Mortician's DaughterI saw her walking down the street, her dark hair spilling like ink over her shoulders, her skin the color of alabaster. She moved with ease as she passed, focusing on some far away object I'd never know. I watched as she moved away, slipping from my grasp with each step. I wanted so badly to call out to her, to ask her where she was going, and if I could join her. But I didn't stop her; she kept moving, never noticing my existence. I watched her walk around the corner and the one fleeting moment that she was in my life ended.Mortician's Daughter4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I found her again two years later, when I was in college. I was taking an art course and there she was, sitting two rows ahead and one seat to the right. I recognized her immediately, the same beautiful hair, the same flawless skin, but she didn't look my way. She continued to take notes, her black hair falling from behind her ear. How I wanted to reach and place it back, but I resisted the urge. I just watched her, glances from the corner of my eye, to
Son of Difference ::PruCan::"I'm sorry for being alive." A man with curly golden locks matted to his face murmured to his plush of a polar bear. He winces at his own words, but makes no note to change his words for the future. It's a habit that he will keep on saying. He will keep on saying it until something comes along that makes him think otherwise.Son of Difference ::PruCan::5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
He shifts in his place in the mud and peers up at the tall canopy of trees, watching as the rain washes over everything and wipes all impurities away like the dirt on his only companion's fur. He presses the toy closer to his chest as he bitterly wonders if anybody even remembered that he was out here.
"I bet nobody even remembers me." He tells the bear, picking up his empty basket and placing it onto his head for some shelter against the rain. He blows the one curly strand of hair away from his face and watches it disappear from view and appear again. "Maybe I should just stay here and die. It's not like anyone will notice " Matthew mumbles into Kumajiro's
Prisoner ::PruCan::He obediently walked to his doom, wrists cut up and cuffed behind his back, a cocked and loaded gun pointed at his head. Dull red eyes watched the ground and lead legs dragged themselves along the ground as the enemies from all sides ushered him forward nervously. One pushed open the door, stealing a quick glance inside, before dragging the defeated man forward and into the room. The door shut behind him, temporarily throwing him into darkness before dim lights switched on.Prisoner ::PruCan::5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
A tall man looked up from where he was pouring vodka into his glass cup and smiled. "You're here! I'm been looking forward to this for quite some time~" He finished pouring the liquid and poured another one for his guest before picking both in one meaty hand. In the other hand, he twirled around the small silver key to the cuffs. "I'm very happy to have you here Prussia, you know that don't you?" He sings as he approaches.
Pale and bitten lips pulled back into a snarl as Gilbert shows the shackles to the taller male
Brony dictionary version 2Chapter 1: brony EnglishBrony dictionary version 24 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Chapter 2: fan terms
Chapter 3: shipping related terms
Chapter 4: general equestrian terms in reality (may not hold true in the show)
Chapter 5: general equestrian terms in the show
Chapter 6: pony abilities and tricks
Chapter 7: meme
Chapter 8: G1 to G3.5
Chapter 1: Brony English
1. Anypony = anyone
2. blank flank = a young pony without a cutie mark
3. cowpony = cowboy, cowgirl
4. Everypony = Everyone
5. featherbrain = a term for a pony that is forgetful
6. Fillies and gentlecolts = Ladies and gentlemen
7. Hay yeah! =Hell yeah!
8. Hayseed = 1. It's an expletive Trixie used when she talked to Applejack. 2. Hayseed is also the name of a pony.
9. hoof-biting = nail-biting
10. hoofmade = handmade
11. hoof-picked = hand-picked
12. hoof-shaking = hand-shaking
13. hoof-wrestling = arm wrestling
14. hooved-stitched = hand-stitched
15. Hooves = hands or feet
16. Horseapples = expletive
17. It's time to pony up = it's time to man up
Ordinary Day PruCanCanada made his way through the woods, a smile playing his face. He loved the outdoors, and whenever he had the chance, he took advantage of it. The spring sun was shining brightly above him, the white clouds slowly rolling past. He breathed in the woods' Earthy scent, and his smile widened. If he could spend every single moment of his life here, he would gladly give up everything to do so. The Canadian boy made his way to a clearing, and decided that this would be a good place to rest.Ordinary Day PruCan4 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
He sat down on an abandoned tree stump, and oberserved his surroundings. The flowers were poking through the thick, green grass, soaking up the sun's rays. Little specks of blue and red danced in the wind as they tried to find a way out of the green sea. The blonde smiled, and picked one of the flowers out of the ground. "It's so peaceful here," he said aloud, sniffing the flower. "Why can't every single day be like this?"
