oubliettethe dark is more of a hand grenade
than a lightning rod,
and my eyes are halfway shut,
but i'm almost certain that was a flicker
of l'appel du vide
and maybe that's not such a bad thing,
the antithesis of nubivagence
is just a step away,
and introspection makes the corners
that much darker,
but that's not the problem,
sciamachy in a puddle of ink;
my, how the circles widen.
hushdon't even let mehush2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
open my mouth, or the words
will consume us both.
caught betweeni.caught between3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i am falling apart and the discolored threads that once
held my limp and carefully lifeless body so
unwillingly in place are coming loose at the seams, fleeing the
crime scene before all the omnipotent details
have been rudely stripped of their post and tossed aside
like yesterday's personality. spare me no pity, but don't
look away. it's not the first time this has happened,
nor will it ever be the last.
underpaid tears take their bitter time falling down, but only
if i force them to, along with these reluctant words
dripping from my dirty hands and empty eyes and broken
mouth like so many drops of blood and i can't take
it anymore because the paltry effort is just
not worth the outcome these days.
these feelings are not what they used to be. they used
to be smooth and slippery and the undercurrents were
fast and sweet and filled me without the sickness i've
gotten used to handling even though i know it can't be
healthy. now the sensations are rough and jagged and dry
staticfor now, my blood is flutteringstatic1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
and it's raining like lazy sex
on a sunday afternoon
the thunder sticks like glass and waves
because, my dear,
you are inertia's bastard son
i look like a hangman's hell
strung from noose to noose
and you taste like meridian warfare;
i don't know how you still your hands
or how perpetual immobility
feels trapped inside your spine
but i'll be damned
if i don't want to find out
cartography (uncharted skin)sometimes the backs of your hands are mapscartography (uncharted skin)1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
to reality and back, and sometimes
they are the juxtaposition of sandpaper
and sometimes they are the doors to
double-spaced nothings and the smell of
quantum entanglement in the morning
your arms--less than spiderwebs, more than
time-encrusted overhangs--are the unnamed
pillars, the unobserved event horizons waiting
for their chance to make the galaxies
your ribs are white-hot chalk lines
on a lesser-traveled road; untouched,
the smears of ink light like feathered knives
on hallowed ground to sharpen fire into clay
and they stretch from heart to spine,
a bridge; they are the link between the
liar and the lied-to and they can hold no more
than the careful weight of being
your neck goes on forever and i can't help
but stare at the curve, the gentle silence,
the one-step-away-from-smothered sort of
mooreeffoc--just short of ivory, desert glass
your mouth: forgotten wordplay, the
Read stories/poems for free, then publish your ownHello, I'm Jochannon; I've been publishing online for about two years, strictly small-time, but I do have dreams.Read stories/poems for free, then publish your own2 years ago in Personal More Like This
WHAT I'M DOING
Every week I publish original stories, poetry, fan fiction, one Edgefolk story, and email them to my subscribers.
I also publish comics, manga, cartoons and visual stories of all sorts: http://jochannon.deviantart.com/journal/Publishing-Manga-Comics-Graphic-Novels-Artbooks-293264925
I will take literature from any genre.
No limit on the length of poetry or stories, but I have time constraints, so longer pieces are harder to read, so are less likely to be accepted.
Once I have published a piece of art, all rights to it revert to the creator.
Sex: it's normal, it's natural, having sex in work will not disqualify it, but I will not publish pornography or erotica.
Considering the previous paragraph, artwork touching on rape or pedophilia must handle the subject with delicacy
I reserve the right to not publish any artwork th
failure to launchi want to deconstruct you in the darknessfailure to launch2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
just to watch you put yourself back together
in the light.
i want to fold into the creases of sleep
that linger in your hair, to roll comfortably
on the backlit forests of your eyes and hang
precariously by the lips on your typewriter teeth.
i want to watch you comb out the tousled mess
i've created with the slender lines
(charcoal, defined and far from obscure
in our haze of obscurity)
of pale flesh branching from the trunk of your palm
like knots tied with unmatched precision;
i want to trace the snow in your hip bones as though
they were cliffs and i was jumping.
i want your eyes on my ribs and your nails on my spine
and i want to forget which is which--
no lines, charcoal smudged under the static friction
as it gives way to breaths only half-filled with words but
still brimming with message:
nothing works.the moment my foot touches the ground,nothing works.3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
i look up. the clouds are flourescent.
birds circle, magnetically drawn
to the abyss of white.
my watch says zero.
my vision is clear.
it has just begun.
my wet eyes calculate the fathoms
left to go until there is
no return. until my breath
stills. fingers lost
it is not a pretty motion,
but an ugly entity,
the pulse of a ghost;
ornately jeweled carapiece
folded like origami roses over
my wiry hands spin the webs,
sticky with your
trapped in a hideous laugh.
you say you like my body. maybe not
where my bones are starting to
illuminate and itch under
their blacklights, but
you would find little words
at me, to add into
while i lost four friends, and part
you created a new one for me.
constructed out of a stable fluid,
it was not my nature.
nor was it yours. but it held like glue.
