The Worst Way to DieThe Worst Way to Die2 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
The worst way to die
Its not from a blade
It's not by a gun shot
Or by a grenade,
The way that I think of
As the worst way to go
Kills hundreds of people
Makes thousands of tears flow,
It is more lethal
And causes more pain
Than being locked up
With a cold metal chain,
It burns like a fire
Within your chest
Taking you down
Failing your test,
I'm sorry to say
Most don't survive
After the first crack
They no longer feel alive,
It is through this
Many are torn apart
Yes the worst way to die
Is by a broken heart.
Eat The SunOnly to the sentiment that life is only an illusion can I scorch my eyes and oxidize my inner ear to feel how things truly are: vacillating and finite. With palms raised to the sky, and my fingers spread wide to grip the sunbeams which wash over me, I long entirely to engulf their radiance. At least once, I wish to feel their warmth. Because the world is too icebound, so much that I cannot feel my own heart pulsating and shaking the jagged icicles deep into my stomach and dousing what ever is left of the gusto which ignites my very spirit. For too long am I left shivering, yet I am no slave to the frostbitten demons that have trapped themselves in my bloodstream, and instead a survivor grasping for radiating fissures--despite the singed fingertips I am left to kiss better on my own. But, however, when I have acquired the aurora of the day's apex I can raise the brilliance to my lips, drink entirely its quintessence to become one with the sky. No longer do I need to feel the penetratingEat The Sun2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
End RemembranceEnd Remembrance2 years ago in Historical More Like This
Remembrance Day originates at the end of World War I. The idea is to honor those who died in the line of duty, defending their country from enemies. For all its pompous words and fancy granite memorials littered with colorful flower bouquets, Remembrance Day and others like it have failed miserably in achieving this goal.
I've often been criticized as having no respect, and that can be an impediment when discussing certain topics. However, I am often in luck – hypocrisy deserves no respect. What changed as a result of the enormous sacrifice of those who died in WW1? As the first bombs of WW2 fell just two decades later, millions once again obediently lined up under various pieces of colored cloths to slaughter and be slaughtered. It became obvious that absolutely nothing had changed, and that the millions of WW1 had died in vain.
Most would agree that all that lip service paid to the sacrifice between the two world wars wasn't good enough. To truly honor their sacrifice would be
Marbled Reality Part 1The air was thick that night. Thick and cold, like a lead sheet that blanketed the entire city. I was unsure if my footsteps were heard though I didn't particularly care, I just continued my way down the alley. I looked to the sky and saw the familiar view. My eyes gazed upon a starless, pitch black sky. Adorned with the vertical edifices of thousands of sky scrapers, the only stars you were ever going to see were artificial. Simply just lights in the near millions of tower windows, or the occasional hover pod making a midnight run. Those like me never had the luxury of owning such a vehicle, such a marvel of technology in and of itself. Merely taking the primitive bus systems around town came to be expensive enough. I had just gotten off work not even an hour ago, if you could call what I do anywhere near a “normal” job. In a way, staying off the grid so to speak was perfectly beneficial to my occupation, as anonymity had since become my identity. The tungsten illuminationMarbled Reality Part 12 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Marbled Reality Part 2Now all securitron seems to do is just use its iron grip on our privacy for its own end. I didn't so much want to delete my entire past, erase everything I ever was, that I had ever done but it was a survival tactic. The few that I associate with these days merely call me “Shadow” because that is where I feel I must exist most of the time; in the shadows, hidden from the watchful eye of an authority that seems to have a very dark agenda of its own. The sounds of these complexes were just as dreary, but they all retained the family strife of humanity that was always familiar to us: a distant couple arguing about god knows what, the bass filled rumble of some prick with his stereo on far too loud, an unruly baby crying wanting its mother to ease it back into a peaceful dream far away from this bleak world...and the soft purr of Blake. Blake was a stray cat that always followed me around my complex. I don't know where he came from. He just showed up one day at my door step andMarbled Reality Part 22 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Low Self-EsteemSometimes she gets this look.Low Self-Esteem4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It's a feeling that's just radiating from her and I know it well.
Her eyes shift to the ground, making her shrink. And yet she manages to keep a hold of a sliver of some self-confidence and control.
Then her lips follow and become a slightly stained pink because of how softly she presses her teeth into the skin.
She's defeated and helpless for that moment before regaining composure.
Finally, back to normalcy without shedding any tears.
If I watch her (just random coincidental glances, mind you) I feel her pain, and from it I carry more. Because she is the farthest from anyone who should feel this self-defeat. The defeat of losing to someone you don't know and isn't there.
Insignificant. Undesirable. Fallen.
It's a feeling one can't shake off.
It's that of self-loathe, that festers on the mind and slowly pours out in fragments. A glance in the mirror, an analysis of the hands.