His blue eyes flickered over to the middle of the meadow, seeing another man stan
TimeTime4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Click. Click. Click.
Her heels made the same noise over and over again as she ran down the elongated hallway. Would she reach them in time?
Her rust colored hair flew in front of her face as she quickly turned right and left. Her hair got stuck in her lip gloss but that was the least of her worries. She turned her head slightly, past the pale pink walls and beyond the window she looked. In the depth of the gold from the setting sun, she saw Aaron.
Would she reach them in time?
I wish you were Music - 5 of 5I wish you were here,I wish you were Music - 5 of 57 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I wish you were music,
The blessing of calling you my own
And though all the critics said it would never happen for me,
That altos and sopranos belong to theaters and dreams,
And the music of your ballad would remain an epic figment,
But to their surprise our concert was heavenly melody,
Featuring all celestial choirs; audience of bards, poets and cupids
writers for truthif i had children, they would be artistswriters for truth7 years ago in Socio-political More Like This
not bankers, nor politicians, nothing wasteful
and if they were writers, they would not write for money
they would write for truth
i know you can't dictate to your children
only install in them values
i think art is an underated value
stuck in transit.Time bends and snaps the spine of reality between its hands.stuck in transit.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Desires bleed like the ink you've left smudged and faded on my hips. The room is empty without your breath to swell the walls; my bed is cold without the warmth filtering through your pores. The clock is manipulated and broken, the ticks becoming distorted screams, the silences becoming gasping moans. Sleep flutters behind eyelids and drags at the exhausted mind until I am writhing under the sheets that smell like you, nails biting my scalp, body contorted against the pressure you kept at bay.
My memory sinks and anchors on the same parts:
The honey of your tongue and the heat of your sleepy lips against the back of my neck. Your palms following the nerves radiating under my skin until they quieted and fled. Soapy shoulders and sticky, peanut butter kisses. Murmured Whitman as we sprawled on bench swings and echoed songs as we shot down back roads isolated in sound.
Memories drag me down and pull me up, wring me dr
not the usualtoday i looked in the mirror and i saw thatnot the usual4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i am growing up. it was the saddest thing
i have ever had to see
i remember the day i started growing up. i was
six or seven, and my daddy let me loose on the
four wheeler in the backyard. what an american childhood
anyway i was wearing a pink shirt and jeans
and i was singing a song to myself and it was about
jumping off a bridge in chicago. it's not that i
was really aware of suicide or love or anything,
just that something could make a person want to be
in the water so bad that they jumped off a bridge
and suddenly they were happy even though they weren't breathing.
it was kind of like that
and here i am! here i am. i have had four people know me enough
to call me fire or bitch or buddy or baby. one is gone one is
casual one is part of my soul and the other is one hell of a trip,
and i'm still on it. i have bled to bleed,
fucked to fuck, and lied to feel better. i have cried over dead
cats and fish and dumb dogs. i have mastered calculus a
Plagues, Servants of Death ((Prologue))Plagues, Servants of Death ((Prologue))3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Servants of Death
that may.we turned off televisions and radios, hearing your name on strange tongues, and turned instead to solace; your grandmother, alone in her room, untold of your death. and Pavel, part crying to your coffin, part laughing towards the sky;that may.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Ira, in purple hail, we saw you standing there. your bones just buried 'neath the ground,
denied - we saw you everywhere.
Even the stars let me down.I won't ever be the girl.Even the stars let me down.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
No matter how many times I wake up on the faded old couch in your second floor apartment, I won't be the kind of girl you actually want to take home. No matter how much you think you do as you migrate across the room to get closer to meas if we're magnetic. As if there is some invisible force pulling you to me like gravity.
Except I swear to God, there's none of that and I'm less inclined to believe that love works like this. Like it's some tangible thing that we can prove, define or rationalize. Like there really are some invisible strings holding us together. Like people can actually feel something forever. I still don't see it since I don't ever feel anything that lastsbesides emptiness. I can't imagine how anyone can.
