the opposite of sin"Please, honey," she says, "don't be scared-a the cross."the opposite of sin7 years ago in Spiritual & Occult More Like This
She says, I know Jesus once stood there like a pinned butterfly, His wings all in cascades of browned flesh and His sunburned words stumbling out of a jaw that had forgotten how to closeand I know He tore all them admittances from our hearts like dangling baubles off a Christmas treeand I know, she said, I know He looked awful suspicious with His head bent downwards like He was lookin' at somebody, and I know that His knees bent under the pressure of all those thousands of millions of sins He had planted in His back like rows and rows of dandelion seeds, sprouting up every which way on His skin.
And I know, I know, He was all mountain-carved hipbones and arms like gaping wounds, His neck snapping like his head was paved with rocks and iron, His eyes struggling to break free from their lids; and I know it must've looked awful terrible, honey, but please, don't be afraid.
She takes a breath. I know, she says, I know He
leavemedon'tleaveme.you make me sick. you make my stomach fold in on itself and press out against the lining of my flesh. you put lumps in my throat and you tie strings to my tear glands and tug until the world is just a panoply of blurred lines, hazy colour and bokeh.leavemedon'tleaveme.7 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
you made me do this. you put the knife in my fingers and you told me to tear, you said you would care if i hurt myself like this. you said youd care if i opened my flesh up for you like a gift of blood and flesh and tissue. but you never really did.
i like being small, i like being the blue eyed girl sitting amidst background noise, rubber band arms holding the necks of her legs together. i like being the blue eyed girl with hands holding her from spilling in a mess at everyones toes. i like it when theyre your hands.
i try to define you with mental disorders. i say you have schizophrenia and pretend its a valid excuse. im in love with one of your personalities, but the other doesnt even notice
Dream Come TrueHis guitar strap is lying on the floor.Dream Come True7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Can't seem to find the song he's searching for.
He strums his six-string, but no lyrics come to mind.
He is feeling something that words just can't describe.
He dreams at night of a wonderful girl.
He dreams he lives in a wonderful world.
Her microphone is shaking in her nervous hand.
She needs to find her voice, but doesn't think she can.
She does not know what it means to believe
In oneself, in love, in... anything.
She does not dwell on impossible dreams,
But she still wishes she could live happily.
He saw her stumble into the bar in her high-heeled shoes.
He thought to himself "I guess I've got nothing to lose."
She was doubtful at first, but he was so charming.
It was so hard to say no; his smile was disarming.
Then they danced together all night long.
And that was when their souls wrote this song,
The perfect song for both their lives,
Of true love, without secrets or lies.
Neither man nor woman had ever believed
Such perfection existed 'ti
the weeds across the street.Shes the little girl with flaxen curls at four pm flouncing down her driveway with her hands buried in her pockets, lips pressed out like shes whistling. Youll watch her out your window, with your tea lukewarm on the sill, and splutter a cough; fogging up the glass just enough to miss her smile.the weeds across the street.7 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
You saw her once, twice eating petals off the roses in your garden. Youve forgotten how to converse with children, you cussed between the wheezing and she stared right past like you were simply a knurled twig catching the wind in its leaves.
One morning you found her; purple stockings, blush mittens and a head of sunlight curls- asleep with your cat, Ginger, in your backyard. Her face was lost in the fur and repose and she slept soundly as you cut through her curls, knife icy in your recycled paper fingers. You tied a ribbon around the hair and sewed it in to your next doll. You named her Lucy and stitched a red heart into her chest. At nighttime the beating is so loud y
the fluttered- a collectionithe fluttered- a collection7 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Hear my joints dislocate, coming apart at the notion of sunlight. It falls and it settles in pictures of loveliness, golden tree branches and hints of leaves; of autumn, of spring.
I am so tall in the water. My legs are never-ending, crooked lines of peachskin- watching my fingers draw out ripples until they strain and buckle and fall into the cool. Ill touch my toes and loop my figure and Ill make giant ripples, abhorring fallen leaves and sending shivers of blue through his legs.
Its a faded crimson red holding my breasts, tugging my hips and leaving my ribcage bare to the current. Its smudged lipstick and smeared blood to him; its the soft of petals and the heat of summer to me.
With dirt up my thighs and crushed flowers beneath my elbows we sat in echoes of bark; lit with the little light the leaves could spare. We were a picture. We were lovers in the dirt, near the stream, soft nothing above and heaviness beneath us.
