Voltage Stars React to the Knife GameVoltage Stars React to…Viral VideosVoltage Stars React to the Knife Game2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Today’s video is…The Knife Game
Watch the original video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_t2bnp8aoXw
Prince Joshua and Prince Roberto from “Be My Princess”
Joshua: What is this?
Takuto Hirukawa and Riki Yanase from “Love Letter from Thief X”
Riki: This is a smart idea (sarcastic)
Takuto: There better be blood
Kunihiko Aikawa and Haruka Ustsunomiya from “My Forged Wedding”
Kuni: Why would anyone do this?
Haruka: Is he going faster?!
Ranko Togoshi from “Love Letter from Thief X”
Ranko: No, no, no, no, no, no! I hate knives!
Shota from “Office Secrets”
Shota: Is this for real?
Ibuki Yanase from “Love Letter from Thief X”
Ibuki: I don’t see the appeal to do something like this
Kenny from “A Knights Devotion”
Kenny: There’s some seriously messed up people. This has bad id
Still-life.The best of my paintings:Still-life.2 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
the hum of
a sad piano,
a morning cigarette,
and a graveside angel;
all I ever wanted.
Don't Write While You're Highwhere the scenesDon't Write While You're High2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
blend too seamlessly
to the next glance:
our twoselves soon rising
up-through white fibers—
from the thick of reality:
oilslicks slipping up-along
when later looking back: the lost
incompatible with water but—
we sought fewer thoughts
An hourglass between his knucklesHe quit smoking because heAn hourglass between his knuckles2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
didn’t like the taste of his own
mortality; bitter, brackish, black
as his lungs. Didn’t like the pull
of nicotine, ashy fingers,
the way a cigarette looked like
an hourglass pinched between his knuckles.
The ashtray began
to fill up again after his wife
died. Every day at first; an entire
pack after her funeral; a box
every three days; one flicker
of light in the evenings spent leaning
on the balcony railing,
watching the city go by through
a veil of smoke and memories.
I bought a pack for him once, just
to use my ID for something.
It’s still sitting on his coffee
table, one cigarette short.
you lied the night you kissed me.there is a thick exhaustion in the pit of my stomach, spreading to my shouldersyou lied the night you kissed me.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
till they hang and to my knees until they buckle. and I will sleep for days on end,
and when I wake up I didn't really.
I hate you dear, I hate you so.
because there is so much to do, I could travel to the other side of the country and
paint a portrait of a stranger and I could sit on top of someone's roof and look at the
stars with a boy I don't want to know and I could fall asleep in his bed and listen to
him playing guitar without clothes and he'd take me out for diner and anywhere I'd
want to go and we'd have sex in his car and on the trampoline in my back yard and
we'd eat at my grandparents with Christmas and it would never be enough because
he's everything you weren't.
I think I lost myself, I think I fell out that time you ran away holding onto me and my
skin tore. I looked for her in that empty hole in your chest cavity, but all I found was
lost so long ago, and you wouldn't show me where it went b
Feelings with no namesi.Feelings with no names2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The feeling you get the day after sending a letter, and you know there is no possible way that the recipient has received your message yet, let alone formulated time to write a reply, but you still get just a little hopeful when you hear the mailman drive by and rush out to the postbox a little too quickly and are disappointed by the pile of free coupons, bills, charity flyers, and a late Christmas card from Grandma Moses.
The noise of a faraway car driving late at night, or perhaps early in the morning, in that sleepy place somewhere between consciousness and dreaming where everything is warm and vaguely fuzzy. The remote sound of tires on asphalt speaks to a sense of curiosity – where are they going? Why so early? – but the blankets are so heavy, your eyes are so heavy, and before you can wonder anymore, the car is long gone and you are long gone, carving out a hollow place to rest in just a few hours more.
A sudden awareness that occurs during funerals that y
AbsenceI still hear your voice in the wide open meadowAbsence3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Laughing like honey bees
And Currawong cries.
