losing a love and loving a lostSometimes you lose people, you know? Sometimes you lose someone you love, and they can't come back. They die on you, take a little piece of your heart with them, and they don't come back. Sometimes you lose someone you love and it breaks your heart, it claws at your lungs and it breaks through your chest and leaks through your pores, and you're practically fucking emanating sadness, but there's nothing you can do about it. You're stuck writing about it in stupidly long sentences because you don't know what else to do with this itch beneath your skin, and you need to fucking do something with it because it's going to eat you alive. The ache that pulses through your veins is going to drive you insane, it's going to absolutely murder you. You lost someone you loved. They're gone. They've left you. You can't get back the picnics and the laughter and the fights. You can't call them on the phone, and you can't fucking touch them, okay? You can't hug them, or play with their hai
OCDI count the cracks in between the blocks of cement beneath me as I walk. Two. Two. Four. Four. Always four sets of that. Always two, two, four, four. Four times each. Look up. Blink 8 times. Two sets of four. Then back down. Two, two, four, four.OCD3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Safe. Those numbers are safe. Even, not odd. Odd is bad. 'Odd' is what people call you when you're different. Bad. Wrong.
Two, two, four, four. I try to focus on something else, not on how many steps I'm taking, because there are people behind me. Person. One set of footsteps. Bad. Half of two. I think of it as two feet, and that's better. I feel better.
I round a corner, looking for my goal. Always a goal; always a pull. It's getting stronger, so I'm getting close. I have to hurry, I have to lose the person behind me. They kept walking straight. Good.
It's raining again. It's been raining every three days for the past week. Three and Seven. Not good, but not the worst numbers. They add up to ten. Even. Safe. I duck into an alley, and stop sho
I want.I want to map out the night sky on your body.I want.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I want to find the constellations in your freckles,
And trace the shadows on your skin with the pads of my fingers.
I want to learn the way you breathe through my hands,
Feel your diaphragm collapse and expand under my palms.
I want to kiss down the knobs of your spine,
Until I have all of the dips in your back memorized.
I want to learn the secret of how you laugh,
And catch it before it gets the chance to escape.
I want you and your imperfections,
And I want it forever.
Untitled.A whisper,Untitled.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A voice, a murmur
She's afraid, confused,
She recognizes the sounds of his voice
The gentle hum carried by the wind,
The words are oh so familiar.
Is she dreaming?
It could be a nightmare
But it's impossible, it's all impossible.
The day before it happened
Sitting in the park
Everything was hazed pink, pink, pink
Everything was love.
His words, verbatum
"Forever never ends,
even when life is dead."
But it died, drowning.
I feel his whisper
Cold as the waters that took life away, away, away.
Cold as the stone of the grave.
"Forever never ends" he says,
Even though I'm dead.
Don't Talk To Me "I'm sorry," I said, and meant it.Don't Talk To Me4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
She nodded, her expression unfathomable. "Me too."
There was a long pause.
"Just two days ago," I said quietly, avoiding her eyes, "we couldn't even be in the same room without going for each other's throats."
She turned away. "Yeah," she admitted. "But look at us now."
I continued, "And just two months ago we were the best of friends. But look at us now." This time I looked directly at her, smiling mirthlessly.
"But look at us now," she repeated. Her voice was bitter.
I didn't know what to say. We both stood in silence for a while, pretending to listen to the babble of subdued voices from the graduation party.
"You know," she spoke suddenly, "there's nothing about how life is today that I'd have predicted during our last years there." She
The Best I Can DoWhen you both started that conversation,The Best I Can Do5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The one that would end 2 years of your life,
You couldn't have known what was coming;
But you took it like a pro. Bye bye, wife.
Slow, rational, mourning followed by action,
You stood strong and fearless to show your integrity.
What you couldn't see on the other side of that phone,
Her eyes shone a red, white, and blue so pretty;
And she was looking anywhere but at you boy.
She quit you like school, never going back.
Can't you let her go; chop chop her out?
Of course not, your eyes sparkled like that diamond.
Even though history fills you with doubt,
Suffer righteously, leave her alone, and move on.
Her star spangled banner will rip and fade.
Though it seemed; it was not meant to be.
