Ressurection V 1.1Redefining time takes a minuteRessurection V 1.14 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
It's simple. You choose
To stay or leave.
Redefining love takes an hour
You may surrender or live
In eternal illusions.
Redefining the world takes a week.
Reduce it to particles
Devour them in the hastiest way
Ask yourself, is the result
Redefining yourself takes eternity.
No happiness dies in grief
No grief surrenders to joy
No joy resurrects in hostility
No hostility transforms into trust
No trust can be replaced by dishonesty.
No happiness dies in grief.
Your choice now clear,
Your mission complete.
TheaterThis theater is empty,Theater4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
the void of its auditorium is a dark, dark place.
Cigarette embers lie like fluorescent roses on top of dusty carpets, forming constellations of golden threads smoldering into oblivion.
I'm a broken statue that eternally observes the movements of lingering ghosts, clandestine twirling of unspeakable curses that roll of the tongue of a great stormy wind captured inside this forsaken cinema.
These chambers are forgotten,
there's something about nothingness - how comfortable it becomes bestowed upon one.
This theater is empty,
and wishes to stay that way.
DoneSick in the morningDone4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Exhausted at night
Doing all this
Is no easy blight
Helping me fix it
Doesn't change how I feel
Breaking my world
Was no small deal
So taping the pieces
In a nice little collage
Wont make up for
The damage you caused
So don't say that you cared
Because I know that you didn't
And don't say that you'll be there
Because I know that you wont
Just leave me to fix
The broken stained window
That you threw the stone through
DarknessDarkness...Darkness9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
It's in every heart.
It keeps love and death apart.
The light pushes hard
and so does the dark.
When they push to hard your heart will burst.
So be sure to belive the light first.
Run from it.
Hide from it.
Whatever you do don't ever go all the way through.
Bashful SpasmsBashful SpasmsBashful Spasms4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
We dance in bashful spasms
To the sounds of Fauvists making love,
The shrieks of exaltation,
That paint the moon with blood.
Let me taste the tears upon your skin,
The glorious hint of horror.
We brace for a bolero
With brutal passion dripping;
Bring me the fevered march!
Bring me something gripping!
Let us circle round the spectacle,
In time with ruthless rhythms.
We fall fast in breathless bundles,
Spent from spinning without restraint.
The choir bends to silence,
But still I sense the tuneful taint.
Let me mourn you without ceasing,
An epitaph of flesh.
A Path To PainSo the flesh is scarred.A Path To Pain5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A perverted mind to hold.
So the soul has now been lost.
The place of rest a torture shack.
Mental anguish over a heart of past.
Laugh with the tears that crush the dirt.
These are naught but stairs that climb toward
The abused who crawled away holding open arms.
Aloft Am I: So Far to FlyAloft am I and so I fly, to where ghosts scrawl and all things die.Aloft Am I: So Far to Fly4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Where the weeping fell thirsty and the drops drank the sun that we saw melt.
So the crooked beasts so alone in the blackest tears of virgin velvet,
stab my wounds that burn, scars begin to turn and churn.
So when hastily my hand takes the rotting pills and swallows down the medication,
the vision I held becomes so clear that I notice how it's becoming murky in my worthless dictation.
And, OH! How this pain I never loved! And, OH! How this searing road I never left!
What a heart to hold...
A sky I hold and so I ride, to where my tomb does rest and lie.
Where the blood I now drip has fallen so mercilessly upon the broken ground
and the vermin that I've held at bay, with drooling lips and have drunk without a sound.
There I fall. For I no longer have the gall to be the all that burns bright for all.
My flesh is flayed in many places. It's time (my time) to nourish all those many demons.
With the dreams that creep through
A Fallen AngelDo you see it?A Fallen Angel4 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
Do you see the angel above you?
