Fri-end-ship.Fri-end-ship.Fri-end-ship.2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
When I talk, you don’t listen.
You’re just waiting for your turn to speak.
You view every conversation as a competition.
All I can see is the unstoppable movement of your cheeks.
The flow of communication is always re directed back to you.
Almost as if everyone must hear what you have to say.
I’m not denying that half of what you say could actually be true.
But how can so much happen to a person in just one mere day.
What makes it worse is that your stories get recycled and repeated.
I zone in and out of your speeches and know exactly what happens next.
My place in the conversation is to respond and nod when needed.
If you can’t tell me in person, you incessantly try to call me or even text.
I can feel my tolerance and patience gradually wearing thin.
I am not even sure how much longer I can hold it in.
I want to tell you the truth but I don’t know how to phrase it.
Because I know once it is delivered, it is impossible to erase it.
So I have
MentalityA trick of the mind is all it takesMentality2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
To make you make some big mistakes.
Depression Is NotNaïve child,Depression Is Not3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Depression is not
A brief glimpse of
Falling to a foreseeable bottom.
It is not being driven
To the underbelly of Hell
And burned on a stake
By those persecutors.
Depression is not
Simple statements of
Self-pity cooked together
With endearment of a knife
You have just met.
It is not
Half-hearted suicide attempts
Filled with attention seeking.
It is not
A brief glimpse of sadness
Because someone dislikes you.
Has no conceivable stop
It is not a self-inflicted wound,
But a wound that causes
It is no glimpse,
It is not the cause
As it hides you away
From people who love you.
So take no claim to it
If sadness is what you have;
Embrace it, as you are lucky.
Depression is not you.
Stepping Stone FriendI am what you call a stepping stone friend,Stepping Stone Friend3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I don't really matter to you,
You just use me,
Take advantage of my friends,
And turn them against me,
I did not know I was being used,
But, you were using me.
I was just your stepping stone.
You did not care about me.
You took my reputation,
Stole my friends,
And turned the world against me.
You used me to push yourself higher.
You say this is all I can do,
Be a stepping stone.
According to you I have no feelings,
I am nothing,
But a stepping stone.
It is not enough to writeIt is not enough to put the words on pageIt is not enough to write3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
or to align them like cocaine lines
in neat rows of cornstalk paragraphs
fertile enough to bear reviews.
No. One must bleed each period,
each dot-dot-dot like morse code mythology
the Gallic cry at the end of the telegraph age.
It must become an ocean in you, these voices
swelling to tidal highs, and quiet - never.
You the new folkteller, urban prophet
who can call to battle anyone with eyes.
Ooze it like sap spilling down the bark.
It is not enough to write.
One must expire with each keystroke,
endlessly. It must come from the bowels.
Purge it as infection leaking out of skin;
lance yourself. Choke back tears.
If there is no labor pain,
the words were never born.
This is a death business.
We bleed ourselves onto paper and
slice our brains into vellum sheet
and repeat, repeat, repeat.
Pure person petrichor
deep inside the ink.
And That's Wrong.You're fat.And That's Wrong.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Or maybe you're
I don't know.
But you're not perfect.
And that's wrong.
Or maybe you're
But you're not perfect.
And that's wrong.
Or maybe you're
But you're not perfect.
And that's wrong.
Or maybe you're
like everybody else?
You're not perfect.
And that's wrong.
The Children of AmericaThe Children of AmericaThe Children of America3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Music that really helped me get my emotions and words straight. I beg of you to listen to it while reading.
For once, the Hero could only stand back in horror at what was going on around him. Screams of terror, wails of agony, names yelled out to every corner of the town, as mothers and fathers and siblings fought back tears at the knowledge of what had happened, and pushing down their fears that they will not see their beloved children again.
To hold, caress, or love....To tell stories to, or to comfort in the night. Their hearts were breaking as the blonde man could only shake. A crack had appeared in his glasses, blurring the foreground before him, trying to warap his mind around the meer information that spilled across the yellow taped lines.
"Why....?" He muttered, his voice lost amoung the sirens, barking, the commanding shouts, and the cries of misery at what had happened. "Why?" He questioned again, stumbl
Am I Crazy?Am I Crazy?3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Was I crazy to think
That I could have
Every part of you?
Wishing to be in your arms
That'd your heart beat for me
And I'd be the one you'd lay your eyes on
I was always insane
Loosing my grip
Changing slowly everyday
Where has my sanity wandered off to?
I know for a fact
I can't have you without it.
This lifetime search
For something so trivial
Has ruined it all for me
I have wasted the years
Shedding the tears
All because you never wanted me
I'm Fine"Are you okay?"I'm Fine2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
No. I'm dying. I have to push myself to wake up in the morning, and when I finally do, I want to go back to sleep. Even my best dreams are becoming nightmares. I can't taste food, I can't stand the things I used to love. I'm breaking. I'm fading. I'm dying.
