Crash And BurnI wonder if other people see how I feel.Crash And Burn11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
With every glare to meet my eyes,
its another preying glare to slap my face
and another glare that heats my cheeks with nervous fire
I wonder if, day after day,
if people see my fear, if they see how I shake.
When they walk by, I stumble away
because I know they don't want me near them.
I wonder if they pity me
If they see the lonely child inside my glass skin.
Sometimes they give me gentle eyes
because they feel sorry for how lonley I really am inside.
I wonder if they know I don't fit in,
if they try to welcome me but I'm too naive to see.
But everytime I just walk away because-
because everytime I try is another crash and burn.
DreamsWhat wonders the imagination can bringDreams2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
With opened ear and untamed eye
Dreams that we shall toss and fling
And float about towards the sky
By luminous light of thought
Day and night will awaken newly
And become what you have sought
To find your most distant Thule
Never letting go of that which we cherish
The spirit of innocence and truth
Why without it, what would we but perish?
In the darkness of lost youth
A Tattooed MindBonded with these etched designs.A Tattooed Mind1 year ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Spirit and power create a tower.
Trying to find the pieces in the mountain side.
Names of souls make the night.
Clouds of storms delight.
Rain fall fills the banks.
Koi dance splashing around.
Rivers and lakes run down.
Ink sprays the arms.
A masterpiece forms.
Patience and guidance with one ink blot.
Beauty is created on the spot.
up into my throatdo not blame me when I cry as you chase other tails thanup into my throat2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
mine and please stop talking as if nothing's wrong because
everything is as long as there is space between our mouths.
I'm slightly ashamed to admit that I might just miss your
dirty looks more then I miss our entangled fingers or late-night
cuddle sessions, but I find myself quivering in bed with your
memory on my fingertips and my fingers in between my thighs.
we're made out of sound. built up from wanton moans and
slippery words and twisted whispers and desperate coughs and
surprised gasps and suppressed sobs and the sloppy smacks of
colliding lips and a terrible, terrible silence that knots
my veins and floods my mouth like vomit.
I would spit you out if I could. I would thrash my fingers into my
throat and then pick the bits of you from between my teeth. but
you have spread through my veins like a poison, you are tangled
all around my bones and knotted into my larynx. I couldn't get
you out even if I tore apart my skin
ArcanaOur tower burned.Arcana2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
When it was coupled with the sun,
we exchanged broken hearts
and said our goodbyes.
Ten swords later
and my memories of you are
rain and snow and leaves,
I will tell the children not to be afraid
of the devil and death,
change is good.
The near future holds two cups.
I say I love you but we have a problem,
we never held the world
in either of our hands.
VisionI watch you as you watch meVision1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Your glaring eyes sink into my screen
And i'm all you see
All around you becomes invisible
Once i'm turned on
I've seen you laugh
and cry on occasion
but usually you just stare
Filling your head with my filth
I do have some worthwhile
things to offer
You just have to search
And you may learn something
or expand your horizons
or even be inspired
Just don't stay too long
Keep our visits short
Because sometimes i get tired
of watching too
MonophobiaYour hand found my heart with ease,Monophobia2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
just as your words always found cracks in weakened armor,
and with the same fluidity that constantly drew my gaze,
filling me with childish need atop the comfort of company,
even if lonely:
we were never ones to stand individually.
Then you play my heart strings,
with the skill of devoted pianists and the poise
of Egyptian princes,
garbed in such confidence I have no choice but to move my lips
to words hummed beneath your steady breath;
the words my heart stammers over,
as weak a fool as ever.
Necessities mash like fevered lips,
merging us as one being,
one entity of which to rejoice with proclamations of fragile love.
and when our lips do make war,
I kiss you into my own oblivion,
drawing you deeper inside me to dwell and comfort,
though you decay fleshly walls
and expanding sacks of breath,
a bloody clash of love producing broken wills and such
mangling us further towards impending destruction:
WordsmithsTo all those who admire me, admire any authorWordsmiths1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
(simply for being a lunatic which in all tongues is called a writer):
There is something you must understand.
These words are not ours.
We did not create them.
They simply sit, waiting quietly in the dusty wings of our brain.
We are the directors of the play, telling the words where they must go, what message they must give to the audience, what they must represent.
The words, so quiet and compliant,
Impact others if we know how to use them skillfully.
For we are just hoping you will enjoy the show.
Because, it hurtsThe kind of ache that knocks you to your knees.Because, it hurts2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The kind of ache that makes you unable to breathe.
The kind of ache that makes you want to scream,
yet when you try,
you're greeted with the silence.
I'm telling you this,
To the point I'm running to empty rooms.
Where the walls are thick enough so you won't hear my cries.
So you won't hear me fall apart by the seams.
I'm telling you this,
To stand by her,
your perfect jewel.
And to speak your insulting riddles.
To tell me you love me,
but still I disappoint you.
