Streets of gold chpt.4Streets of gold chpt.44 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Streets of Gold
"You're way too young to fall apart...
The house was empty. Quiet. Dark.
Just how I liked it.
But I trusted Tom on his word, he'd be back. I know he would be. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy to let you into his heart then forget you... He seems different. In a good, kind way. Not the bad, bitchy, douche bag way. If he was like that, I wouldn't even have gotten near him, much less kissed him.
Hell, did I really kiss him? A boy? I've never even kissed a girl! But a boy? My God... I've changed too much just by meeting him.
I sighed deeply and sat down in front of the couch yeah, you heard me. In front of it. I stared down at the floor for the longest time. What was I thinking when I asked him over? What the hell was I even letting run through my damn mind. Ugh... But what if I was right, what I thought of last night? What if he is cheating on someone, with me? Of all people in Germany, Europe, the WORLD. Me? Why me? Am I that special? Am I reall
Streets of gold chpt.5Streets of gold chpt.54 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Streets of Gold
"You're way too young to fall apart...
I was still laying on my bed sobbing, holding my right arm as tight as I could so the bleeding would stop.
My face was stained with tears and the usual black eyeliner I wear was running down as well. I felt horrible. Tattered. Torn. Smashed.
My head pounded as I sat up, still clutching my upper right arm. I looked over at the mirror across my room, seeing the fist-sized bruise that now made up my entire left cheek. I then looked down under my hand, on my arm. The same, deep, long wound was dragged into my skin. Just enough I could faintly see the muscle of my bicep. I hate my life. So fucking much. Why didn't he just get it over with and kill me? No. Instead, he makes me suffer. That stupid lying bitch makes me suffer like... Like... Like a kicked kitten.
Actually, I was kicked. Not a kitten, but I was kicked. My right side actually was pulsing and cringing itself with pain, along my ribcage. How did I not
July Haikuathoni.July Haikuathon6 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
First day sun
heavy in the sky;
and raw crimson skin,
yet no reprieve from
just like you.
Cold hook lies
where your key should hang;
abandoned in your
Days pass by,
spiders lay silk traps
through our bed.
refreshing pools of
Full moon breathes
kiss of life.
with cheap, easy thrills
filters through ash blinds
and tired thoughts.
Sweet cream tea;
of veiled fields.
in lustful meadows;
Sky blue robes;
shared rights of passage.
you're my breath.
in faded station
heart's not home.
and airborne journeys;
dreams of you.
The Shameless, Blameless, NamelessThe Shameless, Blameless, Nameless3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Hope lasting impression,
Pulling at hair, gasping for air.
Scratches in skin, the sweet scent of sin.
Each look in the eye, another piece dies.
Tangled in thread, a fresh hole to the head.
The morning masked, another demon for the past.
Leaving the mess,
A cold empty wretch,
A hopeless case, wrapped in a beautiful face.
A sneer and a glare,
Over skin taut and fair..
Ocean blue skies, hid under black clouded eyes,
"Oh well, I tried."
Dear VictorI will not apologize because I knew youDear Victor5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when your own ghosts turned their backs to your weeping
or because I thought I could love the bird-shaped organ
calling from inside your chest
I clipped its stubborn wings
when I realized I had been wrong.
I am not sorry for it.
But listen, Victor:
I'm sorry I remember a time
when we were beautiful, our bodies
made luminous by the bitter light collected in our lungs
the atmosphere shaking violently as it
into our displaced skeletons.
We could not recall
our own skin.
I'm sorry I called out for you
in the dark
when no one else was there to hear,
each shaken syllable making a latticework of stars
to gate the fraying night. I stayed up until dawn
renaming the constellations after you.
The bright-eyed moon watched me
as a mad fever rattled her bones.
And Victor, I'm sorry that I could not stand
the fire keening in my throat,
sorry that I exhaled the shells of empty suns
and saw their edges perforate the thick sh
ParadoxIf I wasn't such a man I'd be closer to being one right now.Paradox5 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
life and death RIP Peter SteeleRIP Peter Steele (January 4, 1962 April 14, 2010)life and death RIP Peter Steele4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Just close your eyes
and bite your pillow
I`ll be on the other side
Feel your dark power
so strong and different
I can`t change that
I`ll destroy the border
like broken glass.
