Lament of an AtheistI cut candles straight down their waxy centerLament of an Atheist2 years ago in Free Verse
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just by looking into the flame. Slick peels of
honeycomb melt into my palm and blister skin.
Then the world ricochets forward.
I plummet back into my body and there's
a thick distortion in audio. A constant pulse at
the back of my eyes, tuned to the rhythm of your
heartbeat. I look for traces of you, but,
God, you're lost.
Leaves fall as paper lanterns from wooden fingers.
Spiraling upwards on the breath of cosmos, back
to Heaven, lit like the sun on a marvelous azure
backdrop. I needed your wisdom, but all is gone.
Christ, you're dead.
Atheists are not meant to love. Realists are not
meant for passion. Idealists are the dreamers
of their own demise; only they can make it
A man once told me that the astute make terrible
lovers, but I'll fight that to the bitter end. Maybe
the irrational are so hopeful in their wafts of
hallucination they cannot come to mindful conclusions
of their forsaken love.
There's a poet under my skin, itching
master of decadence.Although it might not seem so, she had been the killer in the crowd; that night she had come to hunt them all down. No mercy, she did it one by one. Surprised? Allow me to explain, such devil, such wicked heart, black and untamed. Afraid? Listen close now; her show is about to commence.master of decadence.1 year ago in Personal
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She hisses, she snarls, and she whispers, and she laughs. She's the prettiest of all, with evil mind, sweetly to prowl. Bony fingers of long sharp nails, her lovely hands were made to tear flesh. But fragile she is and one day she might break. Just a beautiful sinner now wasted away. Oh, such enchanting cadaver, dancing and dead.
And as she keeps dancing she starts pulling you down. Down into a dark place you alone would never have found. You shout, stupidly unbowed. But sadly at night, only silence is loud. And as her silhouette continues to skulk, twirling around, you finally understand. She's the master, a queen with no crown.
And although her heart is cold and her teeth are sharp, she once had be
There Stands the GrassDuring my youth, I frequently traveled the world, sightseeing in the most exotic places. Few people can boast about having visited far-off and unheard of lands such as Oman, Kosovo and Swaziland. Traveling and exploring different countries became a passion, one that I enjoyed doing to no end. My reasons for getting such unprecedented joy from seeing the deepest parts of the world are my own, but I can only imagine being anywhere aside from home would give me pleasure. I have visited countries that some men have never even heard of, not even in their wildest dreams, but of all the experiences I’ve had and of all the people I’ve met, there is one event that I will never forget.There Stands the Grass1 year ago in Short Stories
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I was on a guided safari tour in Kenya, in the Hell’s Gate National Park, which received its name from the steep cliffs that opened up like a demon’s jaws. Was I wrong for going there in the first place? Well, no sane person should ever venture to a place called Hell’s Gate. I was wit