Consider yourself eternally saved
From the girl who wanted freedom more than you.
resipiscenthe was one of those dick-faced kids in shades of bright polyester salmon who seemed to always be laughing or looking at me. an ambiguous-named, feminine-famed all-school american douchebag in those quality leather sandals in the wintertime and golf-green shorts.resipiscent3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
ta give you some background i'm about as far away on the social scale from him as one can get. you know how all the little groups overlap and flap together, pushed around in the wet sand like wave-rivulets blending little facets of stones together until it makes a dune? well our groups---they didn't even touch. i mean you could go from pop-jock to lacrosse to dipper to weed-dealer to hipster to artsy kid to photographer to theatre kid and MAYBE just MAYBE make a weak little chain like one o em shitty-ass jump rings that connect dollar-store lockets. but anyway the point i'm trying to make is we sit on opposite sides of the room and let sociology take its toll.
of course murphy's law works in that i never know anyone. is it that
You Forget.Doors close and sometimes they don't openYou Forget.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and you might be trapped in a dark room
but that doesn't mean that there isn't any light outside
It's a shame to see you go, I don't want to forget you
But everything's forgotten in the end
the feeling fades and soon you can't remember the day
or the month
or the year
much less the moment.
You forget, and that's humanity's tragic downfall.
It won't be long now, it won't be long until you're gone
but I'm begging you not to go
Please don't go, please don't leave before it's started
You're floating away and it's not fair,
nothing about this is fair
and my heart is shattering and splintering
and I can't grasp the pieces quickly enough
I can't gather them all
But maybe a piece will get stuck with you
and then you can take care of it from wherever you are
(I hope it's nice there, please let it be nice.)
so I guess that's okay
It won't be long now, it won't be long until you're gone
And I won't forget you
Enoughyou used me, you knowEnough3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
took me by the heart and swung me around as if I were a rag doll
as if I couldn't feel anything
as if it didn't even matter if I did
but it hurt, my god did it hurt
it ripped at my chest and pulled at my skin
and I hurt, I hurt so bad
but at least I knew that I loved.
I knew that I loved you enough
because it broke open my insides until they were a bleeding, broken mess
and my cheeks were stained with tears and makeup
my eyes were puffy and so, so dull
and you called me beautiful
you said I looked so beautiful like this
empty and vacant and battered
so I let you do it again and again and
you called me beautiful and once again I was putty in your hands
pliant and moldable and a copy, simply a copy
there was nothing left of me as a person
I was your rag doll
your prized possession of soft skin and skeleton
sitting cross legged and beautiful on your shelf
decorated with smatters of purples and blues and yellows
you called me beautiful
and no one else would ever
lapsus calamiyou're smooth, you knowlapsus calami3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
all soft skin and and long fingers,
cupping my cranium and sliding through
the tendrils of my hair
everything about you screams dangerous,
the way your smile starts--
languid and lazy because
your lips speak in secrets
passed through dry presses of mouths and
the way your chin tips up
to show the expansion of your neck,
the littering of freckles that create
constellations and desire
i'd trace the lines of your body
with careful and practiced touches,
i'd turn you into poetry--
transform your lungs into lyrics
your ribs into rhymes,
your tongue into text and
your spine into something more
i'd fall in love with you and
you'd never die
you're smooth, you know
like the insides of thighs and
the slopes over hips
my heart is yours--
i'll give it to you, if you want it
you're just going to have to pay it back
Justifications and Salted Smiles"I don't think I'm holding on any longerJustifications and Salted Smiles3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm diving in.
I wish that you would see,
there's a magical land at the bottom of the ocean
where waterproof lungs let you be
everything you've dreamed.
You can bury underneath the sand
and not be found-
it's the land that's been promised to me
in late night whispers
and burnt tears
wasted on things that don't matter.
I know it's real,
broken minds can't lie
and I can feel it in my bones-
there's something more.
What other reasons would we live for?
They say you inhale saltwater
and exhale enlightenment.
The waves pour over you
and finally make you clean (pure)
No one knows where you are
so your problems don't follow
and neither does time.
It all fades away
until you disintegrate
like your worries.
You can only get there
with a heart that doesn't beat
because humans' empty brains
You need to be all the way gone
I want to go and find myself
and live the dreams I never had.
I swear, it's not that bad-
Do not.Do not tell me that you love me,Do not.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It's not something I want to hear.
Do not tell me that you need me,
That you want to hold me dear--
To you chest, so I can hear your heart beat,
Do not once for a moment,
Think that I am incomplete.