I Am NosferatuI Am Nosferatu2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And he rose like a dream shrouded in obsidian
“Blood the sky!” – bewailed ravenous eyes ..
‘Upon a world solemn; and the dead betrothed
Where lust a river dark, my ache roams wild
Many moons spent wither’d in winds dreary;
naked in breath of whispered-flame & wine
O’ darkly I hear thee my beloved enchant,
thy seraphic-tongue dripping in Night’s mist
Thou art the evening tide flooding my soul,
— gossamer-wings of a gothic serenade ...
Seek you mine lips in a song of shadows
For in immortal sin we shall not wane
Unto a sea of crimson, my love hath assail’d
From Earth to tomb, I am death & hallowed
— Arthur Crow © 2013
The Slaughtered Children.Why? Why? They were children! Children! How could someone strip a child, multiple children, of their innocence! How could someone strip them of life?The Slaughtered Children.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Children are one of the few good things in life. Always learning, not dispicable liars or haters or cheaters like the majority of adults, not able to commit horrendous crimes, not aware of the greater scheme of life going on around them. Believer's they are. In a child's mind, the characters of stories such as Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny are alive. Magic is real and all around us, commanded and cast by the fairies who were blessed by the mighty kings and queens from far far away. In a childs dream, there is no deception, no hatred, no confusion. There is only light and happiness and love, and their imagination is never as strong as it if in childhood.
It is for those reasons, and many more, why I believe children should be treasured. For their beautifully bliss minds and perfectly balanced ignorance. For their imagination, raw and i
Ashen Sky-Chapter 15 RevisedA day and a half passed inside the Museum of Science and Industry with no further oddities presented by the other group. Dr. Oliver only let anyone enter his lab if he needed help with something. He only let Scott out to use the bathroom that was until he slipped into a deep sleep.Ashen Sky-Chapter 15 Revised3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
"It's the beginning of the end for him, I fear," Dr. Oliver said softly after he had called Matt, Tess, Riley, and Sara into his lab. He sounded mournful, though Matt could almost guarantee it was only because he was losing his test subject. "The initial sickness has passed. He will wake unaware that he was ever ill. After that he will turn quickly into a monster. Before I left the UIC labs, we discovered that the longer the first stage is drawn out, the quicker the second stage progresses, so my best guess is that we have maybe hours."
"Shouldn't we you know " Matt began, though he could not finish his sentence as his eyes fell on Sara, who's own had had not left the sleeping Scott
The chosen: Chapter OneThe chosen: Chapter One4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Train En Route to Ponyville - 5:15 AM
It would take about four hours to get from Manehattan to Ponyville. I wanted to use the time to catch up on some much needed rest, but despite my best efforts sleep was just something my body refused. I spent an hour staring out the window before I decided to do something else instead.
It was about time I caught up on the newest issue of "The Adventures of Captain Baseball Bat Boy", an import graphic novel from the human federation and still my favorite graphic novel since foalhood. It mostly dealt with a hyperactive human kid that solved his problems by cracking heads with his baseball bat. In this month's issue, Captain Baseball Bat Boy was up against his most dangerous nemesis; the nefarious Maxwell's Demon and his army, The Freaking Demons from Outer Space. It was good stuff that made the last leg of the trip bearable. Still, it wasn't that long and I finished it in about a half an hour.
It was a guilty pleasure, and one that at least kept my h
I'm taking whatever it isI'm taking whatever it is that they chose for me.I'm taking whatever it is3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Though, justice in this, I can't comprehend.
But I can just laugh in the face of absurdity.
A good sense of humour - the best of my friends.
A Poem For YouDear you,A Poem For You3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
If I could tell you
Of this poetic emotive
Life I lived with our
I would have written you this
Many years ago:
Despite my youth,
It takes a world of disdain
For you to heed
My outward prayers of no.
I tip my world
To hide underneath it
Shrouding away from the
Secret we hold in our bosoms
Splintered by your hands.
I taste the poison
Of lips I think I have once held
But uncertainty reigns
My once sharp mind.
I disguise the now poisonous
Memories we hold together
Yet type of how we have
Slept of nights in terror
Of ourselves and one another.
We have been transfixed
In hatred and blood,
Destined to ruin ourselves
By a touch of one another.
You dishevel your once
Serene life and I wander off
After a knife that shows
The sparkle of my smile as
I hold onto recklessness
In this chaotic life.
And years have passed
Since that fateful day,
In a basement filled
With shadows you emerged into.
And as you bound
my hands together,
You unraveled my mind.
You will fall
Ashen Sky-Ch.1 Revised"I always knew the zombie apocalypse would start in Chicago. I just never thought the zombies would be trying to buy life insurance." Matt Owens chuckled as he glanced over his shoulder to his cubicle-mate.Ashen Sky-Ch.1 Revised4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Tess Abernathy rolled her large blue eyes at him and sighed. "As much as I absolutely adore my job in data-entry here," she began, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "I love your amazing ability to come up with the stupidest ideas ever even more."