In the shivering of gum leaves
In the shadows of steam trains,
Spied between fences and snowflakes' tears.
I still hear your voice at the foot of the staircase
By the swing-set at sunrise
In the car when it rains.
In the whisper of piano keys that play every evening
And haven't been touched in years.
for those slipping into the backgroundThe tax collector hadfor those slipping into the background2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
an appetite for berry smoothies
and a secret love of robotic exchanges
between baristas and caffeine addicts.
An empty emptiness fanatic,
who dreamed of giving
the girl at the bus stop
(with the quiet lip-syncing lips)
a daisy because by the way she
stared forlornly at the pigeons pecking
at nothing, he knew
she liked simplicity
even more than him.
A child plays in the yard.And she fell in the arms of autumn,A child plays in the yard.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
- in a crust of broken leaves.
And when she hit the ochre bottom,
- by little, winged thieves,
her breaths were stolen away.
And she fell in a blanket of foam
- in waves of roaring blue.
And she reached her final home,
- where singing winds blew
smelling of freesia.
And they said she sank in clouds of white,
Like a bird diving too deep for prey,
And they said that in the swirls of the night,
They could hear her voice say:
A child plays in the yard.
Running From My ProblemsRunning on and on,Running From My Problems2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Running to the light,
Running to let go and take back,
Don’t run in circles,
Just run ahead,
Follow no leader,
Don’t look back,
Run to the unknown,
Run to the future,
Leave every problem behind,
But one day I’ll slow down,
And think I am safe,
Even though I was told then ‘You can’t outrun them’,
And they’ll find me
Where I thought I was finally secure,
And they’ll make my punishment worse.
I will then know that I shouldn’t have run,
But for now I’ll just keep running.
Cross Stitch CloudsLike a counted cross stitch masterpiece,Cross Stitch Clouds10 months ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
threads of purple clouds unravel
across a flaming sunrise.
Rhythm of the HeartWhat is this pounding,Rhythm of the Heart2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Within this heart of mine own?
It beats so softly...
Twisted Corsettwisted corsetTwisted Corset2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
tangled in strings
of the heart
Ode To A JaguarFar beneath the canopyOde To A Jaguar2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Bathed in moonlight, a jaguar
Strides with grace through the night
What strength within her muscles
What care put into each step
Spotted coat her camouflage
Gleaming tooth and hidden claw
Combined with such stealth and might
She is lithe fatality
Lethal purpose is guided
The design of her body
Into a fierce elegance
With a beauty born of bloodlust
The jaguar, in all her vim,
Moves among midnight shadows
A pantherine eidolon
Prowling the rainforest floor
Senses always kept acute
Ode To A Shattered WindowShards of glass in various sizesOde To A Shattered Window2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Scattered wildly across the store's tile
Are bathed in shadow and feigned moonlight
Evidence of the robber's break-in
Testament to the desperation
And the brutality of men's hearts
Each shard is a poem of sorrow
A threnody for pure innocence
With the screaming alarm loud and clear
Verses bringing deep despondency
To the store's owner, his family
And the surrounding community
This broken window, this shattered glass
Articulates a reality
Difficult for many to accept
At least for many Americans
Humanity is all too often
Nothing more than a grim fallacy
a love story you don't want.january: she wasnt ready to be serious with him so she left at exactly twelve oh one on new years day with a few words. he kept saying that this was going to be their year and she just said: piss off.a love story you don't want.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
february: the words still stuck in his head even as he pretended to forgive her and took her back. he feared another painful goodbye.
march: she was never good with saying what she truely meant and he never looked deep into words so when she said "i don't love you." he took it as "i don't love you." and not as "i don't know how to love anyone." which was what she wanted to say.
april: the snow had melted away and they were hanging on by last strings. every day was a question of whether today would be the last.
may: she fell apart when her hamster died and he was there through the whole thing.
june: the death of her hamster silenced her but she visited with him more. she never wanted to be alone.
july: as they watched fire works together on fourth of july, he kept looking over at her wonde
Empty.Emptiness is all I feel.Empty.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
How is it,
that when I let people in,
they leave empty handed?
the same as before.
