PhotographSix year old Rose decided that today would be the day she asked her grandmother about the painting.Photograph2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It always held her interest, magic upon a canvas. Perhaps it was the rich colors that shimmered under the perfect lighting. It could have been the girl captured within the painting. Maybe it was all of those things, but she had an idea on what it truly was—the eyes.
They were created by the tip of a brush, but carried more life than anything she had ever seen. Color of ice blue, they carried familiarity, warming the inside of her chest. The more she stared, the stronger it felt.
Rose entered her grandmother's living room to see her standing motionless below the giant painting, which stretched over four feet on the wall. Every day Rose spent the afternoon over here, her grandmother would stare at that painting, not a single world falling past her wrinkled lips.
Rose tugged on her grandmother's sleeve and asked," Grandma, how come you look at that painting every day?"
Her grandmother looke
SlicedSliced4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Blood, bright as cherries, traveled down my arm.
The incision was quick. The knife barely broke the surface but the damage showed. Though the small bathroom huddled in a blanket of darkness, the liquid shined bright, dancing. Drops stained the floor by my feet. Seconds later I was sitting in it.
The cut, so delicate, hardly stung. The knobs of the sink's bottom cabinet did more damage, digging into my back. The knife's sting was what I needed. It's the proof that I finally have control over something in my life.
Why don't you keep your mouth shut, girl?
Do something good with your life and disappear?
A strangled cry rose to my lips, but I held it back. Crying showed weakness, and I couldn't afford that anymore. I was done.
The knife pulled back from my wrist, leaving behind a stain of red-- only for show. This next one is what counts, it's my final act. Everyone will finally understand what they've done. After all these years of torture they'll get what's coming to them. I'll show the
together again.Whenever there was a fire pittogether again.4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
we would dance in fire
and burn in hell together.
(Nothing ever mattered to me
as long as I was with you.
It was no secret that you owned my heart.)
You always dreamed of dark things
that gave you nightmares every night.
You always said that nightmares were your best friend
because they inspired you
and made you into a monster.
(You must've stabbed yourself fifty times
in your dreams,
but whenever you woke up screaming
you would always be alive.)
(I must've told you
to believe in yourself fifty times.
I'll burn in hell with you
so we could be together again.)
Behind my sleeves.This,Behind my sleeves.4 years ago in Emotional More Like This
this is for the girl
behind her sleeves
the freezing of lonely nights
the breathing of desperation
the pain of forced smiles
I love you-s.
This goes for the girl
that holds on
onto those almost - broken strings,
while she waits,
for those to break
she also waits,
for someone to
s a v e h e r
This is for every word
put into her [twisted] mind.
For every look,
up and down
of her fragile body...
This is for the everyday struggle
of finding the light
(that one that you find at the end of the tunnel)
Because she only wants
to break free,
free from her demons (there are so many)
those that tell her,
that what she sees in the mirror
is what she really is.
This is for the girl
that is tired of broken hearts
and wants to see
some broken smiles.
because everyone has its heart broken
but no one really knows
how it is, to see yourself
in that mirror, and see that
the only thing you had beautiful
MasqueradeHidden faces all around...Masquerade2 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
No Identities shall be found
Music notes ignite like a flame
People dance with no shame
For with masks, faces are sealed
No fear that identities shall be revealed
For within a masquerade
All secrets shall be saved
I'm TryingI'm Trying.I'm Trying3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
What more do you want from me?
Can't you see I'm trying my hardest?
I'm trying to make something of myself.
I know nothing is promised and I may not be the fastest.
I know my attempts have not resulted in any form of wealth.
What more can I do to prove to you that this is what I want?
I can see you are finding it difficult to get past this.
You think there is more I can do to help myself.
You can see that I'm struggling; I never tried to mask this.
I want you to understand that this is something I must do for myself.
But all that I will ask for you is,
I hope that one day you will believe in me.
Believe in everything that I am trying to accomplish.
You don't have to necessarily agree with me.
But I promise that one day both you and the world will be astonished.
