IntensityI dress in broken greyscale,Intensity2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In walls of smoke-charred glass:
The paper-lined abysmal veil
That glistens as you pass.
I live in boxed enigmas,
Counting star-drenched seas
Until the etched out sigma,
My breath a sour wheeze.
I am the tattered sailboat
Among your wispy words;
I dip and fly 'til I can float
Beside your past, lust-lured.
My ceiling is a blanket
You wove with mirrored stars
And set upon me, "take it",
And carved my fledgling scars.
My body is no canvas
But the artwork that you make
Within the winds around us
And the watered earth you break.
Having Brought You to WasteBold and curling rotten flesh,Having Brought You to Waste2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Piled around my bed
Of all the bodies, broken hearts,
I've left in treading stead.
Although it burns the ears and eyes,
It's sweet as winter's eve
And cradles the weary tongue
That laid improper deed.
Unending blood pools and steams,
Streams and mattes against my skin.
I bathe in the viscous heat;
The liquid cools, binds as I swim.
Coagulation slows my dance
Through your chopped remains:
The freshest of the dead
In my web of splattered stains.
I find victory in your despair.
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
ReflectionReflection3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Cold and smooth is the surface of glass, but it doesn't have a color,
and it hides the naked truth unlike any other
You look so innocent in the truth, but it really, truly lies,
'cause the person that it sees right now hardly can comply
The glowing glass holds the image of you, but all it sees is perfection
you like to tease it is the truth, though it is only your reflection
Blinded by beauty is the mirror to only notice features
it compares you to the rest, lower than a creature
It can't see your pain inside, or understand your feelings
and you know as you move on, it's yourself you're slowly killing
You let out a cry of pain as you pound your fist into the glass
then you fall onto your knees and hope those feelings swiftly pass
The mirror breaks and is left confused as it lays there shattered
blood drips down your raw hand and your breathing slowly patterns
Now the mirror is just like you, it's broken and a mess
and you can't repair the pieces which are lower than they are les
Open Heart SurgeryI've got ink throbbing through fissured veins,Open Heart Surgery2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
poisoning every atom of my soul.
"Bite your tongue," they say.
How I'd love to chew the damn thing off
and suck down every filthy syllable
just like the rotten bone marrow it is.
They'd all watch as my body spontaneously combusts
and becomes nothing but convoluted karma.
And so I wrote,
Teach me the ways of ripping out a human heart,
and stitching it onto ink-stained parchment."
The answer that came was rasped from a cauterized throat:
"Read your future in the collapsed palm of the stars;
find the abandoned pulse of your lionhearted muse;
steal their conformed scalpel and make it your own."
You Won't Control MeYou Won't Control Me3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You strangled me
As I snuggled into your hugs
I remember your joy
Toying with my lungs
I remember the excitement
The bruises you left
Told me to "look at the concept"
As you sneered at me, you never left
Oh I smiled as you burned my flesh
There I go thinking of the past, it's dead
Here I go feeling no peace, just dread
You'll never get to break me
Emotion's ran me deep
They had prevented me from sleep
I looked elsewhere ignoring them
And yet the emotions tried to brush my lips again
I want to tell you, my sweet emotions,
I used to be yours
The past is, the past
And little by little, I don't know you anymore
I remember how you buckled me
The ground felt so heavenly
Your needle pierced me deep
You held on tight
I waited on you; you never gave me the time
I remember the dead silence
The hard stop, as everything slipped
And suddenly all was balanced
The nothingness ringed
Your silence made me scream
There I go thinking of the past, it's a
The FearThe day was a fair one, when changes aboundThe Fear3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The sun cast its smile on her face
She lived like no other, in regions of sound
A child in the loveliest place
But as her head lifted, the glow fell away
Her heart skipped a beat in alarm
The shadows of darkness were longing to play
The moon seemed a beacon of harm
"I'm tired," she whispered. "I just want to sleep
But oh, God, I pay such a price
With no sweet distractions, I'm in the King's keep
And I'm trapped, all alone, in his eyes."
She curled up, lost in her thoughts and despair
No warm touch or words gave her peace
The King set her off, with a gentleman's flair
(But he'd drawn her the darkest of dreams)
A lion that lay with its head all amok
A scream that leaked blood from her soul
A house that caught fire, a corpse on the rocks
A little boy dizzy with cold
A room with no meaning, a cliff with no life
A Reaper that started too late
A man chasing children with armies of knives
A jungle that chose her as bait
The dreams rolled