We Are/You Aren'tWe are the unwanted, the broken
The ones you forgot about.
So don't be too surprised when we
Start to scream and shout.
We are the living, the dying
The ones you all put down.
But you'll know who we are when we
Run this goddamn town.
We are the corpses, the maggots
The ones you all despise.
But you'll be the ones scared when we
Expose all your lies.
We are the hunted, the lost
The ones you all spurn.
But you'll cry for our help when we
Leave you all to burn.
We are the losers, the winners
The ones that you deny.
But you'll be the ones damned when we
Hear the angels cry.
1. introductionYou, whose head is in the clouds,1. introduction3 years ago in Scraps More Like This
While I stand on the shelf;
Send one ear deep underwater –
Let me introduce myself.
Your eyes are closed, your case is wrong,
Your pride's intact but not for long.
You never really understood
Or progressed, like you thought you would.
But what do I know? Who am I?
What I say might be a lie.
I am one that you may know,
You are me three days ago.
There's nothing, now, that you can do
To change what lies ahead.
Two days from here, without a doubt,
You'll be wishing you were dead.
Of the first to go is pride –
The pain will drain you hollow.
But don't mistake me, it's your fault,
So arrogance will follow.
For the first time in a while
Your feet will touch the ground.
After that, your knees, your face
Your tears will fall without a sound.
But it's okay, it will be fine
So don't go yet young self of mine.
The clouds, for all their space is worth,
Forget the sweetness of the earth.
You're a fool and I am strange;
Tomorrow next's the day for change.
Skeletons In The ClosetI woke up in a daze again. It's beginning to happen so often I find myself growing weary and suspicious.Skeletons In The Closet4 years ago in Scraps More Like This
My mouth was dry, as if I had just been through suffering for days without a drop of water. My head was cloudy - as if some great mist had fallen upon it - and I found my mind's eye was quite blind in the sudden, dark haze.
Answers were only gathered with the ticking away of minutes; when the sun first rose in the back of my head, leaving me feeling as if I was just the victim of a monster of a nap. At first it was as if just being born - no recollection of where I was, barely of who I was - and definitely zero remembrance of drifting abroad in dreamland.
As time began to collect my pieces from their scattered and unknown places across the floor, I slowly found answers worming their way into my mind. I knew who I was (Something of which was always a relief when the knowledge poured into my brain) and I certainly knew where I was...
But as for knowing when I had experienced the ext
what I wrote instead of an essay I vaguely remember dreaming last night about being in a brightly but sadly lit gas station in the middle of the night, and the world felt so big and I was naked in the face of it- nothing to lose, a whole night of things to experience. There was something so stark and lonely about that bright gas station light, a kind of uncomfortable blankness. But that's what I crave, isn't it? I crave that unpleasant yet indescribably desirable feeling of the shedding of security blankets; the security of my house, of everyone I know, of my routine and my ideas about what my life is going to be- everything I've been wrapped up in all these years that now stifles me. But it was only a dream, and it brings me no joy now that the memory is warped with my disappointed hyper-awareness of the fact that it wasn't real. Left over from that dream is only a sense of longing; the fingerprints of a lover, gracing a windowpane after the night is over and I sigh, looking out the window at thewhat I wrote instead of an essay3 years ago in Scraps More Like This
harmonizei'm built on broken bones and metronomesharmonize3 years ago in Scraps More Like This
her alto trills, his hollow tones
a second verse she'll never know
so sweet and sweet and down we go
the cords stretch and scratch but never match
the off beat tears he'll surely catch
the droplets lead a song of their own
recorded on heartstrings, a song i know
his words they ring and the hurt they bring
it's been so long but i choose to sing
and maybe he'll hear the music we make
( it's been so long but i choose to break. )
FriendsA pack we will beFriends3 years ago in Scraps More Like This
defeat Darcia we will do.
Search for paradise
we will find.
Together as one
with Kiba by our side.
Follow our noses
to the scent of lunar flowers.
We will go to new places
and meet new friends.
We will run into foes
and kill our enemies with mercy to come.
Howl to the moon
we are on our way, paradise.
Together as one
Pack of the dawn
Kiba, lead us home.
Toboe, the kind and gentle,
will guide you through unnecessary battles
Hige, funny and light-hearted, will
make sure someone has a joke. Let
him always be there by your side when you need him.
Tsume, the bold and unjust, will
refuse to call you a friend, but will help anyone
who is in need. In a pack he is always looking out for
everyone. That is what we call loyalty.
Kiba, born to lead, will always have
the answers with a nod or simple gesture. He follows
his instinct, and believes in what’s right, even if mercy is one. He
fights for Cheza, and his only direction
The imminent menace of the wall above the townit grew upon the town-The imminent menace of the wall above the town3 years ago in Scraps More Like This
cool and slimy,
slicked like saliva across the cobblestones
subtle : invasive, therefore
but slow and uncomfortable
looming high above the grey roofs,
it stretched eons in every direction
and so tall that it cracked the sky.
morning to evening shadows
so, so heavy-
wheezing laboured breaths
that trickled down covered necks,
the sun was blotted
as swift as a draft steals heat
long, dripping tongues
licked the walls
cracks, windowpanes, eaves
fountain square, around doorknobs
behind children’s ears,
down their chests
-and the smell grew,
its lethargic feet
dragged closer to the town outskirts
by a few steps a
one day it flooded the well;
poor person, now you
can’t wash the slime out of your pores…
creatures stayed in their houses, struggling for air.
roamin'i named him charlie.roamin'6 years ago in Scraps More Like This
charlie was the sort to sit on the concrete rather than the bench three feet away because it was ironic, his guitar case under his shoes and a cardboard sign on his lap that read, "roamin'." charlie was maybe twenty, with too many deceased train tickets and copper-plated coins turning in his jeans. i would bet the contents of his pockets that he couldn't remember where his hometown was anymore, what his mother's face looked like, or why he left.
i wanted him to hold his sign the other way, i wanted to see if there were more permanent-marker words scrawled on the back. i wanted it to say, 'drive me somewhere,' or 'take me to the west coast, take me back east.'
i wanted to drop my shopping bags and throw open my passenger door and tell him to jump in. his guitar case would go in the backseats and he'd kick his feet up on the dashboard and leave muddy traction prints along it.
i'd tell him to empty his pockets, see what he's got, make him chip in for gas money. i'd dr