Wasn't the Color of SunshineYou always had chewed up nails and cuticlesWasn't the Color of Sunshine4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And I was in a way, blind.
You had that faint sweet smell of wine,
That reminded me of my home back in California
Except your skin wasn't the color of sunshine.
We would go on picnics and paint the walls of your apartment,
in a twisted sort of way.
But we never weeded the garden.
You left notes in between the pages of my novels in the bookcase,
You knew I would reread them all eventually.
I still find them hidden away.
And I stick them in a tin, in the cupboard.
Next to your ashes
And the knife you used.
HarborShe'll have blue eyesHarbor2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
for the seagulls
because she'll know how it must be
to fly in the salt-kissed air
and only see water for miles
and love it.
she'll want to taste the ocean
in the wind,
a particle of Calypso's tears
for every life lost at sea
and she'll want to save every snail and turtle
she can get her long, pale, fingers on.
She'll never wear shoes
because she'll need to feel the sand
hugging her toes on the shore
the damp ocean water tenderly touching
her bare ankles.
She'll chase after the water-line
more than she chases her dreams
because perhaps a life underwater
is her dream.
There will be something
about the way she stands to face
the Atlantic and Pacific
that will make you think
she stands on twin wooden pillars.
And her smile that will look out
to the fading and shining horizon
will remind you about her
and how every faint sound she makes
is like the slits and cracks and whispers
of the boardwalk.
Navy men and Sailors will ask her
for her na
My StepsThou shalt be my stepsMy Steps5 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
on blind roads, on deaf highways
Broken little birdBroken little bird,Broken little bird2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Don't say another word,
I'll fix your broken wings.
Little bird with ruffled feathers,
Practicing will make it better,
I promise it will ease the sting.
Given time and all my love,
Lovely little broken dove,
I'll teach you, again, how to sing.
What is, What is meant to be What is and what is meant to be are rarely, if ever, the same in this world. This information was well known to Virtue, the Phoenix. Many people mistakenly believe the Phoenix to be bird when, in fact, she is humanoid in appearance. Her long cherry hair flows down her back; her hair also perfectly frames her golden eyes and ruby lips. While it is true that she may take the form of a golden red bird, her natural form is of a beautiful maiden clad in a red cloak with the hood down to reveal her flawless face.What is, What is meant to be5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The ageless Virtue was barely 16 as she weaved down the streets of sorrow and pain; people had no idea of their impact on the world, but she knew. For the perpetual beings of the world, emotional scars on a city were as tangent as physical ones. While she walked Virtue saw a brilliant light shining forth from a balcony which ended abruptly with a single black spot on the ground. A horrible scar
Incarnated NothingPuppeteer cut off the stringsIncarnated Nothing4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Master has untied the leash
Guard forgot to lock the cell
And the executioner said:
'You are free to go'
There's nothing above
Below just fog
It's growing thinner
My feet are sinking deeper
When I fall through
Will someone catch me?
I guess not
Who would touch a beehive?
Or a ball of rotten seaweed?
Or an incarnated Nothing?
My friends cut off the strings
My family untied the leash
My shrink forgot to lock the cell
And my lover said:
'You are free to go'
NUMBI thought that the day this happened,NUMB2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I would shatter, fall into a billion tiny pieces,
but I'm not falling apart, and I didn't shatter.
Instead, as I prepare for your leaving, never to
come home, I find that instead of fracturing to
the point of no repair, I have become NUMB.
NUMB, no longer capable of true feeling, no
longer able to care. For Christ's sake, i can't even
cry.....So I sit here, incapable of pain, or drowning in it,
I can no longer really tell...Because you have cut all that
off from me, and made me......NUMB.
ArtlessI am not a child of lightArtless2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Nor am I a child of dark
Just a shadow in between
A point upon the spectrum's arc
Once I danced for innocence
Outward cast, a spell I hurled
Line fell silent, beckoning
Was then you came into my world
You were not the love I sought
But rather were the love I found
Warily, I let you in
Impaled within my sacred mound
Your gestures were all crafted well
Your sentiments in beauty soaked
You sought the light within my shade
For me to make you whole, emote
I sought to give you everything
To heal the hole inside your heart
But you were just too delicate
And I was lacking in the art
to drownThe wind is howling. It's savage for a hot summer day, like the breath of a monster from another world. Maybe it's a demon, trying to drag you to Hell. I silently plead for it to take me instead.to drown4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Less than two hours ago the breeze was calm and I was watching the translucent images of the trees shimmer along the surface of the lake. The sandy bottom near the shore mirrored the light, creating a golden net at the bottom of the water. If I touched those writhing bands of light, I wondered, maybe the net would close around my foot and drag me down into the secret realm of the water. I sat on the rocks that bordered the walkway to the dock and dipped my littlest toe in the lake, feeling my thoughts drift like the shiny ripples, growing larger and fainter as they spread.