Longing and envious stares at others. (At what could be)
I'm always in awe whenev
AwakeningAwakeningAwakening5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The sound of rain pouring down and coming into contact with the window was more of a relaxing sound than eerie. Looking over at the wall thinking about a lot of things. Things that I needed to find a conclusion to. A small sigh escaped from my lips, nothing was in the air that would distract my mind. No sounds of car horn, trains or even the technology inside the house. It was tranquil in an eerie peaceful sort of way. Leaping out of my bed and walking into the hall something was "different." The walls were starting to crumble as paint was beginning to peel leaving it colorless and bland. Taking a few steps towards the stairway the floors were starting to creak and become weaker with each step. I was fearing that at any moment that with misstep that I would fall through the floor. The outcome, I didn't want to give it much thought. My eyes were in shocked after arriving at the foot of the stairs. A loud crashing sound echoed throughout the hall and just when you open your eye
The place stories come from'Sometimes people wonder where stories come from. A person can tell a story about something so unbelievable, yet so wonderful that it seems real. That's because it is.The place stories come from4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I don't wonder about it, though, because I know where stories come from.
It's a magical place with thousands of enchanting creatures, beautiful plants, trees as high as sky scrapers and heroic people. Whatever you can think of, it exists there.
Every once in a while, people come to witness all of this. They watch the talking trees, dance with the fairies and feel the heat of a dragon's fire. Eventhough there are many people at the same time, you don't walk into them. No matter how long you stay there, you won't meet any other visitors or even know that they're there.
Stories come to us for a reason. It's because we saw something, met someone or did somewhat unusual things that we remember. We remember them and write them down or tell them to others. That's how stories are born.
It's a place I've visited s
Fragmente de noapte...E noapte si suntem impreunaFragmente de noapte...5 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Si de subt briza marii
Ecouri dragi rasuna
E noapte si te tin brate
Pe crestete ni se revarsa luna
Iti mangai pletele incet
Pe lume esti doar una
E noapte si-ti soptesc cuvinte
Ce n-au mai fost rostite
In zecile de nopti
E noapte si tu imi esti mai draga
Cand ochii tai rasfrang
Iubito, parfumul unei nopti de vara...
E noapte si surasu-ti imi alina
Dureri si doruri si suspine
Iubito, cand te am alaturi
As vrea sa-mi fi regina
E noapte si-n tacere, un singur glas rasuna
Spargand tacerea cristalina
Suav al marii clinchet
Ce din nisip se-aduna
E noapte si-n tacere
Suntem suflete nelinistite
Ce impletira noaptea asta
O salba de vise implinite
E noapte si se scurge pe ascunse timpul
Pe langa urmele-n nisip
Si noaptea e pe moarte
Se crapa-a rasarit
S-a dus si noaptea asta
Subt pecetea unui sarut
Somnium: The Rooftop of memoriesSomnium: Fourth ChapterSomnium: The Rooftop of memories2 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
The Rooftop of memories
We talked the whole recess and we even skipped some classes. He is the exact same idiot Ren from my dream. After gaining some confidence he asked, what I didn't want to be asked.
"So tell me dude, how did you know all that stuff about everyone?"
I knew he wouldn't believe and I didn't want to freak anybody else out so I just said...
What would you do... if everything you once knew turned out be just a dream? If all the people you once met... are just part of that dream?
Ren remained quietly stared at me and smiled and finally answered.
“Dammit, you really are weird!”
I laughed nervously and suddenly the bell rang. I looked at my watch and realized the day was over; I spent my first day at the rooftop talking with Ren, what a great way to start.
“F*CK! Ren, it’s already 2:45 PM!”
“So, we spent the entire day here, doing nothing more than eating and talking!”
The music is gone.I remember emotionThe music is gone.2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Like the deaf recall a tune.
I still have the notion,
But even that will be gone soon.
The songs are muffled at first,
But the notes remain.
I can still be immersed
In musical joy and pain.
But like a copy of a copy of a copy,
Notes are lost and misplaced,
The whole thing gets sloppy,
A masterpiece defaced.
Finally, the end of the blaze
The last notes die in a frost
Leaving the profound malaise
That something beautiful was lost.
Dead is the feeling I once had.
Left in a mute concert hall,
I wonder how it can hurt so bad,
To feel nothing at all.
That One LetterDear lover...,That One Letter2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
This is the one letter I couldn't send
It means too much for to hand it over
There isn't much for me to write because I am no writer
No fancy words, just the straight out truth
You still surprise me, even if I don't show it
I know we just can't be over
I can see it in your eyes, you haven't lost hope
As long I can still feel you are still holding on, I will keep trying
I know I am not perfect but I keep trying
That's what I said I will do from the start
One chance I have to make it right
If I miss it, it will be too late
Remember who you are and forget what people said about you
You are beautiful; don't let others say you are not
I won't let you fall, even when I am wrong
I always remember that you like hand-written letters
A letter had more emotion than a text or email because you can see the mistakes, the eraser marks
The emotion is true in each word I write
I don't want you to fade away like everyone else has, I don't want to wake up one morning and realize that you a
ADPADP: Accidental Destruction of PlantsADP4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Spring, it's coming again. Finally. I was almost afraid it would stay away this year... But it won't. It's coming back. Hooray! Because not only spring is coming, but also little animals such as ducks, sheep, cows, etc. And of course, flowers.
