LandlockedLandlocked1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
You told me not to lose myself in these monsoon-moods, but the winds backed to westerlies and caught me up in their currents; the ebb and flow of these atmospheric tides may yet turn my bones to gypsum-dunes, fated to crawl across dry land forever in search of the sea.
Spirit BlazeSpirit Blaze2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Iridescent flickers of color
Float carelessly throughout the air
Resurfacing the wanders of the unknown
While exposing the passions within
The flames of the heathen blaze
Burst forth in sentimental dance
Exploding the tendencies of lacking thus
The infliction no longer dispersed
How I long of that fire
That flare of confession
Which leads and forgives and disappears
While leaving behind charred souls
My heart is made of coal
No longer of the nightly failings
But rather of the sky light sparks
That disappears behind rusted remarks
The spirits of the flourish
Tend to all my worthless cares
They bring up to the feelings of thus
The life circle...
Of the spirit blaze
The Wailing: TeaserPart I: The SirensThe Wailing: Teaser2 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
The sound of the sirens is what has stayed with me. I remember the explosions, the engines of the Messerschmitts, the screams of men trapped beneath the rubble. Of course I do. But it is the wail of the sirens that yet haunts my dreams, settles that same cold sickness in my gut, that same cold slickness on my palms. It is the banshee shriek of coming death.
The night was cold and clear when that sound prickled along my arms like so many icy fingers reaching out from behind the drapes.
Rowan stilled her hands at the typewriter and ripped the sheet from the machine, lest some unscrupulous eye should take advantage of her temporary absence. She snatched up a grey cardigan, a torch, and the requisite gas mask, and had nearly gotten to the door before she turned back to look at me. Her dark eyes were as empty as ever.
‘Are you coming?’ she asked as she stuck one arm into a cardigan sleeve.
‘I’ll follow later,’ I said. ‘
UncleMy earliest memoriesUncle7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
of my sister Rebecca
were wrestling on my parents bed.
At the time I was taking Judo
so my sister was normally the one
13 years ago
my sister experienced problems
The doctor told us it was either
my sister or the baby to survive.
That was the day I lost my sister
and received my daughter in law,
also named Rebecca,
who Rebecca said I should raise
along with my wife Courtney.
For 13 years Rebecca thought
I was her father
until Courtney told her the truth
on her 13th birthday.
13 years ago I lost my sister.
“Is it true you’re my uncle” she asked
“I guess so” i replied “but…”
“Yay, I have an uncle!”
“Rebecca please stop”
“Why are you crying uncle?”
“Rebecca for the love of God please stop calling me uncle. Please”
Smokingi've decided to breathe poison.Smoking2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i don't like the way it tastes,
the bitter stain on my tongue
or the telling smell that sticks to my hair
i like the way it feels
lighting one cigarette with another,
ash falling to the damp earth,
melting in to nutrient-rich soil for the plants to eat
i control how deep
the smoke buries itself in my lungs
but not how long it settles there
and i enjoy the hazy
silhouette of euphoria
that comes with each grey exhale.
My Crossdressing God-dessToday you are a girl,My Crossdressing God-dess4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
So you stuff your sister's bra,
3 tissue boxes are casualties,
In your crusade for beauty.
As you apply lipstick,
In front of our cracking mirror,
I mention that this is the 5th time this week,
You've paraded yourself in miniskirts and hooped earrings,
And I wouldn't mind normally,
Perfume has begun to smell like gunpowder.
Today you are a boy,
So you dust off your abandoned wifebeater,
And rub your ignored adam's apple gingerly.
As you apply shaving cream,
In front of our cracking mirror,
I mention that your unnaturally deepened voice,
Sounds like a bad imitation,
Of a butterfly wearing bear claws.
You reply in a whisper,
"Butterflies aren't as ugly as me,"
And my heartstrings are played like an orchestra.
I hold you tighter than usual,
And run kisses over your waterproof mascara from yesterday.
I say to you,
"I wish I could be your cocoon,"
And those pools of confused blue,
Seem to still themselves,
You press your body more openly against mine.