Lost in its' despair
losing its shine
wings will not save it
they too are broken
crashing into the sea
drowning in a sea of sorrow
never-ending despair surrounds her
things aren't always what they seem
A Fallen Angel she is
deeper and deeper she sinks
into the mighty darkness
voices surround her, calling her name
arms embrace her, gripping her limbs
harder and louder they scream and tug
until she can take no more
Please Hold my handsWill you hold my hands and don't leavePlease Hold my hands4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Please don't make that passion inside of me grieve
Now you are gone I'm the target that people want to deceive
Now you are gone your words makes me doubt anything I used to believe
Please stay here and don't leave
Today I woke up and I felt that there was something missing
It was you, it was your presence
It was the warmth in your breaths that gives my soul its essence
Please hold my hands and don't leave
Now you left, I'm like a cold drop of water in a cave
Please hold my hands without you I can never feel safe
But now you left I wish that you can find peace
And my nightmares haunts you even if you were dead in your grave
Now you left, I'm like an erased foot print on the shore
Every wave will erase me more and more
Now I'm in this life like an unarmed soldier in a war
I wanted to hold your hands for the last time, but now you are gone
Now you are gone I won't cry you with tears of regret
Now you are gone, but we still have an unfinished debt
Look at me.I'm wrapped in metal bubble wrapLook at me.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I can't feel you anymore
Your cold fingers
Your sickening tongue
I stopped begging
Wasted to much energy
I just want the numbness to envelope me
Just want the blood to seep out through these track marks
I'm done with crying, groveling
I'm done worrying about the shame of giving up
Of not caring what you do to my body
The cigarette burns that decorate my skin like scabby pus filled jewels
The rope burns coil around my wrists my ankles
Barbed wire scars wind lazily down my spine
You love me right?
At least that what you say after your done with me
When I'm all dried up
When the heroine leaves your veins
I hear you footsteps coming down the stairs
My chains rattle as a decrease as far as I can into the corner
You find me anyway laughing you yank my hair back
Slide your yellowing finger nails down the column of my neck
You laugh as I flinch
You spit on me and throw me to the floor
I scramble away as a foot comes down on my back
You squat down an
Shallow EyesShallow Eyes4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
By: Adam M. Snow
Look beneath my shallow eyes,
upon my soul for which you despise,
your tainted hands upon my chest,
broken dreams, it failed the test.
Hearts pounding, skipping a beat,
tormented lies, sorrowful heat,
worlds passing one by one,
alone, wishing to be undone.
I be a vision of a ghost,
look right through me as you boast.
Wasting days in solitude,
alone, never meant to intrude.
As I cry my tears in vain,
you ignore my one true pain,
I suppose I am to blame,
yet you say, I've brought shame.
SH-The Ghost of Covent Garden3It was 3:00 am in 221B Baker Street and John Watson had long since succumbed to sleep as a result of his rude awakening at such an early hour of the morning. He lay curled in his armchair, his breath leaving him in small whispering bursts that were almost but not quite snores.SH-The Ghost of Covent Garden33 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Sherlock Holmes was lying spread-eagled on the floor in front of their chairs, Dante the cat a heavy mass curled in a heap on his master's lean stomach and Gladstone sleeping contentedly in the warm nook between Sherlock's arm and chest.
Sherlock had retrieved the headphones from the skull on the wall and was listening to music, his eyes closed as his mind bounced smoothly off the notes echoing through his head. He was attempting to get his mind in a suitably operatic place. It wasn't really working.
Night-time sharpens, heightens each sensation . . . Darkness stirs and wakes imagination . . .
Silently the senses abandon their defences . . .
Good grief, Lloyd Webber has a lot to answer for . . .
anaplasiaanaplasia4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
conspiring their exodus
clamoring for the cool negligence
lost tongues in long weeping throats
glut of heartmatter
alabaster, pollen, necrotic silk
i'll empty their blasphemies
from broken tusks
spilling the elocution of bliss
so it does not reach the dead.
Mechanical loveMechanical love2 years ago in Visual Poetry More Like This
The Engineer curses.
Cups are knocked over.
Screws and gears scatter wildly.
Wine spills, drips on the floorboards.
A precious glass vial is just barely caught.
His assistant is cowering under the table, hiding.
Hurtling hunk of metal comes straight for him, he squeaks.
Assistant tries to dodge, forgets where he is and hits his head.
The Engineer gets a heavy wrench, hefts it, swings it threateningly.
He is not fast enough, every swing just hits air, making him dance around.
It is a silly dance, all flailing arms and stumbling steps, twirling in dizzy circles.
The assisistant comes out to help, gets nearly hit, is drawn into the dance himself.
"Stay behind me." the Engineer orders, pulling him to safety, out of the flying objects way.
Mechanical hearts all aflutter bumble around the room, bumping into furniture, emptying the shelves.
"Love is in the air~" the radio sings.
In The RainI could see a ghost buried alive,In The Rain4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
curled tightly beneath folded leaves,
and branches stripped bare from this past winter.