And on that day hopefully you will be able to see the drive in me.
Hopefully you will be able to see the fight in me.
Hopefully you will see the person that I am trying to be...come.
And all I will want you to say is
Theatre of LiesI could hear the sounds of people entering,Theatre of Lies2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
As I took a peek from behind the closed red curtains.
Watching the, once again massive, audience taking their seats.
I could hear them saying that there was no place like the theatre.
The theatre truly was like no other place on earth -
It is the only place where tragedy, and comedy could meet in the form of entertainment.
That was only allowed thanks to it's false nature.
The stories, heroes and worlds
Were nothing more than scripts, actors and sets.
Thinking that, I was pulled back by the director,
Who constantly asked me about how I was doing.
It only mattered to him because I was an actor -
Pulled by strings to form the story the way he had envisioned it.
Then again to him as well as to all of the others,
The theatre was their home as well as their life.
As for me it was nothing more than a fairy tale of lies.
After all I was an actor -
And actors were gifted liar's so much so that they are paid to do so.
All so they may p
BetrayalCracks slowly growBetrayal4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Patterns dance, almost beautiful
Ironic, isn't it?
How the design is over my heart
Only a day ago
It was whole
It started it all
Tears sting, they burn
Because the one I held close
Was the one who revealed their thorns
Writing Tournament 2013 ~ Round ICome one and come all, raise your pen take part in this grand literary battle! There are subscriptions, points, and more to be won! You all have until February 19th to enter.Writing Tournament 2013 ~ Round I2 years ago in Personal More Like This
The time is nigh for the Third Annual Writers--club Literature Tournament!
This is a tournament for all writers welcoming prose and poetry! It will be a grand competition spanning three rounds of literary challenge! First of all, you must be willing to write for each of the rounds over the coming months.
There will be judging at the end of each round and those who progress to the next round will have to write a new piece for the next round's theme. A new participants list with the surviving writers will be released upon the announcement of the new round.
To sign up, join the group as a member and add this blog entry to your favorites. From there, feel free to submit your entry to the Tournament Round 1 Folder.
Round I Theme: Immin
A Writer's Romance-"You're a writer, aren't you?"A Writer's Romance2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Those were the first words she spoke to me.
At the time, I was packing up, getting ready to leave the library.
I had another long day, spending the majority of my free time at the library, loitering around on my laptop,
Staring at my open wordpad as I contemplated about what to write about.
Just as I was readying to leave this girl, out of nowhere, asks me if I'm a writer.
-"I like to think I am."-
That's the only answer I could give her.
I had taken up writing as a hobby,
But no matter how hard I tried, all of my work felt underwhelming.
Could I get you to help me write a poem?
If that is too much trouble than anything else will do too."-
She starred at me with her big blue eyes,
Long golden hair,
Holding her hands together at her chest -
She was quite pretty at that,
Making me question why such a person would come up a complete stranger such as myself, and ask for something so absurd.
-"Why do you need something like that?"-
Magic TricksShe's wearing a black dress with white lace and fishnet stockings that complement her fair-skinned legs. Her hair is done up in an intricate bun, her face coated with exaggerated makeup—white foundation, red lipstick, dark purple eye shadow, rosy blush. Monsieur Dubois said he wanted her to look as though she had popped out of a Tim Burton film. "I want her to have flair," he'd said. As it turns out, his idea of "flair" is an unbalanced, ghoulish look. I can't say I dislike it, though. Grace could make any look work.Magic Tricks2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
That may sound cheesy, and I confess that it probably is, but it is the absolute truth.
I watch her twirl around for Monsieur Dubois' approval, an awkward smile on her face as she does so, and my stomach tightens, the letter in my hand saying "Meet me in the basement after the show" crumbling in my fist. I feel like a spark plug. There's an electric current surging through me. Unstoppable energy. I'm going to tell her tonight.
I promised myself I would.
She catches me eyei
ResearchSome writers frequently delete browsing history.Research2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Home AloneHome Alone.Home Alone3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Everything becomes so much more dark and sinister whenever you are alone.