"Aw, c'mon, Tess!" said Matt, laughing. "Seriously, though. I had to look this guy up 'cause his address was wrong, and the database says he died at an old address about a month ago, but he's alive at a new address now. Weird, isn't it?"
Tess rolled her eyes again. This was common practice when it came to Matt. "He was probably trying to jump rent or evade taxes or something," she dismissed, glancing at Matt's work before frowning and turning back to her own pair of screens. "Matt, you're doing that thing with your finger again. Would
The PullWhen I was younger, someone showed me a video gametoo weird for me, but it made her laugh, and she was pretty. You played as this little guy with a squishy hammer for a head, and you rolled a sticky ball around in front of you. As you rolled it, things got stuck until the ball was gigantic. And then... I don't know. I don't remember the point of the game, nor do I remember the name.The Pull3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
But that image comes back to me every time I am anxious. I am that little person running around, pushing a ball, and things stick to it. Only they aren't cows or trees or parts of buildings: they are things that make me nervous. The attention of people. My sparse resume. The way I can never look someone in the eye when we first meet.
Oh. And I don't have a squishy hammer for a head.
Regardless, today is like that. I've talked to too many people and some weird man had told me he was my father and my mother was on the back of a book with a different name but the same damn face.
While I was walking home,
Fear of FlyingThe minute he stepped off the planeFear of Flying3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
he thought of her and how she hated
flying - how the white metal protruded
and streamlined around her,
anxious to be friends;
how the engine gasped in awe
as it buckled the weight of 234
strangers and kept them from floating
She was afraid of crashing and of caring
what clothes she packed in matching
luggage that would not make it home.
She hated the folding trays,
how they all stood at attention
and the smell of mint souring the stewardess'
breath as she leaned in too far with a pack of
He reminded her that the wings were
sturdy girders, not made of balsa wood and floss
like the ones at the museum and that
the drone was some sort of science -
not some strange addiction
or a scheme of addled magic bumping against the
and that falling always took
the wrong kind of courage.
Rin's Kokoro in Story form :3Rin's Kokoro in Story form :34 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
I was made by a very lonely scientist. I was the miracle robot. But I was missing one thing. A program that my professor didn't have the ability to make,
Many years passed. I was left all alone. I made a wish. I wanted that wish to come true very badly. I wished for the kokoro made by that person. The person I've wanted to know my entire life. The man who worked on the kokoro until his life ended. Now that mi
Girl as ColorColor the girl shell pinkGirl as Color3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
or magnolia -
some rare vintage of wine
or a bright Italian circus,
and I shall call her mine.
Color her starling grey
or a sudden shade
daylight glistening like a puzzle
and I will claim her mouth.
Paint us both some new corner
a fresh tone of orchestra
and ripened lemons,
and I swear I will be true.
Bipolar DisorderShut up.Bipolar Disorder2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Don’t. Say. A n y t h i n g .
“Are you okay?”
P an i c .
Close the window.
Open it again.
“What’s wrong with you?”
I’m losing control.
I am Bipolar Disorder.
… “I don’t know.”
The Lost Timeline Ch. 3The Lost Timeline Ch. 34 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Homura was in shock the whole walk home. She replayed the events at the cafe in her mind. She remembered Sayaka's energy, how could that all be fake? How could she be covering up such sadness so well? Homura felt sorry for Sayaka. She...must be hurting tremendously... she thought. She unlocked the door to her apartment and flopped into a chair. Her mind was racing. When will the Witch strike? Where is Kyubey in all this? Why haven't I seen him? Homura's head started to hurt so she took some medicine and went to sleep.
Homura woke up in a cold sweat. She had been having a terrible nightmare. "That dream..." In the dream, she and Madoka were separated by a wall. They could see each other, but not touch or hear each other. Madoka was crying and no matter how hard Homura tried, she could not break through the wall and comfort her. She was sobbing, and banging against the wall, but all Homura could do was watch. That was a terrible dream... Homura put her han
You don't seem to notice (my scars)-i-You don't seem to notice (my scars)2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
He and I were eleven when we met, the first day of the sixth grade. No particular moment served as the spark to ignite our friendship. As children do, we started talking as if we were already good friends, and were inseparable from the start.
There were rumours, but we didn't understand half of the words the other kids had picked up from R-rated movies, and neither did they. We were called King and Queen by a crowd of boisterous first-graders who followed us around at recess. He joined the choir and the school play just because I did. It didn't take long before we weren't allowed to sit near each other on the school bus because we caused too much trouble, and eventually we weren't allowed to sit near each other in class either. One day, more quietly than I had ever heard him, he asked me to be his girlfriend; I blushed and said yes.
We never once invited each other to our houses. We each had our reasons, but never knew the other's: a silent agreement to n