It came tumbling down by my
Przypadek: PieknoPiękno było czymś, co nie mieściło się we franciszkowych wyobrażeniach.Przypadek: Piekno8 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
Nie potrafił jednoznacznie ocenić, co jest szpetne i godne pogardy, a co piękne i zasługujące na najwyższe uwielbienie.
Franciszek nigdy nie czuł,że któraś z kobiet z którymi obcuje jest piękna.
Każda była inna, a zarazem wszystkie z biegiem czasu stawały sie jednakowe, niemal identyczne, ich klejąca sie skóra, ich bezwiedne spojrzenia, stawały sie dla niego własnością jednej osoby.
Jednak kiedyś Franciszek P. był bliski poznania piękna.
Zobaczył jego odbicie w sklepowej witrynie, jak przechadzało sie po drugiej stronie chodnika na patykowatych nogach.
Piękno miało długie, zmierzwione, jasne włosy i niepewne spojrzenie.
Szło powoli i lekko, ale w jego ruchach był pewnien rodzaj przerażenia i niepo
picture death.I couldnt bring myself to bury her.picture death.7 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
I couldnt bring myself to empty the ground of dirt and of earthworms and of the spindly weed roots, and fill in the ochre gap with her body. Her coffee-cream fur held her tiny skeleton from falling out when they hit her. I try not to think of miniature beat-less hearts and mute lungs. I never saw her dead, but I can imagine.
They found her on the median strip. Breathless and still by the endless whoosh of traffic.
In my mind I see Mums face; I see her heart throbbing at her feet and her cradling the dog, like a precious baby to her chest. I see the love flowing down her withered cheeks and her hands pressing into the fur, desperately releasing life from her fingertips. She wrapped her in a rainbow and buried her beneath a flowering mango tree.
When I came home she was standing on worn feet, looking forlorn and waiting for me. Around the door my little sisters freckles and cheeks are stained pink and shine in the light.
flesh puzzlesIn the beginning it was enough. Id be wide-eyed, quietly watching her through the windows. Limbs and torso like a slender tree; bowing in wind and always shooting up toward the sun. Shed wear summer skin in the middle of winter with freckles spoiling her shoulders and cheekbones. Her birthmark was a dull red stain at her collarbone and she had a mole beneath her left breast. She was thirteen and I thirty, but my, oh my, did I ache to see her insides.flesh puzzles6 years ago in Horror More Like This
The house next door they called the sea house because it was two stories of cerulean blue. Through my bedroom window I could see naught but an empty bedroom. But late September the Parler family moved in. The Father was a tree of a man who was always working and the mother was a blonde lady named Annie with big tits and long legs. She brought around a tray of brownies for me, pathetic bitch, I thought as I fed them to the Cooper. I took him for a walk in the early morning mist and let him shit on their lawn.
It was late afterno
fall asleep with me tonight.If I wrote you a lullaby with verses of moonlit, fogged breath and a chorus of heartbeats- would you fall asleep with our melody in your palms?fall asleep with me tonight.7 years ago in General More Like This
I lie awake at night and watch traffic lights outside my window shout RED into the peace quiet and occasional hazy rev of traffic. I lie awake and shiver through layers and wish to silent stars it wasnt winter, wish the nighttime cool wouldnt paint quite so many goose bumps on my skin and make my eyelids so cold. I lie awake at night and night-dream without sleep- about you and all your eyelashes and beautiful wordings.
I like the way your collarbone lies horizontally beneath your neck, resting on light shoulders. God must have hidden it beneath your peach skin in a hurry, because with hurried hands he didnt push it in quite far enough. I imagine him assembling you, I envisage your organs and elongated limbs before you were in a single piece, a mess-heap of portions and parts of beautiful. I would have liked to build you up my
Little Thoughtsi hate youLittle Thoughts7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
[i hate me]
you know it
[i believe it]
just dont admit it
dont say it
might come true.
wouldnt want that
[wheres my gun]
pirates and rockstars
fuck this world
fuck the next
[where the fuck is my bourbon]
can you guess
what the moral is?
[fuck this shit]
fuck being fucked
fuck the music
[fuck the words]
and fucking hell. fuck all this god damned hurt.
why didn't you say goodbye?Love wasnt in the air the night you unbuttoned my shirt and kissed my skin. No, love definitely wasnt in the air the night we spent in heat of moments, sweating and tumbling and fumbling on your fathers bed.why didn't you say goodbye?7 years ago in General More Like This
It was anywhere but there. Does love go on vacation? I ponder and make fleshy butterflies from my outstretched fingers. Probably.