The Origin of GodThe universe began with a thought.The Origin of God2 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
The greatest tragedy of the human condition is, sometimes limited, awereness of our own faults, coupled with the inherent inability to overcome any of them. The truth is - we are programmed to be this way, and everything can be reprogrammed. It is a matter of genetic imprints, and they can either be changed by milennia of forced feeding of information - psychological conditioning, if you will - or by a simple thought.
Have you ever had a horrible toothache? Have you ever tried telling your tooth, via your brain, to shut down the nerves in your jaw so you can get some sleep? It works. So, why wouldn't it work with other manifestations of pain? Existence is the ultimate form of pain, from which all other forms derive. The abilities of the greatest tool we have at our disposal - our brain - are not just in the realm of basic impulses such as "I need to feed", but that is what we have been lead to believe thus using only a miniscule percent of its potenti
will.i.will.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i will not grant you pretty words
though they burn in my veins
and force me to breathe,
as if my fey-child scripture
ever could withstand you
and the scars you carved in my DNA.
they breed in my throat,
a transcendental code sacrosanct
as the prayers you whisper,
and the vows you took in obligation
only to hide your transgression
(twenty-six years, three months, twenty days)
and write in me the fear
of being erased.
so maybe you can't understand
how i made myself not hate you
when i thought you would die
just in case
i want to throw my fury
at your feeble body and
like zeus to your cronus
though i've always been cast
as hermes instead
for every second i've stared myself down
just to prove the balance of genetics
lies not in your favour
teaching myself to drive stick
so i could run farther
from who you wanted me to be
the six year old boy
with a near-perfect sketch
(but it wasn't
9729 kilometers away, to be exact.i have these bones like flowers-9729 kilometers away, to be exact.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
fragile and finely plucked,
these lily stargazers
are kissing ocean beds,
making love to sirens
for a taste of her
i want to tape maps to my limbs-
throw caution to the wind
as i gather up
every love letter receipt,
from every false attempt
i ever wrote her
& forget for just a moment
that even still
she does not love me.
Sherlock BBC - Like a VirginAs John was staggering up the stairs to their shared flat on 221B Baker Street and struggling to keep his balance in a really pathetic and futile impression of a walk, he thought that spending the whole evening in "Red Lion", drinking pint after pint, maybe wasn't such a good idea.Sherlock BBC - Like a Virgin2 years ago in Romance More Like This
It was all Sherlock's fault, as usual. A few hours ago he announced fervently that he was bored out of his mind, and, since there wasn't any interesting case available, it could be fruitful to go to a pub and try spying on people. After all, drunk clientele are more prone to spill the beans and reveal some juicy secrets. At least that's what Sherlock claimed using more sophisticated vocabulary and making those puppy eyes, which you couldn't simply refuse. The truth was, John didn't really want to oppose this time, because an evening in a pub sounded fantastic. He envisioned that a bit of unwinding will be a nicer pastime than chasing criminals all around London as they normally do. So John was quite glad whe
The Stick PeopleIn a town called Rushing Water, there lived a woodcarver with no face.The Stick People2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
When we were small, my brothers and I, Daddy would sometimes take us to visit her. We would sit there at her kitchen table, amazed, as this woman with no eyes – and indeed no nose or mouth – would pour out our tea without spilling a drop.
I was frightened of her because she looked so strange, so grotesque. All the other days of my life, I encountered people with faces – square faces, oval faces, faces round and smiling like the moon with slanted eyes or big dark ones or little beady bird eyes. Snub noses, Romans or long, thin, birdlike ones like mine. Yet here was a woman with none of that or any of the faculties that come with those organs.
As a little girl, I dreaded our visits to the faceless woodcarver. But now that I've grown up I miss most all the memories of my childhood, even the somewhat unpleasant ones, so I sometimes let them wander through my mind even when they aren't invited. So I remember the woodcarv
Waking dead.If Death be sweet saviour and remorseWaking dead.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a psychopomp, midwife to the passing,
Thanatos, Ankou, Yama, Memitim, Hypnos,
save me to rest and to sleep
take me in deep
in soft, make this all in my head
to where my friends and my
family, my father
"sweet death, you are the only god
Who comes as a servant when he is called"
So here I am, a lullaby leaving my lips in
the form of a cry of a whistle
in hopes an answer of
sweet serenity will greet
ResurgenceWith these words, I consume the world.Resurgence2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A fire bursts out in every forest;
a drought parches every pasture;
a stillness pervades all bodies of water.