I get left with more sorrow.
And the void grows.
Never BlindSleeping blue andNever Blind2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Scarlet giving me a fright
Calming green and
Yellow like a lightning crack
Violet songs I sing, I pray
recuperatemaybe the world isn't so frail that it'll breakrecuperate2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the moment we touch something;
and maybe there's a little part of ourselves
(deep inside, perhaps, or close to the surface)
that's stronger than what we give credit for,
because, after all, we burn with the vision
of growing stronger.
i enjoy watching pretty things
like kerbs where teens sit with knees pressed together
feet in the gutter --
stitched to their sleeves.
i relish a name etched into a tree
and boats folded from leaves.
little things, which whisper that people still love
even when purses are emptied of coins,
even when patience
like flowers surviving monsoons;
like ants who carry huge crumbs;
the way the moon is so far
but still blushes at the light of
i want to tell all who tread on hard soil
that even stones soften into the beach,
that the lullaby-cry of seagulls is soothing,
and clouds, now distant, were once of the water
that's cupped in your ha
Bete noirei hope your flowers all wiltBete noire2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
into a puddle of grey
i hope your thunderstorms
all fall in may.
i hope you smoke one too many cigarettes
and die of lung cancer one day.
stallions cannot break
but bones can
starspunobserving the romanticismstarspun3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of hooded cemetery kids,
smoking cigarettes pretending
they are not dead.
you were always so sure
about my uncertainty,
all my pick up lines
we built the heat
of the evening from the solidity
that two teens at the park
is the stuff of teen novels
(cliches dim on
our leaf-gold horizon)
your eyes darted
from the gray expanse
of the churchyard & wandered
i wanted to ask you
if i could follow. shove
the words aside &
remember that i came here alone.
i remember our innocence
in the static b e t w e e n
about how youth without you is th-
awing out the lines in my whittled-out eyes.
look to the hooded
wonder what we'd have been like
if we grew up as nothings,
like them. teenage
nothings with chiseled
marble in our
out of our parents' adulterated
lies and the excitement of alcohol.
i settle for a star.
it's almost as luminous
as the after
boys with bird names cant actually fly.i fill my lungs with blackberriesboys with bird names cant actually fly.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
& nicotine because it is the only way
I can stomach the taste.
a phoenix told me once
that he could teach me
how to burn properly,
as if scolding
[ like the intercostal
spaces of a ribcaged
he fell in love
with my words
before he knew
the height of my
or the annoying
sound of my laugh.
he said he could count
all my scars on one hand-
even the ones that wake me
at 3 am with an itch i swear
begs me to rip them open
& i told him he could keep
his pretty words and fiery fingers
creatively away from me.
i am tired of smelling of hell
& ash when -
in a motel roomthis has got to stop, this has got to stop.in a motel room2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i can't keep doing this, i'm sorry,
but we are not meant to fall in love.
don't you understand?
this is a detective novel.
i am a serial killer, and you are the detective,
and i'm not even meant
to get any speaking lines.
i am meant to be compromised solely
of the knives i use, the bodies i choose,
and the prison cell i end up in.
i am meant to end up in a prison cell,
and you are meant to put me there.
this is not a break-through, imaginative,
screw-with-your-expectations work of genius;
this is a cheap paperback detective novel
people leave in hotels, and
find by the boxful in charity shops.
we are not meant to fall in love!
you are meant to be mysterious,
and silent, and brooding,
you are not meant to give me roses,
you are meant to put me in prison.
the reader is not meant to know
you like candle lit dinners.
the reader is not meant to know
anything about you,
besides your tortured past