helium balloon lungsi. You write me notes scribbled on sandpaperhelium balloon lungs3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and I run them across my face,
scraping away layers of saccharine skin,
ii. Your eyes, made of cookie crumbs,
I'd like to dip them in milk
and watch them melt,
smoking like dry ice,
iii. You churn my childish heart
in circles and in circles
till I slip into cardiac arrest,
iv. I just remembered that time you
wrapped your arms around me like vines
and held me until you couldn't,
v. Oh what I'd give for a pair of
fortune cookie lungs,
exhaling self-fulfilling prophecy,
vi. I've been fishing for horoscopes,
pasting them onto my bedroom walls
and on the backside of my skin,
hoping that they tell me that
today is the day you will be mine,
vii. But your soul is made up of sins
and I do believe in forgiveness,
but forgive me, for I cannot forget.
DaughterI have seen my father on his knees,Daughter3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
his hands yanking at his hair
as he cried and convulsed.
He said, "I promise you, it's not worth it,"
and looked up at me
half-empty pill bottle clutched to my chest
with red-rimmed, sullen eyes.
I had never wanted him
to ruin himself for me,
to get caught up in my drool and sleepless nights,
my mud-caked ankles and monthly bleeding,
my hormones and dramas.
I brought him to his knees
made him look at me and say, "Please, don't.
It's never worth it."
The sound and the silenceThe sound of a heart breaking is not like glass shatteringThe sound and the silence3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it's a loud, roaring scream of despair
and then silence
for the longest time, all there is, is silence.
But slowly, slowly a beat returns.
Faint, unsteady and fragile.
Like the tentative flutterings of a baby bird's wings, as it learns to fly.
So afraid of falling.
But slowly, slowly, the beat gets louder.
Like a drummer in a marching band.
Nervous and hopeful.
The sound of a heart beating again is like a soldier being welcomed home.
Covered in scars, but happy again.
Ready to face whatever lies ahead.
Saltit's one of thoseSalt3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
goldfish bowl empty afternoons,
gills grasping for water,
spilling over my aquatic limbs,
so thin boned and cold-blooded,
swordfish lips so sworn to
i cannot see a way out of drowning
in all of this
my fins lie still
as does my two-chambered heart,
you never actually did need any bate,
i hooked myself,
then released my own salty ghost,
you only just laid me out to dry,
gutted and seizing.
Anatomy of loveA broken arm is nothing more than a bone,Anatomy of love3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You put a cast on it and the healing is on.
But a heart... a heart is attached to your soul
Could a simple cast ever do the job?
Two hands we have with ten fingers to feel,
Yet even half of them can do that still.
But a heart... a heart is very sensitive to touch
Could a damaged heart feel love as such?
Our self, our sense of being is there in our brain,
You can take one side away and be you again.
But a heart... a heart cannot be broken in two
Could a broken heart ever feel for you?
An ever growing knowledge of how we work
An illusion of power and security for what we know
But for love we still have no cure
And a broken heart pain must endure.
Please Hate Me As I Do...I felt as though my feeling of happiness would stay along in me,Please Hate Me As I Do...3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Though now that it has faded once again I only wish to bleed,
Cartooned a little wish, to wish upon a scar,
My skin brings only pain as blade pierces through my heart,
I hate you for the loneliness,
I hate you for the wish to be eliminated with your fist,
I hate that I feel judgement when you are so fickle,
I hate that I am who I am and not dead yet...
My face has a gaze, one full of emotion, one filled with eyes that look up with hope and,
Everytime I gaze upon those that are happy, my eyes drift away and it feels so maddening,
I cannot be wanted, cannot be held,
I wanna kiss the 12 gauge lying atop of my shelf,
I hate you for all that I can be,
Hate you because you are not me,
I hate you because I'm standing in the mirror,
And I hate you for making me fear,
There is salt in the wound, and there is not enough for me to feel,
Make me wish, make me see, make me feel just what is real,
I hate you,
Unfinished - A Portrait's PoemThe orange sky bleeds blue, ontoUnfinished - A Portrait's Poem3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
skeletal husks disguised as trees,
limbs lost, and searching,
barren of leaves.
It is strange to think
that I feel alone,
They wave to me, please,
chop those lonely trees down.
These golden-frame walls,
they used to hold
life and love and hope and breath,
and may yet,
should these bleak brush strokes change.
But what fruit will grow,
when the stem is cut?
My father has long since withered,
and I am not yet complete.
Snip, snip, snap my tendons.
Sip, sip, sap the blood from my veins.
I am at the mercy of your eyes and mind.
No, please don't look away.
I am not yet complete.
God's jealousyFly with me, my angel,God's jealousy3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and lend me your wings.
Make God blind
with your shiny feathers
and close my mouth
with a burning kiss.