The Earth halts for the winds of death.
A fire bursts out in every city;
a plague ravages every nation;
a famine starves all of civilization.
Conflict envelops the bastions of peace.
A fire bursts out in every heart;
a parasite eats away at every mind;
a blindness drives all men mad.
The world burns
before it turns,
and the blight
before the light.
The people cry
before our eyes,
and the death
before the breath.
With these words, I give hope.
A light shines in every soul;
an evil flees from every kind word;
a simple act breeds all joy.
The Earth moves for us.
A veil lifts from every perception;
a fog disperses from every land;
a resurgence born from all remaining strength.
The world learns
before it burns,
and the light
before the blight.
The people rise
before our cries,
and the breath
before the death.
With these words, I consume the wor
Stop Romanticizing Poets 2K14This is how I write my poems:Stop Romanticizing Poets 2K142 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
You’re blonde and you have blue eyes.
You’re the perfect subject for my next great hit,
a long rambling epic or a two page sonnet
which would start by comparing your hair
to rays of the sun and your eyes to the ocean
at daybreak. Even if you’re more of a dishwater blonde
than sun-colored, and your eyes are less ocean and
more sky, I swear I write this poem and think
vaguely of you.
But here is a secret: I’m not writing a poem about you.
I’m writing a poem about the idea of you.
And I don’t know if it will be a love poem or
a break-up poem or a “please don’t go home and
commit suicide” poem or one of those
heartbreakingly honest poems that feels like
you put your pencil on paper and bled.
I don’t write poems like that often.
No poet does, not really,
we write poems about you and your blue eyes
because we don’t like how bleeding feels,
and it is much safer for us to pretend to fall in l
paper hearts. Theres a crevice in the wall where she hides her little baby girl, all plastic smiles and mechanical giggles. She cuddles it like it has a soul and speaks to it like it has a name. Its soft rubber skin has been covered with paper hearts and marker stars, and its little plastic ears have been filled with whispers of adoration and love. Its wiry blonde hair has been crossed into braids, twisted up above its head, and she has pulled a dress onto its synthetic body with the brightest little smile. She reminds it that its beautiful, even though it cant hear. She fastens it tight into the beaten pink stroller and skips behind it as it rolls across the pavement, dancing in the sun like there is no tomorrow and yesterday is only a dream.paper hearts.6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
And maybe she's only six years old, but she knows how babies are made. Not the ones you buy in the store, the ones you have to tear out of the cru
Sleepwalker. [Johnlock Oneshot.]John awoke to a soft rattling from downstairs, his eyes feeling heavy as he forced them opened. He'd just gotten to sleep not even a few hours ago and he'd thought Sherlock had gone to sleep aswell, but apparently not. Getting from his bed, he slipped on his robe and tying it loosely around his abdomen, letting it hang off his shirtless frame. "For Gods sake." He murmured, blinking slowly as he descended down the stairs and looked around for the sound which was getting louder and louder. It sounded like a rustle and then a small thump, over and over. "Sherlock?" He asked, rubbing his eyes as he looked around the empty living room. "Are you awake?" He added shortly after but no sound was returned other then the rustling. Concern growing, John shifted silently and turned to the kitchen to see Sherlock standing there with the fridge open, mumbling quietly to himself.Sleepwalker. [Johnlock Oneshot.]2 years ago in Romance More Like This
"Mm.. Morning tea .." He groaned as John came closer.
"Sherlock, what are you..?" He began before cutting himself off. The
ScotlandxReader::Give Me LoveScotland x ReaderScotlandxReader::Give Me Love2 years ago in Romance More Like This
Give Me Love
One month. It has been one month since he saw you. It's been one month since he ran his fingers through your silky (h/c) hair. It's been one month since he's felt your soft, plump lips against his. It's been one month since he felt your perfect body against his. It's been one month since he's said, "I love you."