Twilight-Uncensored Ch.6ReviewTwilight-Uncensored Ch.6Review4 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
Review of Chapter Six
By Stephenie Meyer
So after many long days of keeping this thing as far from my physical person as possible, I must return to complete my duty. What is my duty you ask? Killing myself very slowly in the worst possible way ever. So, in order to do this task, I grab Sheepie and the copy of Twilight I borrowed from the bookstore with no intention of returning. [No, I'm dead serious, I may have apprehended that book without legal rights to do so.]
For a brief [and we mean brief] recap:
Bella Swan moves to Forks.
Meets Edward Sexy Pants.
Nothing of importance happens.
There. You're caught up.
I mean, I could delve into unnecessary detail about what happened in the five previous torture sessions I've put myself through for your sick entertainment, but then you'd just be lazy assholes. Go read the previous five chapters, you bastards.
I'm just kidding, I love you...somewhat.
So, I begin this chapter with Princess Bella reading Macbeth like the
The LegitThe LegitThe Legit5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The basic teachings of Stapley and Fleiss.
1. THOU SHALT NOT BE STUPID.
2. For if thou chooseth to be stupid thou wilt be cast away from people of more awesome than thyself and thou wilt not be liked as much.
3. And if thou chooseth to continue to be stupid, thou must suffereth the natural consequences which may include finding thyself in bad situations and not liking thyself as much as other people don't like thee.
4. If thou wishest to not be stupid, then thou wilt be greatly blessed to have more awesome and have friends of awesome which will greatly increase your awesome.
5. Awesome is important to have because if thou have not any awesome of any sort then thou art stupid and stupidity is frowned upon by most societies, hence why it is mentionethed here.
6. Thou shalt go out into the world and meet many dozens of awesome people and make thyself the friend of everyone. And it shall be most excellent.
7. For if thou wishest to increase thine own awesome and th
NewbornI.Newborn4 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
There was a girl who was crooked in all the wrong places. Her knees were knobbly and pale, scabbed and thin in the morning sun; her heart misshapen, her brain foggy. Everything about her was defective, a time bomb. She was rotten on the inside. Erratic breathing would disappear into the thick mist of a hot shower as she tried to wash away her imperfections, and when that didn't work, she tried to snip them away.
December 15th, 2009 was the first time. She just couldn't help herself and neither could anyone else so she hurt herself instead. Pain was suddenly the most amazing sensation she'd ever experienced, or maybe just the only sensation she could experience. Red was suddenly her favorite color. She didn't think she would ever look back. It was wonderful.
This is when it began: the secret that now defined her life. She wrote poetry, so much poetry - the words were practically leaking out of her ears, clouding up her vision. She wanted to believe that no
truth is, I don't wanna love you.Is it really fear?truth is, I don't wanna love you.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Till my blood runs silver, pure mercury.
I know little of coherency.
Today feels like chalk and phlegm and pheromones.
I remain a retching mound of meat.
An undulating mass of muscles and organs.
When I thought of you I thought of flesh.
Sensation and numbness,
breathing while holding my breath
alive but always dead
I saw red, maraschino streaks.
Lines of flamingo pink creased across the surface.
Then I thought of flesh and blood and feeling
and for a second,
I couldn't hate you.
Is this fear?