I'm so tired of being toyed with.
I'm telling you this,
I beg you.
Quit the game.
I can't take it much longer,
these little things hurt all the same.
I'm telling you this,
These little thing
Broken.Ah, mum. You do choose the most lovely moments to drop whatthefuckery bombshells. Huddled in a seat at London Euston, scoffing Motilium, and feeling like death, I hear her state simply:Broken.2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
"I don't think I love him any more."
Sure. I knew that. Didn't I? I knew. I know a lot of things about them. Sometimes I think I must see them more clearly than either of them see each other. But saying it out loud feels wrong. To make it more than a fleeting thought dismissed in passing... it's like dropping a heavy stone into a still lake and watching all the gunk and dirt rise to the rippling surface.
There's always been an unspoken belief for me. That even if we hated each other, raged and screamed and hurt each other, there was still love there underneath all the fire. I never had a doubt that if a gun was pointed at dad my mum would step in front of him without even thinking, and vise versa. Through all the painful bullshit they've always said they still love the other. Hate and love twist
The first pillPill, I have seen every endThe first pill2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
and every one will drop and bend
o'er the edge, into the rain
beats now upon my windowpane.
Pill, it comes not from all sides,
but from all cracks and all divides:
within, without or farther still.
It comes and comes and always will.
Pill, inside you may not keep
the final carrier to sleep;
the will, the strength to make things die
but that's okay, for nor do I.
Backseat BabeShe rides in the backseat of his car because the front passenger's seat gives her motion sickness. Not wearing her seatbelt, she leans forward and hands him a half-smoked cigarette. "To Vegas, baby," she says.Backseat Babe2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He scowls at her"Fuck you"but heads towards Vegas anyway.
He steals glances at her in the rear view mirror as she tests various shades of lipstick and puckers at her own reflection. When he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, she says "What?" and then tries another shade without even bothering to wipe the old one off.
She's only fifteen, he reminds himself. But that doesn't soothe the headache.
She likes to read the map and point out places she'd like to visit along the way. He just keeps driving straight and doesn't say a thing.
"Why haven't you fucked me yet?" she asks one day, sprawled across the entire backseat of the car, her shoulder against the door, her eyes studying her fingernails which she pretends to pick.
"You're too young," he replies, his
Invasion Of Heart Attack.what forgiveness have you persisted upon me?.Invasion Of Heart Attack2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i still embrace the chills you left b e h i n d.
the cries you struggle to disperse
are locked eternally in your seized
t h r o a t.
Why do you let your stares
my veins &
words to quench
the memories you
pretended to loath.
You have no mercy for the
eyes that left your breathing
The abandonment you continued is invading the secret within
my whispers & dragging them until they screech such forbidden
You can not
I have yet to
unfold to beat
lust that has
Lead the baffled, for it is the beginning for a murderous
war & you must guide them to their salvation or a fierce
sword will pierce the bloody heart you ref
fascination.clearly i've developed a fascination with cigarettesfascination.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and hand-holding and cheek-kisses,
something about thinking about him on starry nights,
when i can draw lines connecting his initials to mine
because he was a cancer and i was a cancer,
and my horoscope told me to keep him close to my heart
so he could peel back my skin and my ribs and my lungs
to steal my words right from my chest
he smelled like Newports and hours-old cologne,
but sometimes it was his smoke mingled with a fresh peppermint
that drew me to his lips and made me wonder
if i could get addicted to the taste of his nicotine
he made me want him next to me, to lay my hand on his chest
while our minds soared into the ocean of clouds and birds above us
and we stared at each other with our eyes closed,
letting our lips speak in a wordless rhythm
that somehow contained three syllables.
Science Fiction of the Most Disappointing OrderOne day I sat at my listening post in SETI, drinking coca cola, eating chips, and making jokes about what aliens would say if they actually saw my fat lazy coworkers and I, when an extraterrestrial race contacted us in a series of beeps on our high-frequency radio.Science Fiction of the Most Disappointing Order2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Needless to say, I nearly crapped myself in recording the message, for it was clearly binary and our autistic junior member to the team, a great big fat man with a neck beard who insisted his first name was Xoo (I think the real name was Dawson), immediately understood it. He began rattling off a list of simple mathematical equations, getting more and more complicated as it went on until we were certain the message was a list of coordinates or directions. Of course, by that point our superiors had crowded into the room, as had their superiors and a couple of government officials.
I sat at my cramped little desk with Xoo breathing over my shoulder as he scribbled down what the binary code meant and I transcribed the ones and
High (First Draft)My Dear,High (First Draft)2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I must confess. I never told you, but I got high once. And once before that.
The first time was the day I met you. In that old bookstore we touched fingers among the fiction shelves reaching for a Joyce. An awkward moment made majestic when you laughed. I knew right then and there. This girl is outside my comfort zone. Then you took my hand. As you led me through the aisles, I ran my fingers across the books and prayed inwardly for osmosis to give me the right words to say.
