you're blind, so blind to the way you're painstaking degrading any hope they had left for you. You're always angry and stressed snapping at everyone because your situation seems like the world revolves around it; and in a way, it
To The Lovers I Never HadI'm starting to wonder if you really were made out ofTo The Lovers I Never Had2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
rainy days, midnight, and crackled opium,
because (sometimes) it sure seems like it.
And I still adore you like waved hair framing faces;
still love you like a black widow bite
-alkaline, and sugar coated oxy-cotton,
chipped nailpolish, runny mascara, and frozen nights;
sweating between blankets, blackness, and helium balloons.
Would you love me if I were all that?
(or are you not as good as me?)
You are my periodic table; the fundamental principals;
basic mathematics that make up the
chemical composure of myself I so love to boast.
-You are my other half through
A Toast to the New Worldi.A Toast to the New World2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"How was that New World, Smith?" is the only greeting he gets. But it is nine o'clock and the pub is full, everyone already considerably drunk. Smith used to know this man, but it has been a few years and he never really liked him, anyhow.
"A waste of time with no good alcohol," Smith says as he signals for the bartender to bring him a drink.
"Heard you got shot."
"Bloody savages " the other mutters into his pint. "They killed my brother, ya know."
"All too well. It is the only story you seem to remember while drunk."
"Bastards think they run the place."
"But of course. It is their land, after all."
The Story of HopeShe sits there in the freezing cold,The Story of Hope2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Sad for she has no one to hold
Wondering deep inside her heart,
If someone would give her a start
A new start to help her feel complete.
But who would help someone off the street,
Someone haggard and smelt of feet,
And as she prayed he came to her,
Hush, said his warm, gentle purr
He helped her up and cleaned her back,
For now she will get back on track.
And why in future years she wondered,
For because of Hope she no longer plundered.
Believe in Hope.
How Wrong Could It Be?He hugged me tightly. I smiled and hugged him back.How Wrong Could It Be?2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"I'm kind of sleepy," I said, yawning. It was easily past four in the morning.
"Shall we sleep then?" he asked. I immediately shook my head.
"No, I'm fine." I would rather be up, talking to you.
He nodded and picked me up just-married style and laid me down on the bed. He lay beside me, facing me. I turned on my side towards him and smiled again. He slipped his hands downwards, eventually resting them around my hips. My skin tingled warm and electric under his touch. I put my arms around his neck.
"Hey..." he said, reaching to brush a fallen strand of hair away from my face. His eyes we
starlit fingertipsI am a poet; never looking at the camerastarlit fingertips2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
hands in my pockets,
and jean-cuffs tasting the floorboards,
with the scent of my leaving.
I am bare feet crushing grains of sand,
like my hard heart; paper-clipping dream-scraps
to my jacket-lining,
and hiding them against my shoulder.
I am words spilt out across computer screens
at midnight -
pulling stars down from the sky, facet by facet
and gathering cliches in the hems of my skirts,
as though saving them for later.
and I'm trying to hold on,
to a world that's slip-
through my f
GrownLittle Boy,Grown2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Whatever have you done?
Why have you taken your mother's good shawl
And run it through the mud?
Whatever have you done?
Why have you taken your father's good horse
And run away from home?
And Little Girl,
Where ever have you gone?
You have thrown away your fears
And gone to live alone.
And Little Girl,
No longer little though.
For you have suffered agony,
And now at last you've grown.
LanguageLove is the language,Language2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Our words are the pen,
Our blood the ink,
And our hearts the paper.
Supposed to beBroken.Supposed to be2 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
H u r t.
Love was supposed to be pretty...
Just like a dove
Caught in Battle Lately I've been doing a lot of not sleeping at night. That is to say, I fall asleep fine, but about one in the morning the dreams turn to thoughts and I'm not at all asleep anymore. I just lie there, thinking too much to even close my eyes. My eyes feel bad in the red mornings, after staring in the dark so long each night, so tonight I light the oil lamp and sit up.Caught in Battle2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I might as well write what was requested by a friend a few days ago, at dinner together.
I find it doesn't kill dream memories, though.
At that dinner, my f
The Black Bag The problem was simple, really. I was a little too drunk. Me and my buddy Jake though, we found it simple to walk with a stagger and laugh a little too loud, a simple problem. The day was pretty good, pretty drunk.The Black Bag2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The hours passed easy until Max came out of his pawnshop. Max never leaves his pawnshop. He looked so worried and strange I had to squint to be sure it was him. He got us interested, walking toward my buddy and me with trouble written all over his face. Trouble is something a man can relate to from time to time, somehow.
Max walked right up
Thirty days of summeri. sun, filtering through your eyelashes.Thirty days of summer2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
you are an unlikely god. but with your brown-blond hair and the smell of summer on your breath, it's not hard to believe.
like a noose around my heart, your voice fills me like helium, threatening to lift me up and away, and when you call my name from the room, from the kitchen, when we're waking up at three pm and the phone has been ringing for half an hour
the noose tightens.
you stayed with me for thirty days of summer in this world of falling leaves, and then, like a sapphire phantom, you disappeared.
ii. my eighth birthday, february 1991.
i am in a dream.
the world is fluid and quiet