So beautiful, flowers. It's kind of a habit of my aunt to give me (and my sister) a little plant for Easter. The only problem is that I truly can't keep a plant alive. It's not an exaggeration this time. I just keep killing plants! Not on purpose, of course, but they keep dying. Once I got a little plant (which was supposed to produce some kind of weird strawberries, but honestly, I've never seen anything like that...)
I kind of forgot about that plant... So it slowly died of thirst and lack of attention.
The second plant I got was truly beautiful. The flowers were all kinds of yellow and it was growing really well. Because I remembered what I had done to my previous plant, I decided this one was definitely N
2nd PoemThe everlasting pain disappeared and no longer hurts me2nd Poem5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The cruelty of the world can no longer concern me
And the kitchen knife is stained with my blood no more
I can finally feel the warmth of the sun in summer
I can finally feel the chills of the snow in winter
And yet, I cannot feel the stings of agony from the rusty scissors
If I could, I'd be there for you in your darkest times
If I could, I'd throw my life away for your protection and safety
But I can't, for we both live so far from each other
I don't deserve your general acts of kindness
I don't deserve to be your dearest friend
I don't even deserve the chance to talk to you
To bakkas, they think of you as a target for their childish pranks
To barbarians, they think of you as an object they own
But to me, you are a reincarnation of an angel from the heavens above
We both lost loved ones during our younger years
We both go through difficult situations
And yet, we still live far away from each other
After meeting you, the darkness
Love LetterBeloved,Love Letter2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Is it possible to feel too much at times? Can the heart become a weapon, carrying the weight of unspent dreams?
There are rare nights when I seem to ghost dance with the world. I move through it, aware of the physical existence of people, places, things - their connections - and nothing more.They leave no indelible mark; they are a mere whisper on my landscape that echoes vaguely in my conscious mind, a glancing blow that barely registers. Mouths move...words are said, and I comprehend the physical act, the meaning and reality - but it only ripples the surface.
And then there are nights that are quiet electricity and life blooms out of control around me in vibrant and livid color. Every word has a music to it and every nuance of movement shoots through me and pins me to the wall of desire. I am held prisoner by the soft beauty of words not said. I feel the pain of lost tears and memories mumbled in a gentle catechism of failure..
And it is on those nights that I think of you.
Grandmother's HouseHe hated his grandmother's houseGrandmother's House4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with its heavy curtains
of the postman's tardy shoes,
and how the maid
rescued the newspaper
and poured the thin sherry
into tiny glasses
every night at six.
He loathed the claw foot sofas
with their cushions
shrinking from his trousers,
each plush thread recoiling
how unkempt he looked
and why his brother left.
He despised the birchwood beds
carved into sarcophagi
that flanked the radiators,
their pencil posts
poking the bodies of the willing
and how the bookcases groaned knowingly,
waiting for ominous words
to echo from the hallway
and beat down the keyholes.
But most of all
he hated the dining table
with its sallow wood
gleaming his reflection,
the china left
to fend for itself
and the cutlery
swallowing up the family
like a feast lost at noon.
~days eat days~1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
like I eat potato chips
on a couch whose
springs have thrown out
their backs no longer able
to hold even the remote up.
it sinks between the seats like
I do every lonely saturday night
or every evening I can’t quite
make it to bed, cupped with
similar back problems,
a similar sag.
I’ve begun to
take after my furniture.
"the only unattractive curve,"
a girl once said to me with a few
desirable curves herself,
"is the one a person develops
in their back.”
we dated for a month and
she called me her
hunchback of notre dome
(it’s dame, babe.)
and I called her beautiful.
and nothing else.
but somehow her leaving did nothing
to straighten my bent back but
only managed to deepen
my parenthetical stance on
those who love me
(they don’t exist).
Skipping Stones.We skip stones across the sandSkipping Stones.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
expecting rings to spread in pre-historic oceans
as Terra Firma recreates itself according to the original blueprints.
We step closer to the brink
for that leap of faith we never dared to take
before the tide swept us off our feet
and carried us beyond the edge of the ancient maps where
“Here be Dragons”
have been etched into the scorched earth like graffiti.
Sentences get too long as we run out of words to form them
speaking with our bodies in a twisted dance
like larvae burrowing into the crust of the earth.
Seeking deeper towards the internal sun
like an imitation of Icarus
digging deeper until the core melts our waxen wings
and we become yet another particle of our own universe.
from ripples of oceans past
and the sand slipping between our fingertips
as we walk on bare feet across the heavens
in search of answers we have yet to form the questions to.