And like some Forrest and Jenny escapade, we were off. We took turns riding the rolling ladder across the biography shelves. We encouraged an Asian boy in the self-help aisle. We asked the clerk, "Where in the dickens is Dickens!" He rolled his eyes. So we tipped him. We recited Hemingway for the war history buffs and Geisel for everyone else. We laughed at an old lady, blushing and shivering, leafing through the romance novels. And when she heard us, we blew her kisses. Peas and carrots. Hair an
BonesLoveBones1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
is less about flowers
than it is
about Monday mornings,
when all the world
dreads the commute,
to share a space with you.
of serenades and starlight,
I often find myself
inside of mundane fantasies,
of your shower wet hair,
so snugly together
in dashboard light
like lips and hips
in the blue glow
satellite stereo screens,
long to take you
So many men
seek the perfection
that have no basis
want to dive head first
tangled up in every complication
that is us.
My love --
you are the everything
flaws and highlights,
and all of your bad,
of a lifetime spent longing
which only you possess,
am not -ever-
going to give up on
Operation MCRmy 2Its dark here, except for the stage lights which are blinding when angled in certain ways, even through the artificial mist. The band is silhouetted at times, and colored glowing red, blue, yellow and every color in between. The music played loudly from the speaker towers. I was so close to them and the stage that the sound waves vibrated the floor, my body, the very air around me and everybody present. It was frantic and powerful and exciting. I hollered out the lyrics, singing with the band, and the rest of the crowd. We were not singing as a thousand individual people, no, we were singing as one. The crowd of us was pressed so close, that people can be lifted up and passed around; crowd surfing. It looks fun, but I'm afraid I will be passed too far from my spot. I like it where I am, the human closeness, is somehow appealing as we jostle each other, jumping, head banging, in this frenzied mosh pit. The turbulence in the mosh pit paired with the rebellious lyrics and the pulse of theOperation MCRmy 22 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
The Dancing ConscienceThe Dancing Conscience2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Press your face against the glass.
Let me gaze in at what wonders you could've had.
For your punctured paper conscience
is folded like a secret.
It's strung upon a spinning thread in the center of your chest.
When the tempting winds stir, it pirouettes yet never falls.
And when the frosty fires fold its twisted edges,
stronger it blooms, like a flower in spring.
When the waves of discomfort skim its fragile toes
It makes way... So it can dance.
In CompleteYou're so beautifulIn Complete5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
when you don't belong to me,
a luscious little puzzle
I need so desperately to complete.
Every movement becomes a tease,
and while you're speaking
I'm paying more attention to your mouth
than the words
because I want to taste your tongue,
not your promises of love.
I'll take you,
body over soul,
because I figure, what good is a soul
if it can't get me off,
and what good is love
if it can't provide the warm, soft squeeze
of closing thighs
against my hot, hungry hips.
when I catch my breath
and the heat of the moment has cooled,
I always notice
how the jigsaw of your body
is somehow less captivating
once a piece of me
has snapped inside of it...
and my eyes begin searching,
and my body begins aching,
for a newer, harder puzzle
for me to fit in -- complete.
the cannibaleyes bright for wildflowersthe cannibal1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I swear they leaned toward her as she passed
with her boyish gait, a confident stride
she caught me with the absence of her smile
and she thought I was a wildfire
set to burn her worries away
but I was tame
tame tame tame
and she was burning up
she laughed when she realized my still temperament
bewildering the sound, a pretty Sunday laugh
light of heart, balancing honesty's edge
hiding between this duality of personality
her fabricated safe haven
but in the night she asked me to keep her
and for a long time I held her soft body, full of insecurity
to mine securely but her anxiety was an earthquake
I could feel inside her, I could feel the tectonic
plates shifting in her mind and once she'd chiseled her nails
to bare skin she moved on to mine
she held my hands like a wounded bird in hers and she
whispered to them "when you fly, I will too"
yet all the while she kept clipping their wings
with her ner
VioletOh dear VioletViolet2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You waited in the dark
for him, for her and for them,
oh but Violet,
he never said he was coming back,
did he Violet?
You needn't smile now,
your bones have been stroked from your spine
and placed in deceitful hands.
From there the infection spread to your heart.
I am sorry for their loss.
The BestsellerYou are a poetry book reclining on my couchThe Bestseller11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and I want to turn your legs like pages
fold myself into you
the way I dog-ear favourite passages
to re-read and re-visit in the morning.
You could be a sexy bestseller curled up
in my bed.
But I want to guard you from review
and keep you obscure
from publishers and popular culture -
check you out as unavailable in libraries
to keep you as my
and lie with you myself.
We'll clothe each other in dust covers
only to undress
over lazy cups of coffee in Sunday hours
our own personal bookclub
of bibliophilic eroticism.
(We'll slide our bookmarks in each other
and collaborate on the shelf).