I heard you splashing through the water a few feet away, pulling me from my thoughts. The sun highlighted the droplets along your skin, your long, wreathing hair aglow. The rumbles of boats and the occasional call of
A Macabre LullabySnapped and broken with the wind,A Macabre Lullaby2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Falling to virgin snow,
You had my heart or a half,
Two thirds at the most.
Though the clock runs fast,
As the Devil turns the hands,
Though the hours surpass your time,
Consider my crime but a kiss goodnight,
Forever young isn't only a dream,
Eternity only a sprints away,
On and on and on my love,
Fountain spray to give the way.
Though your kiss changed its hue,
Is it not still mine to take?
Though reddened; stilled by my passion,
Is my love but a blackened empty sin?
I knew already the price of my evil,
As I kissed you; laid you in my love,
Tucked you tight into this cold bed,
I knew the chill; the violence of my wrong,
Though I had done right as I could,
What if our hearts beat in synch?
Love me? Cherish me? Leave me?
Opportunities I raped you of,
Goodnight and bye bye,
Said Father of Time,
Goodnight and goodbye,
Said the heart to the knife.
Frameworkshe tried to realignFramework2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
her spine with vinylbenzene
like she could be a plaster girl &
elegant & automated despite her
she fashioned butterfly wings
out of worn newspaper &
donned plastic tiaras,
bit her silvery split
fingernails & told you,
threadbare girls don't shatter, love,
(they just disentangle).
This TigerSliding down the banister of the stairs.This Tiger4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I try to reach the end,
But I fall before I get there.
Get up and swing the dirt off,
Punch out the door,
And shuffle outside.
Nothing new or nothing really above subdue.
Scroll up the sidewalk
With a bounce in my step;
I feel gleefully oblivious to my backdrop.
I hear music coming from a building;
It's pleading with me to fray against the beat
And curiosity is a slave to this tiger.
My legs rubberband in that direction.
I nod to the bouncer
And he gives me a 500-mile grin.
The building opens its mouth,
And burps out a bass right onto my face.
Women everywhere freeing themselves,
Whipping their hips like a golden Snapper.
Some bite for my alluded to bait,
But I tie my hands to my pocket;
I just don't want a firey-heart Sherlocking today.
I take a twirl to the dancefloor.
The music grabs by the arms and won't let go.
It shakes me like a rag doll,
But I fight back.
Slash from my sharp hips
And my legs turn into chains.
Sweat drips down
61. Fairy TaleHer lips always moved slowly, some warm burgundy colour like wine had stained them. It was as though her thoughts could not keep up with the rate at which she normally spoke, and so she had to slow down to get it right. Every little thing she said had to mean something, or else it wasn't worth saying.61. Fairy Tale4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She didn't read books, even when I took her to the library just to tempt her. She said it was because we didn't need anyone else's stories. We all had our own, she said. We all have real stories, and made-up ones are just a waste of time. She said, maybe instead of reading I should stop some people on the street and ask for their stories, and then I might really learn something important.
With a confident nod of her head, she told me, homeless people were her personal favourite.
To her, almost everything I did was just a waste of time. She never had a job because just a little creativity could get her anything she wanted. She called herself a wanderer, and never had a home. I don't know w
Baby's lullabyall of the children went to their beds,Baby's lullaby2 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
a soft starry light guarding their heads;
hush now baby, don't you weep,
silence is just music put to sleep.
the innate MercyI don't have ink in my veinsthe innate Mercy2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
otherwise I would have cut them.
I don't have paper over the meat
otherwise I would have torn it.
And then with the bones of my fingers
I would have written love poems.