zeroi sworezero3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i would never number the poems
i wrote about myself because that
would be like ticking off the days
until my breakdown;
i was a moth, unapologetically throwing myself
at any gleam of hope; wasting my wings
on industrial promises
colors always felt much more
appropriate for the purple boiling
beneath my heart and the pallid
purposelessness of my head,
but i was born into a colorless world--
no one sees me behind the metallic scars
of my skin and iron grating of my voice against
the grain; no one sees me as more than
gray regret or monochrome mistakes,
no one sees me but
all i ever wanted was for a
fallen god with feathered heels
to believe in me: to pray upon
the monuments i built for
broken dreams and to baptize me
in his tainted tears,
i just want him to be real. more
than anything, i want to be real, i want
to be more than an imaginary friend
to various mental limitations; i want
to trade my liquid skin [evaporating]
for a chance to be
i am a moth and you are the lighthouse
The Day the Music DiedWhen I was ten years old, my mother did my hair, her long, slender fingers gently raking my scalp as she pulled it tightly back. The final snap of the silk ribbon was like a period at the end of a sentence, an awfully final sound for such a bright autumn morning. My eyes watered, the tiny ringlets drawn so tightly back they became straight; and I stood, straightening my dress. This one was my favorite, and it had been sitting in the back of my closet waiting for this day. It was a lavender flower print with long sleeves, the gentle folds of the skirt hemming off just above my knobby, skinned knees. I permitted my mother to one last harshly planted kiss on the cheek and rushed excitedly down the stairs, the morning sunlight dancing across the oak stairs as my sock-clad feet tiptoed into the kitchen. He stood with his back to me, and the aroma cloud of the freshly roasted coffee burst in my face. I stood in the doorway, silently waiting for him to notice my morning vigil. He hummed as heThe Day the Music Died5 years ago in Profiles More Like This
Indefinite Tidesshe speaks in vinegar riddlesIndefinite Tides3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and bides her time in shipwrecked
ticking off days for the boy
with stormy eyes who promised
he'd be back in a season or
two. he, who was
crafted from the leftover bits of the moon
and the meandering sky with runaway
stars lurking deep beneath his ribcage,
waiting to fall whenever he spoke
like a saint, whose divine sacraments
parted land and birthed lives; like a
sorcerer whose words launched a
thousand sunken ships but
now, she pops pills like reminders,
stabilizers that last 4-6 hours
depending on her ability to forget
and she's lost in herself
again, among faltering brainwaves
and wavering heartbeats and the
whimpering echo of her own worst fears
like: he's gone and he took all
that's good of me with him,
my weighted bones and my bated breath
and my lingering hope, too
that thing with feathers that
cries when it's plucked clean,
skeletal and bare and smooth
enough for me to rest my weary head on.
see, the ocean cracked and regurgitated
KonjukuYou think you are a pebble.Konjuku3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
That's not the most romantic thing to say to someone, so you'll have to forgive my clumsiness. You think you are a pebble. That you have been worn down and eroded to the point where all corners have been smoothed out. That you have allowed the awkward elbows and ankle bones, the stutter and the scars, to be rubbed out. That you've let them wear you down until you are no longer abrasive when you come into direct contact with what they expect you to be.
You are not a pebble.
You are not small or part of a greater pattern. You are not disposable, at the mercy of Poisedon's temperate shifts. You are not the sum of the parts around you. You are not a pebble.
You are soil; and some may say that that's not the most kind thing to say to someone. People will walk all over you. By that, I mean that you will rise to new heights and be the beginning of something beyond what we have now. Like a sharp cliff you will become the platform that others have to build from
OIt permeates everythingO3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It is the cells. It is the cell
in which I am rotting.
The sheen over my eye,
the flesh I rip from the side of my nail,
the teeth I grind it with.
The tears, blood and sweat.
It is below carbon and hydrogen,
embedded in the air I breathe.
It is sleeping under my fingernails,
It is the undeniable, genetic, atomic truth.
Oh, my oxygen permeates everything.
It is the cell.
tense intentionsiv.tense intentions3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you lurk behind my sternum and
lace my uneasy breaths with
doubt and self-deprecation, I
can't breathe. I
guess I didn't need to sleep.