I'm fine, thank you, without you,
Without anyone holding me back
I don't really need you,
You're not something that I lack.
I lack a stable heart, you see,
Mine's different from the rest.
It doesn't need some silly affection,
To bring out its best.
It doesn't have a best, I'd say,
If I may be so bold,
It's cracked and charred and hollow,
It leaves you numbly cold.
Do not tell me that you love me,
I am in a paper town.
I'm empty, you can't save me,
It's best to let me drown.
Hubris.todayHubris.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
than we're ever gonna
i. and we finally did it,
drove to the mountains
and let the mattress
under our love
under the stars
ii. there are things to
iii. my eyes sting like
chlorine, but from
I finally disappointed
the highest order of shame
iv. but you cannot put
people into pockets;
v. and I cannot choose
who I love
vi. your lenses are straight,
elite and proud
mine, open and accumulating
I should run away more often,
we never talk like this
viii. and you have to realise
that I live in a world
that you don't, and you
live in one I
ix. the respect is there,
but I cannot
The Way The World WorksSelling yourself just to figure out who you areThe Way The World Works3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You're lost between the pictures of paintings,
And none of them are real; nothing's real here except for the number of breaths you take
Nothing is real except the knobs of your spine, or the hollows in your hipbones.
You're pushing yourself on an empty tank, but there's nothing to fill you with
Nothing to curb the unquenchable desire of being whole
But you only know empty, you only have ever known empty
Like the sound the wind makes as it passes through the leaves
Or the way the young mother's pocket doesn't jingle when her child tugs on it
You don't know if being empty is a bad thing
But empty is all that you know
So you walk across the bones of the owls and you count their vertebrae
And you're walking so lightly that you're almost floating, you might be floating
And nothing is going to be the same because this minute is different from the last
The cyanide drips off of your lips and you kissed me, I know you kissed me,
You can't take it
Fix You.I'll take your swollen eyes,Fix You.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and I'll show them how to clear.
I'll take your broken smile,
and I'll give you one that's real.
I'll take your rampant mind,
and I'll coax it into stillness.
I'll take your scarred wrists,
And plant, on each, some kisses.
I'll take your shaky fingers,
and hold them steady in mine.
I'll take your shattered heart,
and heal it, over time.
DragonsThe dragons just kept getting cuter.Dragons3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I'd meant them to be scary, with snakelike heads and pearly fangs, but as my fingers gained more practice the dragons they shaped became younger and more innocent, their wings tiny and their eyes wide. Dull spikes lined their heads and tails, not yet sharpened by age. They lay on their bellies or sat up and watched with good-natured curiosity. They were friendly. They were sweet.
They were flawed, and there were a lot of them. I experimented with color and pose, sculpting the way others would turn a stress ball. Every morning I baked the newcomers in my oven, and within a week my desk was overrun. Rows of dragons pressed against my laptop from all sides. Some I enjoyed looking at. Others were a reminder of some mistake I'd made. Putting the horns on before the eyes. Making the legs too thin so it tilted drunkenly while baking. Not realizing that some clay changes color as it solidifies.
What to do with them all? I couldn't keep them even if I'd want
Noticed in CommittingI started committing suicides. They were small at first, but more grandiose as the months passed.Noticed in Committing3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
At first, I came up with basics: wrist slashing, hanging, overdose, jumping off a building, and stepping off in front of bus. They were all very mundane, really, and if not done properly you just end up living very, very painfully. It was after those routine ways to snuff oneself that I began to get creative.
There was going into a biker bar nude and starting fights with drunk bikers. And when I say "fights", I mean with a knife in my hand. That was a fun night. Everyone was freaked out and angry at the same time. They all wanted to kill me, but they didn't want to touch me either. Eventually, though, they did.
Oh, another good one was sneaking into one of those giant dump trucks at a quarry and letting them dump tons of excavated rocks on me. The driver of the loader always sees you just as it's too late and tries to stop the load.
They Say I'm GuiltyOf the nearly eighty female prisoners that had answered my request, I had narrowed my choices down to two of them. The first was a voluptuous, porcelain-skinned brunette that would make my brother drool in seconds. The second was a golden-haired, frail little piece of work, and normally I would have dismissed her during the first round of eliminations, but something kept her there. Maybe it was the way she stared at me with her venomous green eyes, but I couldn't be sure. In any case, I had my two choices set before me, each isolated in separate cells on opposite ends of the jail so that I might observe them more personally.They Say I'm Guilty3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I turned to the prison guard. "What can you tell me about this one?" I was starting with the brunette.