She writhed in pain without moving at all,
caught in a wind that wasn't,
crying out in a noiseless whisper.
I had to close my eyes to remove myself from the scene.
What had happened to this creature to bring this...
this existence that reaches levels beyond any hell Dante could have known?
I want to reach out to her,
to brush the silken strands away from the sun bleached bone,
but I don't.
She'll infect me,
I know it.
She'll infect me with her misery,
her pained essence,
and I can't have that.
I find myself infected with a life that couldn't be far from hers,
and to add her sickness to my own...
How much faster would it take me to her?
I should do the right thing:
I should call someone for her;
help her from this place;
hide her from the light;
sing her a song,
for she is truly one of the missing.
What does it ma
Russian RouletteRussian RouletteRussian Roulette4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
What got me to play this stupid game?
Sat in a dark room. It almost doesn't feel real - maybe that's the drink talking, but it's like it's in some cliché movie. And he's in here with me. Of all the people in the world, why was it him?
A tall man, of a big build, with a round face, and a large nose. He smiles across at me, such an innocent smile, masking the thoughts that everyone knows goes on in that fucked-up mind. So fucked-up.
"Do you know this game, America?" He speaks, such a cheery tone in his voice. He holds a gun in his large, gloved hand. It looks like a revolver.
"I'm willing to bet it's stupid," I keep my voice level, with a hint of mocking enthusiasm. He laughs. It's not in the slightest bit normal, nothing that ever comes out of his mouth is normal.
"We play it like this; there is one bullet in here, da?" He waves the gun, as if to make a point, as if I'm not watching it so cautiously anyway. He then holds it to the side of his head. "A
Destiel - Bella NotteTitle: Bella NotteDestiel - Bella Notte2 years ago in Romance More Like This
Warning: Au-ish, No spoilers really. Fluff, schmoop, a little kissing. And pasta.
Characters: Dean, Sam, Cas, Bobby
Sam sighed heavily, closing the dusty volume that he had currently been attempting to read on Bobby's dining table. Attempting being the appropriate word here. Turning his exasperated puppy eyes on the restless now ex- angel sat across from him, who was obviously bored as he had nothing to do with himself now. Luckily Sam could sympathise.
"I'm sorry Sam" Castiel muttered to the fraying stained table cloth. His long slender hands fidgeting restless on the soft cloths surface in front of him.
"Hey, don't worry ok?" Sam said gently turning his best compassionate mother-hen look at his once smitey friend. "It's only natural Cas, hey why don't you watch some tv huh?"
Castiel sighed raising his mussed dark head to meet his friends concerned gaze.
"Dean said I'm not allowed to use the remote."
Sam mentally reminded himself to verbally and e
Benedict Who?Hey, Greg, you busy? - JWBenedict Who?2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Nope. Just finished a case. What's up, John? - GL
Kinda hoping for some company. Been a hard day. - JW
I understand. 8 month anniversary today, isn't it? - GL
... Yeah. So if you wouldn't mind coming over? - JW
Sure. I'm over at Molly's. Give me 20 minutes? - GL
See you then. - JW
A polite knock on the door about half an hour later had John limping to the door to open it. Greg Lestrade walked in, a small smile on his face. John closed the door and led the way to the armchairs in the center of the room. John took Sherlock's old chair while Greg settled into John's usual chair.
"So," Greg started quietly, staring at John. "How you holding up?"
"Been better," John said sadly. "Been worse. It just kind of hit me all at once today, you know?" Greg nodded, sending John a compassionate glance.
"What do you want to do?" Greg asked curiously. "Trade stories, sit in silence, watch telly?" John huffed out a strained laugh and ran a hand through his hair.
"I don't think I
BBC SH - Reunion - MycroftThe Diogenes Club was old. The dark wood panelling and the high ceilings marking it out as a relic of a bygone era.BBC SH - Reunion - Mycroft2 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Rather like many of its inhabitants.
And like every old thing, it was a bit battered around the edges.
Normally, Mycroft Holmes saw the grandeur and the glory of the building's past.
But today, in the gloom of January with the rain pattering with insistent consistency against the window, Mycroft found it hard to ignore the flaking paint and chipped wood surrounding him.
But then again, the entire world seemed a little bit tarnished now.
He sat in the window seat, a glass of brandy cradled in his lax fingers, gazing numbly down at the hooded and umbrella-d figures hurrying along in the street outside.
The door opened and closed quietly; informing him that someone else had entered The Stranger's Room.