Always LostLost in the legacy of dreamsAlways Lost2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The monster reunites with my soul
Will he ever go away
Or will I just sit here
Rot in a hole
Lost in a land of fantasy
Hoping to hide, run away
Lost in the past of tears and scars
Remaining here as a ghost
Run away from pride, it doesn't help to have it
Run away from the past, it destroys what it owns
Rotting in my sleep
Always waking in the middle of the night
My pleasure so meek
My mind so shattered like a broken glass bottle
Will the images ever cease
Or will the cannons keep up their fire
I remain lost the agony of my life
The worthless past I grew up with
A crybaby in the mirror
And a soldier of the fear
Eyes dry, never cry again
Lost in my memories of that broken old place
Forgotten by the raptors who continue to seek out their next prey
Lost in a hopeless world
I'm just trying to get by
All the suffering remains
Thought I washed it down the sink
Thought it was gone, but it likes the game tag
The sadistic personality chases me till I wake
Rotting in m
ScratchesScratch and Scratch,Scratches2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The deeper it goes,
Hopefully nobody knows...
Where is the end?
When did it start?
Find that powder,
And its matching brush,
Better hurry dear,
Cover that thing up...
When is the end?
Why did it Start?
The first wasn't for real,
You didn't feel it,
You spaced out
And there they were...
How does this end?
Why doesn't it end now?
Scratch and scratch,
The deepest it's ever gone,
Take one last look around,
Hopefully you'll live to see the dawn...
Let's PretendLet's pretend we've never been harmedLet's Pretend2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Never been lost
Never been afraid
Let's pretend we've never been hurt
Never been cheated
Never been alone
Let's pretend that we're on fire
That we're together
That we're okay
Let's pretend that we're not suffering
That we're not bleeding
That we're not ashamed
Let's pretend that the world is ours
That it owes us everything
That it won't betray us
Let's pretend that we are free
That we can see
That we are fine
Let's pretend that we won't die
That we'll live a lie
That we'll keep on pretending
Let's pretend everything will be all right
Let's pretend nothing will go wrong
Let's pretend that we'll forget
Let's pretend that we'll move on
Let's pretend that we'll keep living
Let's pretend that death is gone
Let's pretend to keep pretending
That way when pretending's over
We'll be dead
ExpendableI'm supposed to be agreeable,Expendable2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
both kind and clearly affable;
designed to be adaptable
to fit in, be approachable;
to sit there, "be adorable,"
and take it all: abusable.
And I'm easily acquirable,
my agenda is adjustable;
I shouldn't be faultable,
but easily abolishable.
And I'm just a tool, so usable–
but how is this approvable?
Oh why is it acceptable
for me to be expendable?
AnorexiaShe was living inside meAnorexia9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Sometimes, she spoke for me
She didn't want I eat
So, I didn't eat anymore
I lost, but nobody saw it
When I explained all to my friends
They helped me
Both of them particularly
I will never be able to thank them enough
Thanks to them, I'm fine now
My life is beautiful, even if...
Now she'll always be there, deep inside myself
YouIn paranoid glancesYou2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and fingertip dances
You're always there
Like a cancer in my heart
The End of the NightThe End of the Night.The End of the Night5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It was such an arbitrary meaning to me. I could never tell you when it ended; my sire always made sure I was tucked away before then.
I am getting ahead of myself. My name is Francis Ascokov; I am a Russian/French mutt. My father disowned me when he found out; I was turned only a week later. Only 18 springs into life and suddenly I become what most feared.
But he was -is- nice. He always helps with hunting, knowing the good marks from the bad; the violent from the peaceful.
I always did love him. When it become such? I would never be able to tell you; all I know is that I could never survive without him.
Yes, yes, I heard all the lectures on co-dependency; living over 300 years will do that to you.
The End of the Night
Sire always made sure I got fed first. He usually hunted for himself after I had been tucked away; hiding from the lighting darkness as he bared it himself.
You probably wondering, 'What is the name of your sire?' Was I wrong? I am
The Black DemonThe ground shook violently, waking me up. A scent I couldn't place was coating the air, making me gag as soon as I took in a deep breath. The usual crisp sea-side air was ruined by some toxic odor.The Black Demon5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Taaaaalllluuuullaaaaaaaa! Come quickly!" A young child's voice called from outside.
"Crane? What is it?" I ran out of the hollowed tree trunk that was my house. The smell's strength doubled, and I nearly keeled over from the horrid strength of the scent.
The gangly young boy that ran up to me wrapped his arms around me in a terrified hug, "Tallula, something's wrong! You have to come to the cliffs, quickly!" His snowy white hair glistened from the water in his marshy home.
Immediately sensing not just his distress, but the pain of the life around me, I nodded and followed the long-legged boy past other suffering flora and fauna. What was going on? The usually clear blue sky was the color of freshly spilled blood, black clouds giving it a final, sepulchral lo