"Number 67," he practically spat. "Don't believe a word she tells you. She's as good a liar as they come."
I wondered at what sort of lies she had told the guard because clearl
The IdolI once saw a man on the television who was so afraid of fruits that when presented with a bowl of them, he fled the stage, knocking over the host and several other guests. Though I openly pitied the man for his obvious malady of the mind, inside, the small bit of sadism buried within all humans laughed at his bizarre affliction. How can one not find cruel amusement in the cowering of a grown man who has been confronted by nothing more than a bowl of peaches? But now I understand fear like no other. I now no longer find amusement in the terror of others, no matter how illogical.The Idol4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Now, let me tell you the story of why the sound of wind whistling through the trees in Autumn strikes me with a fear so immense that I can do little more than shake uncontrollably.
A good friend of mine, a young and upcoming anthropologist by the name of Henry Byrne, contacted me eight weeks ago. Though he refused to go into details, he excitedly explained t
The Green of my Heartbeats5: Red, rude, a bully.The Green of my Heartbeats3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
She was bored, propping her face up on her palms. Her teacher, high-voiced and chirping in fuzzy green flurries, was writing rows of sevens on the board. White chalk. The sevens were glimmering in turquoise, and she smiled.
Sevens were nice, friendly. Seven would never eat nine. Nine was just a baby, like her brother at home.
She was only five. Fives were bullies, nasty. Bright garish red, like B. B was red, but he was not as rude. He forgot things though. Like his keys. Impatient.
She sighed, her head slipping and resting on her wrist. She could feel her pulse on her cheek.
"Seven!" said her teacher, continuing to fill the board. "Say it with me. Seven!"
Later, they got to practice identifying numbers. She had learned before, at home. Kindergarten was not meeting her new knowledge expectations.
Sitting at the table, she strived to make conversation to ease the ache inside her brain. "I like sevens. Aren't they the prettiest color you've ever seen?"
They boy next
Emptysunken eyes and a hollow heartEmpty3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you're longing for something to bring you home
for something to save you and hold you and
tell you that everything's going to be okay
but nothing's okay
nothing's okay about the way your chest aches
or the way your bones are brittle and weak
because you haven't slept properly in months
and you haven't uttered a syllable for even longer
you keep pretending that it's alright
but you don't have anything to keep you sane
you're drowning in your own horror
and you know you should stop it
you know you should get up and swim,
just get the fuck up and swim,
but it's not as easy as it sounds
(because you've tried, my god how you've tried)
but nothing's going to get better
because you don't want it to get better
you're sick and twisted and cynical and
if you get better you don't know what's going to happen to your heart
everything that's making you 'you' will disappear and
there will be nothing but a dull void
a bitter emptiness that'll suck the heat right o
I Think I Might Need YouI think I might need youI Think I Might Need You3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
and the light that you bring
but I'm out of control and
I can't feel a thing.
I can't feel a thing
and it's making me sick
I think I might need you but
it's all just a trick
It's all just a trick
and alone here I'm sat
There's no one around and
it's cold in my flat
It's cold in my flat
and my knees keep on shaking
There're ghosts in the walls and
my heart keeps on breaking
My heart keeps on breaking
and it's sad that it's true
I think I might need you but
that's nothing new.
MaggieCh. 1Maggie3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
In the morning, the postman comes around seven. Maggie would give her usual warning gruff from her spot on the rug, her head raised, her ears perked. When the mail car sputtered away, Maggie would bring herself to rise slowly and pad to the window where she'd probe the glass curiously with her nose. Seeing nothing, she would return to her well-worn spot and drop like a sack of mail.
Every day, a little death
Every death, a little day
There came a time where I realized I couldn't see the curiosity in Maggie's eyes. Sure, she'd sniff around the yard excitedly, or wag her tail when we went to the park, but the way she looked at thingslike the way she slowly moved her head to watch me cookis like she looked through them. When I dropped something, she'd follow it lazily with her eyes and then lay her had comfortably on her paws, unaffected. Even when I called her over, she rose with effort, and sniffed the food briefly before gently lapping it up. She looked a