Give me love like her,
'Cause lately I've been waking up alone,
Paint splattered teardrops on my shirt,
Told you I'd let them go,
And that I'll fight my corner,
Maybe tonight I'll call ya,
After my blood turns into alcohol,
No, I just wanna hold ya.
It's been a month since you broke up with Allistor and it was killing him, literally. As soon as you left him, packed bags and leaving without a trace, he's spent every second at the bar, drinking himself to the point of vomiting and passing out.
He'd drink away the pain and sorrow of his lost lov
Johnlock"Sherlock, I don't understand." John Watson looks at his flatmate, Sherlock Holmes, deeply in the eyes.Johnlock2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"What's there not to understand, John?" Sherlock seems to pin John in his place with his gaze.
"You said that..." John looks down at his feet, not knowing where else to go with that statement.
"That, I did, John, and what's your answer?" He stares down at the ex-army doctor.
"Yes." John looks up at his friend and bites his lip.
"Yes?" Sherlock looks at him, a slightly amused expression on his face.
"Yes. Why did you ask me, out of anyone you know you asked me. Why?"
"Because I know you...and I trust you." John smiles at Sherlock.
"Really?" Sherlock nods.
"I always have." John smiles wider.
"Thank you." Sherlock looks at him, genuinely puzzled.
"Asking me to come along." Sherlock shrugs noncommittally.
"Like I said. I trust you above everyone else." John smiled again.
"Do you want to go back to the flat, make some tea?" Sherlock shrugs again.
"Might as well...Lestrade is s
Design a country work sheetDesign a country work sheet4 years ago in Settings More Like This
For those people who needs to design their own world.
This is a form I will use from now on to help me design it faster and more complete.
original from: droemar's journal
Edited by mayshing 2010
Colors: (An example would be red, white, and blue)
Symbol: (An example would be stars and stripes.)
calender measure (time table): (Does their calender go by the moon, or sun? Or other planets?)
Races: (The races that inhabit the area, whether or not they're native.
Physical: (The ethnic description of your race: skin color, hair color, builds, dress)
Preference to fashion and beauty:
Weather patterns: (Tropical? Stormy? Cold? Earthquakes? Climate in general?)
-how the weather influence inhabitants behavior, travel
Major river and lakes?
Any construction a
The Princess Of The NorthTHE PRINCESS OF THE NORTHThe Princess Of The North2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
She was a Princess
of the North,
A war it came
and she was lost
She was enslaved,
She was forced,
They dressed her red
And she was sold.
He was a son,
down, from South,
With light heart
and shy mouth
He never searched,
yet now he found,
Their eyes met
a night around.
They hide in darkness,
She's in Love,
He didn't think
Of what's above
She was a slave
and masters ask
to pay with gold,
to pay for lust.
He was no warrior,
No sword in hand
and no courage
yet to stand.
They'll meet again,
Two elders pay
For him, her goods
They'll meet again,
Two elders pay
For him, her goods.
the elders go,
no passion's flaw
But he is young,
with light heart,
He likes her,
but not so hard
But she is young,
with heavy heart,
She keeps some gold,
She's calling him
and there he's back,
Eyes are meeting
in the dark
But he's young
With light heart,
He's hiding words,
He keeps apart
He makes thoughts
of Love and go
ExpireSuicidal imaginationExpire2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Born into despair and pain
Forever scarred and unholy
Forever distorted and confused
We live to die
Born into death
We all die every day
The very second we are born
All water turns to blood
All bones turn to ash
Every soul called famous
Is another heart hollowed
I don't talk, you know
I don't smile, of course
Because I'm numb in pain
I'm empty and forever hopeless
Life is nothing more than useless struggle
Birth is the first gun shot
And death is the only satisfying thing in the end
I'm tired of struggling in vain
I just want to set my eyes to rest
And my skin to the cold
So I can truly be nothing