I became more ornament than person, glittering in
1067 miles awayRoses of scarlet1067 miles away2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Captivate the heart
Stuck at the last post
I crave your attention
You're 1067 miles away
I'm losing it inside
The sweet sarcastic
That is you
That is me
I gaze up at the stars
An empty shadow beside me
Where you once stood
Silence fills your words
The words that used to
Tickle my insides
Hiding inside your warmth
Fulfilling a deep desire
Happily never after
Is all I ever reached anyways
This addiction consumes my soul
Eats at my heart
The sour solid feeling
Of holding onto lost love
The sweetness of biting
Into a new one
when we leftshe waswhen we left2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
flecks of light
lost to the touch
of small fingers
and smaller cares;
a playground left
and think about
all that's done.
cold hands and
they were alone
they were points
on a roadmap
with no roads.
is a wind all its own;
in a scraped-clean
only one thought
makes it through
at a time.
BackboneShe runs out of the houseBackbone2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and doesn't stop until she reaches
the park. She kneels behind a bench
where the bugs surround her
like the love of Christ.
She bends over and throws up
the vomit burns her throat,
pickles her mouth,
dribbles down her chin.
Her hand goes to her belly,
expecting the fetus to stir,
but all she feels inside her is nausea.
The father calls
and in a voice that's calmer
than when he first heard the news,
he says, "You have to kill it.
Now. Before it grows a backbone.
The afternoon she comes home
from the clinic, he is there
with a rose and an embrace.
He whispers in her ear, "I'm proud
of you. Please, don't cry."
So she doesn't.
23. SilenceIt wasn't the silence of grief or reverence, a kind of muted din that breathed with life and sound even in the stillness,23. Silence2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And it wasn't an awkward silence, heavy with anticipation and a lingering feeling of discomfort.
This wasn't the kind of echoed, throbbing silence of something waiting just out of sight for an opportunity to strike.
Nor was it the hollowed dead silence of a place long forgotten, untouched for millennia.
It was a new and sacred silence. The purest form of silence, yet to be filled with all other silences.
What Would Yeshua Do?"Yeshua?" the girl with bandaged handsWhat Would Yeshua Do?2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
calls out. I think her name is Mary.
She doesn't say "Jesus" like the other patients,
or like the preacher who
comes and prays with her every Sunday.
She rocks in her chair and mutters,
and chants to herself. No one speaks to her,
or if they do they ask her how she is.
She used to be a prostitute, they say,
until she was saved.
But I look at these white walls and think,
She's not savedshe's caged.
I step into her room and gently shut the door.
Her face is to the window. She glances back at me,
her eyes wide, and says, "Yeshua?"
"No. No Yeshua here today," I tell her, smiling.
Then I kneel before her and remove her bandages,
exposing the gaping holes in her hands.
Chesslet's play a game of chess.Chess2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
are the pawns,
movements to take
time i speak
by crafty pawns.
to anticipate all your
you got me in checkmate.
We're all just Meat and BonesWe're all just Meat and Bones2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I'm going to die.
No, I'm going to change into them. I should probably write this down directly, quickly, and to the point. In about an hour I will cease to be Ryan, English major at Lander University in Greenwood SC, and I will start my life anew as a zombie. Yea, an undead corpse that stumbles around all day searching for human flesh. I will be nameless just one undead among thousands.
Which is exactly why I'm writing this letter on this stack of blank receipts. I'm holed up in The Dixie, a local burger joint. Ironically, I always thought the old-timey and weathered neon sign out front would make a perfect apocalypse backdrop. Now, I'm not so sure. It flickers constantly, illuminating the gyrating bodies of the dead like some twisted disco party. This hovel will be my resting place, or my stomping ground, depending on how you view the situation.
If you find this letter, watch out. It won't be me this letter is me, or what's left of me, Ryan. Mor