You're constantly on guard and overcautious just to answer your mobile phone.
Any slight disturbance or eerie creak and you begin to panic.
Retreating back into your secure settee conjuring up the most dramatic
Scenarios that have virtually no possibility of ever occurring.
But that never seems to stop the cogs from continuously turning.
You fasten all the windows and arm yourself with kitchen based artillery.
And man your position surveying the living room as if you were a member of the military.
Increasing the volume on your television set to distract and block out the noises.
The local neighbors walk past your window but you class them as unfamiliar voices.
You can't help but be on edge until you have some sort of company.
But these common trains of thoughts are expected and customary.
I thought the same until I heard this one story about a girl called Anne.
She was in a similar situation; she was
The Tapping Next DoorFor most of my life I had lived in the same apartment. It was on the third floor and overlooked the busy city. It was also directly next to another apartment, which means you could hear everything going on behind the right-hand side bedroom wall.The Tapping Next Door2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I would occasionally hear faint noises coming from behind the wall. There would be scraping, which I assumed was the sound of a chair being pulled along a wooden floor. Sometimes voices could be heard. I guessed they were either from the residents living there or from a TV or radio. And then there was the banging.
The banging was a rare occurrence, but whenever it happened it really annoyed me. Why wouldn't it? It always seemed to happen when I was trying to sleep and considering my bed was right against the wall where it was loudest, I was usually awoken by it.
It was loud and frantic usually, like someone trying to get attention. I always thought it was a young child doing its best to piss off its parents, but I was never sure. Mostly becaus
and her name was tragedythe very first moment you realizeand her name was tragedy3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that nothing is [ever] yours,
that's when reality hits.
i wish i was buried,
and miles of reality,
unreal (for all of you)
somewhere where me
and my mind,
where my demons
are angels and my
angels are demons
and i don't confuse
a place in which
a disorder is a
it's not a
not a sad
not a sad
where love is
and it just happens
to be r e a l.
because you are used
to hear that true
love is forever
but the truth is there is
no truth and
you want the truth,
but you love
(hate)the lies you're
constantly saying (to yourself)
truth is we just exist
and we just breathe
and we just break
and we just live to then fade
and disappear to then
be forgotten just like you
forgot to care and to
The Water DanceOh, my dearest cloud–The Water Dance2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
she unfurled herself at the
feet of the mountain.
SilenceSilence.Silence3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
A language that everyone speaks.
But one that we are not able to hear.
A place where emotions and abandonment meet.
Of which we are forced to confront our buried fears.
There are no more lessons that the agents of society can teach.
An infinite amount of words expressed through a solitary tear.
People dish out advice but never practise what they preach.
A language with the same traits as a hopeful prayer.
A society where people judge others, as they sit back in their self proclaimed seats.
They can no longer understand you and they aware of the darkness that draws near.
Many lives led but we are all accompanied by the same drumbeat
Maybe you don't want to be heard but people will forcefully lend an ear.
Lips fused together, unint
PerfectionPerfection.Perfection3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
She lodges her fingers down her throat.
Clasping onto the wall as she recklessly chokes.
She reinserts her fingers back in forcibly.
Deliriously trying to make her body thinner.
She swoons and slumps to the floor nauseously
As she attempts to regurgitate her dinner.
Her throat aches as she screeches out coarsely,
With her hand covering the image in the mirror.
Her head now rests on the on the rim of the toilet seat.
She wants to eat but she just has not got in her.
She desperately begins to scream out inaudibly.
Her mouth now tastes of something pulpy and bitter.
She examines the red color of the fluid cautiously.
Realizing that she has become too focused on her figure.
Her friend then knocks on the door thoughtfully.
She shouts out, "I'm okay I don't need a baby sitter."
Her friend continues to knock and waits outside awkwardly
Replying, "You promised me, you said that you are not a quitter"
The tap begins to run as she disguises her cough distortedly.
She knows her friend