I am smudged in between the lies,
an asymmetric astrology chart
mapping misguided dreams
when you make a wish on me,
I sell away another piece
(I wish I were my own)
it was always me, it was always
the blood clotting in my heart
and words coagulating on my
tongue – I swallow cyanide to
vomit up my narcissistic tendencies
it was nothing that ever mattered
when the dust settled and you
could finally remember my name
(and you settled down into my bones
deciding I was hollow enough for a stay)
I will never leave
but I warned you my poetic dedications
were never pretty
alas, i cannot swim.and you over thought things. you stared at the concrete, and the cars, and the way the light reflected off the passing green car. you imagined how it would feel if it hit you. they're just thoughts though, right? nothing more. you tell yourself, "everyone thinks these things sometimes."alas, i cannot swim.3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
you take an extra long sip from your coffee cup, seeing if you can wash your thoughts away.
you spill your coffee on your shirt. a chain reaction, a subtle change of scenery; you don't exactly know what to conclude from this event. you reach into your pocket to pull out your white handkerchief, only it's red now. your hand is bleeding. you don't remember this happening, but then again, you don't remember much of anything. you make your way towards the stretch of the city. you try to let its stomach swallow you whole. is this you? are you growing old? you can't tell if you're dotted with dandelions or soaked up in the city's sweat. you are no longer the man you thought you were, & this can only mea
awake from my dream state.it was a leap of faithawake from my dream state.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but i wish someone had pushed me
so i had someone to blame
brotheryour voice has depressedbrother3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like the karst out front,
pitted and wounded.
the other day i was guiding
your hand around the first
letter of your name,
the slants that direct
attention in repetition,
tailed by lines
hacked as if in a cell with
only your nails and numerals;
stroked like a match
(mother had a clever way
with pinning words to our
it was easy enough
but you were never skilled with
i would find you with the double-
you fitted between your teeth,
the ill all that would be left.
and now, i see you've
found yourself again, unguided. there are bodies
in your bed and they seem
to know you well
enough, reminding you
that your letters are all still
there, and you collect them
in her voice
like hymns of belief.
you're a man-
the substitution of the alphabet
at your fingers in forms of
lace and brunet frills-
even if for a moment.
WelcomeI'm ready for a romance to ravage my heart and tear apart myWelcome3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dusty limbs, I'm waiting for someone to take my breath and
never give it back; I'm prepared to sell all I was for a trip
somewhere new - beyond the paper mistakes I sailed away
down the river long ago. (even rocks and leaden thoughts
won't let the truth sink.)
I left my being somewhere under a waning summer sun
when the trees hummed melodies of moving on;
my soul still stays there, porous and pining and
lost. Dying stars don't lead home.
it's more than just losing
your words, it's losing
I am someone who mourns Sunday morning for another lost
week. I am weak, I am of mice and the men who cower
beneath compromisable truths. I have already
made more mistakes than loose fingers in
two days and a little breathing room.
I am not special. I am the worst
kind of normal, and further
more, I am sorry.
I am me.
trembling knees.don't give up now.trembling knees.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i know that sometimes the floor seems more comfortable when you're curled in the tightest ball you can muster, or that your knees don't work quite right. you wonder if you'll ever stop aching in a way you can't ever describe, and i'm sorry to tell you that you won't ever learn to describe that. you'll get better. you'll find peace.
cause he's not fucking worth it.
and i know its more than that, i know its all piled up on your shoulders, and tangled your stomach and lungs and entire insides into a knot, and that you never were co-ordinated enough to untangle even your necklaces. let alone your internal organs. but keep drinking the tea, it won't solve it, but it will keep you warm enough that death can't touch you.
listen to the stupid man, don't let them take you alive.
yes it hypocritical, yes it makes you feel small and insignificant and fucking useless. but just shut up and listen. if it worked but then, it will work now. in a years time you'll have him on your sk
Expectantwe're waitingExpectant3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
emaciated souls fall among the
promises of a better day,
memories drape like skeletons,
and we sleep, hands together,
to try and be pious prior to death.
we forgot how long it takes to take
a life, as we write novels about heroes
and purity that we're too afraid to call
myths. the art of distraction is a
nasty one, at that.
the clouds are rending, it's always
hurricane season when the trees cry and
the oceans mourn. the heavens are
caving on top of us as the children
dance in the rain. purged clean,
washed out, they were expecting to be
free- but there are still spiders in their
throats, crawling through their voices,
and holes in their heads for the breeze
to whistle through.
they're the lucky ones, though, at the
end of the day. their vocabulary
only consists of the word please,
while we have a million ways to say
our only wishes are made to make the
horror corrode away
we're waiting to be saved