In the Business; Chapter 1I had always slept face down. When I was young it had worried my dad. More than once he thought I had stopped breathing, smothered by the pillow, or mattress. Not that his fears were unfounded; more than once I had almost smothered myself by falling asleep on something that wasn't very breathable. So as I returned to consciousness, the first indication that there was something wrong was that I was on my back. The second indicator were the bars digging into my back. I suppose the gag and handcuffs were a pretty good sign of trouble too.In the Business; Chapter 13 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Warily I opened my eyes and gazed blearily around the room. After blinking a couple of times, the dark fuzzy splotches organised themselves into recognisable objects. I was in a dark, sparsely decorated room. The only things in the room besides the cage I was currently locked in was a stack of battered cardboard boxes in the corner, an ancient chair that had half it's stuffing hanging out, and a desktop computer sitting on a desk that was propped up on a
JealousyThe fact that countless eyes are staring directly at me doesn't really scare me, not even those who can no longer see anything. My face, my clothes, my skin, all covered in thick blood, which once belonged to the dead before me, warms me up and clothes me, turning me into the morbid union they were never able to provide. All those corpses, drilled by my passionate bullets, agonized slowly at my feet, even though they are not important for me. They never were. But they were the most important people in the world to one man, the one who was still alive, in front of me. It is he who ought to suffer, and cry, and grieve, begging to be the next. The dead's blood also covers him, but also his own blood runs from his knees and fists, with which he keeps hitting the dirty, rocky ground.Jealousy3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I still have one last bullet, and it's planned to penetrate the skull that belongs to the "Love of His Life", making him suffer for eternity in his loneliness. I can't help laughing before the idea of seeing hi
PlatitudeShe slumped down in a chair opposite him and declared "I don't think I can do this."Platitude10 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He looked up and asked "Why not?"
"It's hard, and it takes too much time, and - are you even listening?" she finished, seeing that he had returned to the piece of paper he was writing on.
"Hmm? Oh, yes. I was just waiting for you to finish so I could offer you a platitude to cheer you up."
She laughed at that. "A platitude, huh? 'A journey starts with a single step'. Something like that?"
He smiled. "Yeah, that seems about right."
"Come on, you can do better than that!" she challenged. "Come up with an original platitude. I dare you."
He sighed, and put down his pen. "Fine," he said. He took her gently by the shoulders and led her to a wall. "Take a step forward."
She did so.
"Now take another step forward, but this time only half the size."
She did so.
"Good. Keep doing that, but keep halving your step each time."
She did so, and he returned to his paper. He seemed oblivious to the fact that she was b
i l o v e y o uii l o v e y o u3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Tumbles slowly down the curve of my bottom lip onto your tongue, where you savor the sensuous taste.
Dances up my spine and runs down my arms onto your shoulders and up to your neck, where you're so ticklish you can't help but stifle a giggle and shiver at the sensation.
Infuses into the air in my lungs as I exhale and surrounds us both as you inhale it like smoke,
creating a high like no other.
A Mathematical Proof Of HopeA prime number is a number divisible only by itself and one. For example, the number five can only be divided by five or by one. If you divide it by any other number, you won't get an integer (a whole number).A Mathematical Proof Of Hope10 months ago in Philosophical More Like This
Needless to say, not every number is a prime number. Most of them aren't.
However, there are an infinite amount of them. There are an infinite amount of numbers, and because prime numbers are a subset of ordinary numbers there are just as many of them.
Think about that, for a moment. There are less prime numbers than ordinary numbers, and yet both of them are infinite. A paradox. By its very definition, infinity cannot vary in size, so there cannot be a bigger infinity or a smaller infinity. Numbers are both infinite and containing infinity. And yet this is the case.
There are, however, a finite quantity of people. A little over seven billion, at the moment.
Except that, in a sense, there are considerably more people than that. Perhaps not an infinite supply, but close enough tha
HomecomingThe dead do not need a homecomingHomecoming3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
or an invitation -
they do not wait at the door
to be let in
or cross the threshold
with crossed fingers
and a prayer.
They do not wear their best clothes -
no poplin suits
or brocade skirts
to catch upon the lintels
or dust the marble floors.
They will not dine
upon your crusts
or marrow bones or salted eggs
nor steal the heavy coins
from out beneath the rugs .
They'll only tarry
in the hall
and make soft moan
amidst the wind
wondering why you turned
their faces to the wall
and put out
your best china.