Still I stay here, until I find myself tossing and turning at four am with your breath hot against my shoulder blades, and I'm finally figuring out that I have no idea what I'm doing anymore, because I think I might be doin
now you know betteryou were never one for shakespeare's iambic pentameter,now you know better5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
so you nixed the meter and measure the gods composed
and wrote your own sonnet in time with the beat of your heart
and the shiver of your tapered spine.
instead of crisp and company issued egg shell paper,
you dragged the pen you bought yourself back in sixth grade
across the smooth canvas of tanned skin, littered with sunset bruises
and did not mind the clashing of colours.
you always wondered if it were true what the newsstands said,
that art flutters to life when misery takes shape
but you never really believed such nonsense,
until your spine shattered, your inkwell ran dry,
and tanned skin was just a distant memory you associated with the sun.
now you know better.
don't call me a loverthese thin painteddon't call me a lover5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
walls seperate us
and i trace the audible sounds
with my ear against the rough
space i require
by then the
is wiped clean
and the wall
she is no longer
MelancholiaI wish forMelancholia5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
a day that I
was not pained
by your memory,
a day when I
did not feel
was upon me.
I search for
yet it seems
a feeble attempt
at erasing that
which will never
vanish from the
depths of my mind.
and I can
You deny my
hand and I have
found a way to
reach my end
June 21st, 2010
5 Stages of Griefone. Kissing your knees. You have eyes on your palms5 Stages of Grief6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
crying, you are saying 'No,' firmly but nothing changes.
Telling your children 'let go' means nothing.
two. Begins after you haven't laughed in a year.
It has been three years, four months and five days.
three. Shooting yourself in the foot. Shooting yourself in the foot
makes the pain dissipate from everywhere else. Hammer to the
hand, head and neck.
four. Jerusalem, I love you, Jerusalem, you are mumbling
on your knees and weary. The wooden pew is making you look
thin and boney. Thin and boney, like a chicken ready for sacrifice.
five. Stage five is living in a house with no lights, television
flickering infomercials at night rocking you to sleep.
Sticks and StonesSticks and stonesSticks and Stones4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Can break my bones,
But words can break my heart.
You Tore Me ApartI see the accusationYou Tore Me Apart5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
crisp within your eyes
as you become blind
in your mind,
you take these things
and turn them over slowly.
fall away upon deaf
ears, already turned
from the truth,
fueling your own
in what you don't
Have I changed?
into another person?
I feel as if I am the same
me as I was before,
with the same thoughts
and the same feelings,
but there must be
something I cannot see,
that word which has
so irreversibly altered me,
by the way you
like drops of water
in the desert sands,
it fell between us
like a bombshell,
now we each stand
upon our own islands,
though I have tried
to plead, you repeat
to misguided assertions
others have spoken
I regret my
make me wish
it would have been
better to hide,
you make me begin
to question myself.
The day I told you
I was bi,
it hung like something
dirty in th
43. DyingThere's the sound of her heart43. Dying6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
forcing blood through unwilling
veins. She's been fighting a
losing battle, and boy, does she
The monitor's jumping, keeping
track of each heartbeat with the
dripstones of pixellated love. It's
only a matter of time before she
flatlines, but at least they'll know
the moment she gave up.
Her body's shutting
and she knows that she'll be
leaving soon. The only thing she's
hoping for is that she goes
When she's gone, she wants to
know: will you remember her?
Her name is Autumn because she
knows things are more beautiful
when they're dying.
SereinOne.Serein6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
What if you left?
And I was alone with the memory of the brush of your eyelashes against your cheek. The pages of your soul sighing shut, like a last breath. Like a last chance. (Like the shudder of a last chance.)
You're like black and white photographs (that are really just shades of grey), and summer rainstorms that came too late for spring; The puzzle pieces that seem to fit, but don't. You're a kitten tiger playing unnoticed in the streets of Burma; The smudged fingerprint that is almost a match (if only that line was a bit clearer).
I'd love you like I love the seasons, and the billboard by the roadside; I'd hold your hand, and kiss your face. . . if only you were somet
not much, but somethingi'mnot much, but something4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
just a whole bunch of
sporadic fucked up thoughts that