That's not how you catch a train.It was the summer of '95, and Chuck felt a little more depressed than usual, so he decided to spend the rest of his day waiting for a train. While he was in his car. In the middle of the train tracks. What I'm saying is that he's trying to kill himself.That's not how you catch a train.3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The train tracks appeared to be in the middle of nowhere, as the only signs of civilization to be found near the place was a single dirt road and a gas station a few blocks away. The sun was high up, the sky was clear, there was a slight breeze, In other words, it was the perfect summer day.
Chuck had his head on the steering wheel, and was somewhere between crying cause it had to end this way, or smiling out of the thought that his death won't be ignored. He would've preferred to jump from a high area into a public place, but nobody in town would let him use their roof.
He picked himself up from the steering wheel and reached out towards the ignition. Has he decided not to go through with his insane idea? Wait no, he's just turning on
CherishedI want you to worship this loveCherished3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I write poems about
I tore it out of a virgin womb
just for you,
and I bear it to you now, naked,
shivering in the nervousness of flesh
exposed to a cold world.
It will suck on the breasts
and kiss the lips of small-town drunks
with their whiskey-tipped breath
and hollow eyes,
and I will touch my fingers
to its precious little mouth
and feel the warm saliva
bathe my skin.
I want you to put your ear
to its unguarded chest and listen
to the murmur
of its shriveled heart,
pulsatingthe warm, lively core.
A tempest, the Red Sea succumbing to Moses.
The fall of the tower of Babel.
Watch the tidal waves thrash the sand
when it raises its fist.
God will crumble at your feet.
You will snatch up the pieces
and rebuild him
in your image, not his.
And you will be lost, crawling on your belly,
for my hand.
And I will reach for you.
I will reach for you.
.I want to make you moan,.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And groan, and gasp, and hiss.
I want to give you a turbid kiss,
And show you absolute bliss.
I want to touch your limbs,
And feel your veins against mine.
I want to envelope you like a vine,
And sew your skin into mine.
I want to share some opium,
And crack your bones with lust.
I want to cease your soul in thrust,
And feel your body tremble and bust.
God is a hipster.God went to StarbucksGod is a hipster.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
because the Wi-Fi signal in
heaven is crap. He pulls
an HP out of the laptop bag and
rolls His eyes at the kid lugging
in a typewriter. He clicks on Word
because He never really stopped
creating – He has more furniture
than He knows what to do with
and no wall space left for His canvases.
He likes Word – His Word – because
it reminds Him of another beginning,
before time, before space, before everything.
The Problem with OmnipresenceGod went to the optometristThe Problem with Omnipresence2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
because His eyes were full of graveyards
and tombstone-shaped cataracts
clouding His vision.
Sometime around the eleventh
century, the lush green iris of His
eyes had faded to the color
of peeled paint; then, over the decades to
The eye doctor couldn’t find
anything wrong, but he prescribed
a pair of bifocals to make Him
All Beasts Will Wither and DieThis sand is a beast that fills my ears,All Beasts Will Wither and Die3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
travels to my brain, building castles of
This cold biting the bottom of my foot,
and I am sure Lake Michigan is still a
Yet I am compelled to peel off my
clothes, swim until I reach Wisconsin
and back again.
When I emerge on the same shore
the world's beasts will wither and die
beneath this sand.
fascination.clearly i've developed a fascination with cigarettesfascination.3 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.
House in the SandI decided to ride my bike today. Tuns out tires and sand do not mix. Usually on my trek through the desert outskirts, I walk. For some reason I thought this would be faster. If only I had a hover bike, that would make things much easier.House in the Sand2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I ended up having to walk anyways, towing my bike behind me. In a way it was worth it, I might have missed the happy little family of desert mice. I stopped to add a quick sketch of them to my notebook. The sun was riding high by then so I thought I'd take a break for some food.
I usually pack a lunch, but this time I guess I should have brought more. A baby desert fox came out of his hole, probably because he smelled food, and I couldn't resist giving him some of my turkey. The little guy looked so thin and hungry. Besides I didn't need it as much, I didn't have much farther to go.
A while later I crested a small dune and the little house came into view. It was blue and small with little white decorative shingles edging the stoop of the doorway, and i
Lux LisbonCigarette stains and strawberry lips,Lux Lisbon8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Murmur offers of the back door.
Up to the roof and she is yours -
Blond hair, blue eyes, how do you refuse?
You don't, cads and gentlemen alike,
Although her father can't approve,
Of petty midnight rendezvous.
He's why she's no ideal prom date;
But she still has her eyes on you.
The dirt of urban legend's fruit;
Like Adam and an apple, you sin.
The moment the door unlocks you enter.
A forgotten birthday and you don't see her.
Blown out candles on a molding cake.
What happens next is morbid -
A fresh fantasy of bored kids.
Untied boots and a key and a trunk,
Run away! but indulge the body's horror.
A half-dead turkey roast in the oven,
And the third prides on pills and whiskey.
This is the grand finale!
Blond hair, gas fumes, sky colored eyes...
She let's you in and waves goodbye.