Tenderi amTender3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a taxidermy fawn,
existing yet comatose,
my soul flickers within a lantern,
releasing a smoke with the scent of
pheromones and vanilla verbena,
but your necromantic whispers
linger in my ears,
so sweet and succulent as peaches,
give me breath,
filling my lungs upon a full moon,
oh i'd so like to take a bite of you,
you and your jungle bred lips,
tropical to taste,
organic to kiss,
jaguar, leopard spots
cover your skin
in patterns painted by the forest,
then a low, throaty growl
slips from your jaw,
haunting me like a past mistake,
but you are wild bamboo
and the sound of my heart beating,
palpitating against soft winters,
pulsing with the rhythm of summer,
for some reason you suit me
in all seasons,
and like gravity
you hold me
so no, i cannot escape you,
for no one can bypass
an autumnal equinox
or an eclipse of the sun,
you only continue to
kindle the flames
you used my wooden ribs to make
and i truly love
that searing sensation in my gut,
Reflections of AnotherReflections of Another3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The dark. A cold, looming kind of dark that seeps into your bones, it infects and attacks like the worst of disease.
The cool ray of the flashlight, the one she grips in her hand as if her only ally. In this house, the one in which none ever dare enter, she warily explores with wide eyes.
Who says you're the only one?
A mirror leaning against an old, musty wall in an abandoned room from uncounted decades ago- a slight ringing, a beckoning sound. Brushing tender fingers against withering wood, she wanders through the decaying doorway to a room with a single shattered window. A hint, a tiny flash of sunlight illuminates the mirror in an otherwise dull room. Here, it smells of dust and age. She makes her way carefully, stepping lightly on barefoot feet on the cool tiles underneath- they told her not to come, but she's not the sort to listen.
There's a soft crackling in the bare walls as she makes her wall across the deserted floor, no man's land. She hesitates, and waits, then step after
HallucinationsHe buries his head in the neck of a girl, who smells of flowers,Hallucinations2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
her aroma plagues his inhalations
like the smoke of weeping willow trees,
now as he exhales, he exhales kisses into
the long unending lines curving around her eyes like crescent moons,
for she is but a shy reflection of the sun
and he holds onto her like a shadow;
grasping at clouds with the outline of her silhouette,
using her as a tube of Vaseline, placing her over his eyes at night,
oh but then the daylight washes over him like bathwater,
waking him into a crisp clean air
where she cannot rid him of his wrinkles or internal emptiness,
because she only comes to life in the space where the subconscious reigns,
so he continues to live beneath layers of illusions,
building daydreams like skyscrapers,
breathing simply to sleep.
Soakeda rainbowSoaked3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a silent reminder of
all the nights
she spent in
Death of a Queen The Queen of Olomar had always been a stunning beauty, but in death her loveliness was magnified. Her face was white and pristine like a porcelain doll, framed by the golden, perfect tangles of her hair. Her crystal eyes were closed, peaceful, as if dreams, not death, had taken her, and her pink lips were parted, a permanent mold of her calm and final breath. But it was her warmth more than anything that made her so lovely in death, for although life had slipped from her ethereal form, the warmth of her heart remained, and her body could not grow cold.Death of a Queen3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
This was the tale that the people of Olomar would tell in the months following, amongst each other and to curious foreigners passing through. In a few years many would actually convince themselves that the tale was true. But no one who had been there would ever be able to forget the horror that was the true death of Queen Emma.
NostalgiaNostalgia3 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
The house was ripe with once secret romances
that seemed to sink between the couch's cushions
and cling to rain-washed window panes.
Activity of flickering insects tapped against the sill,
saturating the walls with ghostly shadows
while breathless streams of sunlight swam around them.
The room held a kind of lukewarm emotion.
One that still pervaded the air with faint,
lavender quills and settled on the shoulders of its occupant.
In a vibrant lull, it dusted my conscience
with petty apparitions of once absolute memories.
All of which now sits in a pile on the floor,
Horizontal landmarks of growing children still remain
carved across the peeling door frames;
resurfacing old fantasies
unraveling new ones
The spider silk curtains still swung, drunken in the wind like so many years ago.
Softly I stepped around countless cracks of floorboards.
They always seemed to stretch
farther each year.
Almost limitless now.
HeathensClosets filled with toysHeathens3 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
cannot spare room for clothes so
the boys roam naked
AsphodelAsphodel: flower of the underworldAsphodel3 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
I drank from the river and forgot everything,
I don't even remember I'm dead,
Worthless, I never did anything,
Never fought, Never killed, Never bled.
Achilles, the brave
and the damned
I don't even remember I'm dead,
Left as a repeating shadow,
Never fought, never killed never bled,
No Elysium fields, just the Asphodel Meadow
Brave and Damned,
spit on me.
Left as a repeating shadow ,
worthless, I never did anything,
No Elysium Fields, just the Asphodel Meadow
I drank from the river and forgot everything.
I dreamt of a flood and you were the waterLight bulb eyes,I dreamt of a flood and you were the water3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
burning through me like
crash into me
as I dream,
your ocean spits me out
through seaweed teeth,
and I love you,
but you blink light
and breathe water,
so not only am I blind,
I am drowning.