He raised his brandy to his lips and gave it a sip.
The figure moved towards the window, following Mycroft's line of sight.
They stood in silence for a moment.
Then a low voic
An Unexpected Novel - SherlockIt's been much too long (two days) since the last case and John has hidden Sherlock's gun. He'll find it in a momentit's either behind John's dresser or rolled up in a towel with the linensbut right now he can't be bothered to get up off the sofa.An Unexpected Novel - Sherlock3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Bored. Bored bored bored bored bored bored.
He doesn't have any experiments to run. Freezer burn invalidated the last one and John said he was sorry but it had certainly looked like bagged gravy to him, and the freezer seemed like a suitable place for it. And Sherlock had asked peevishly what kind of person puts gravy in bags? and John had snapped back about how oh don't tell me I'm supposed to evaluate your actions according to the standard of 'people' now. And so Sherlock was sulking. For the loss of his not-gravy (river water and sloughed flesh emulsification, actually), not for the retort, which was actually a reasonable one.
He doesn't know how John does this, the long, quiet afternoons. Sure, John
Demons GateBeware the river of crimson blood that flows deep in the trees,Demons Gate5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
For even here, the most wicked soul desperately tries to flee
Hidden in shadows, and shrouded in fear
Lies a place so terrible, only darkness lives here
For the river flows swiftly to the Demons Gates
And once beyond the steel, only pain and sorrow awaits
Too many have wondered into the Demons trap
You can hear them scream, as their bones snap
It's best if you just stay away, do not go near
For in the smoldering abyss, no one sheds a tear
Watson LockedJohn looked so cute. So peaceful as he slept, his arms crossed over his stomach, his mouth opened just slightly ajar, his breathing deep and gentle, one in a while swallowing and taking a deep, long breath. Sherlock never knew someone could look so at peace. He almost had second thoughts of waking the peaceful solider. But yet, he needed him... Needed to hear him speak, needed to have him hold him, needed to have John's warm lips brush his forehead with a kiss.Watson Locked2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Slowly, Sherlock entered the room.
"John?" He asked softly, still unsure about waking him. "John?" He asked a little louder.
He knew John was a heavy sleeper... But still. He walked over and sat down on the edge of John's bed. As he breathed, he smelled John. Just the light smell in the atmosphere that reminded Sherlock of vanilla and tangerines. He adored that intoxicating smell that was, and always will be, John Watson. -His- John Watson.
He brushed John's soft cheek with his finger and smiled. John's eyes slowly fluttered ope
IronyA/N: I have no idea where I got this, but I hope you like it. Not my best work but still. Enjoy.Irony4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Soul Calibur: Irony
"He's mine!" Taki argued. Ivy glared at her.
"No, he loves me, not some deranged Ninja." She retorted hotly.
"Why would Link want to be with a women who wears something like that? Your costume practically screams: 'look at me, I've slept with plenty of men'!" Taki criticized.
"I wouldn't talk if I were you. Look at your suit! I can see things my suit keeps in the wraps! At least my nipples don't show!" Ivy shot back, Taki made an exasperated sound as she got angrier.
Link, who was walking by and heard the too, stopped to listen. 'Those two are arguing again? Damn it...' He thought.
"All right, what's the matter now." He said with a sigh as he walked up to the two who stared at each other with a killer glare.
"Link!" Taki exclaimed at seeing him with a heated blush. Ivy grinned and gave a seductive noise as she struck a pose.
Link began to sweat a little at
SH - The Russian Ballerina 4Sherlock Holmes was rapidly coming to realise something. It is difficult and uncomfortable to ride pillion on a dirt-bike, even at the best of times.SH - The Russian Ballerina 43 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Especially when it is being controlled by a teenager whose general scatter-brained air and drug habits were common-knowledge to all who knew him.
And, as said teenager was traversing London's darkened, rain-slicked streets with a reckless disregard for the state of his bike or his passenger's spine, in a desperate attempt to prevent the death of Sherlock's niece, this could hardly be considered as the best of times . . .
The brakes howled as Banjo's dirt bike skidded to a halt at a curb, the battered Ford Fiesta following them screeching to a stop and missing them by all of six inches.
As the occupants of the Fiesta scrambled out, Sherlock tore the helmet from his head and gasped as the cool air hit him.
"She must be clos-" He began but he froze as a sound sliced through the air.
A gunshot like a distant crack of thunder.
Then a desperate