I cant remember much but I can remember the beginning. The burn of acid bleeding and gushing past my tongue and down my throat. The noises and then your silence. The clumsiness and then the awkward kisses.
You had a garden of dark hair growing from your scalp and dirt eyes. You had a protruding belly button and clown feet. You smelt like my grandfather in his coffin.
You didnt ask me if you could take my virginity. You just assumed I wouldnt mind giving it to you. I always wonder where you put it, if you take good care of it and how it is doing. I imagine you put it in a shiny jar with a sticky label reading Lore
The System of A DownSome guy named Serj was walking down the street. He suddenly noticed that he got LOST IN HOLLYWOOD. He was in some kind of FOREST witnessing a weird DEER DANCE. SPIDERS were crawling everywhere. He looked up at the sky and spotted a JET PILOT hanging from a parachute. The man was forced to BOUNCE on a tree a couple of times before landing in the bushes . Serj came up to him and asked where in hell he was descending from.The System of A Down8 years ago in Humor More Like This
The pilot answered: "That's a really good QUESTION! Well the story is that I felt that this was a LONELY DAY for me so I decided to take my jet for a ride. But then something abruptly went wrong. The AERIALS weren't responding anymore and I had lost my STREAMLINE. So I ejected my seat and I think the jet would be touching ground right about now…"
Suddenly, a huge BOOM ripped through the air as a nuclear cloud engulfed the city in it's TOXICITY. They both screamed "I-E-A-I-A-I-O!"
"Holy $#!+!, cried the pilot, I forgot to unleash the weapons of mass destruction!"
exhalation.Sixteen. Sixteen years since she was the size of a deflated lung beneath her mothers ribcage- now she has her own mass beneath her ribcage. Thumping sometimes to the outside, treating the skin of Laylla's stomach like a door. It will open in 3 months, it will be sliced open because her flesh is meat and they'll bring Sophie to air and she'll swallow until all she tastes is that dull white of the hospital. And then she'll cry and the music will drone in Laylla's ears until she tastes vomit and she is numb in all the aching places.exhalation.6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
She doesn't know the father. She thinks Michael but she tells herself it is Louis. She repeats his name over and over in her head until it simply can't be anyone else's. But baby Sophie will have Michael's milk skin and his amber eyes and then she'll feel her heart sink all over again.
They fucked in a Garden. Wire fencing ripped open her calve like it was a gift and left a scar souvenir. He lifted her dress -sun yellow- and brought her underwear to meet her k
pretty boys break hearts.sometimes I think Im just a mess of badly drawn lines. Im just scrawled veins beneath paper rough skin, I wear poorly sketched scars on my thighs [skin deep red pen lines] and even my smile is lop-sided- but he never seemed to notice.pretty boys break hearts.7 years ago in Teen More Like This
my skin [spread like thick icing over my skeleton] is a monotonous pattern of pores, a stretch of the world the sun never kissed. I cant see the beauty in multitudes of freckles and chipped fingernails- but he does.
why do you love me?
you make me happy.
I never could figure out just how. was it my illegible love notes, or the tiny hearts I drew into his bare back with my fingertips? was it the filth on my knees or the way I named every bowing flower in my garden? maybe it was the way I sewed the stars to the navy sky and told him in a little, little voice-that I loved him.
either way he made my heart skip beats and bumps and bangs and he made me feel beautiful, a little
asthmashe smokes marlboro cigarettes with the bedroom door locked. i taste it on her breath, lips and skin everyday after school. her bed is a mattress on the floor. sometimes we make love on it and i wonder if she'd rather have her mouth around a cigarette than me right then. she has asthma too.asthma6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
she is my second cousin. i didn't know this until two years after we began fucking and three years after i fell for her. i don't think it really matters. emily says if i ever made her pregnant she'd make me punch her in the stomach, heavy and hard. but i never would you know, i love her.
the smoking is killing her. i hid the cigarettes beneath the sink, but she just bought new ones and hid them better. she had her head down in the pillow, coughing, coughing until she coughed up sticky blood. i cried for her and she told me to stop being such a pussy. i told her i loved her and she drew another cigarette. kissing it ways she'd never kiss me.
some nights i sleep over hers. her father doesn't mind, he
apples, dammitThe Big Secret to Learning How to Draw:apples, dammit6 years ago in Editorial More Like This
In the Beginning... You see an apple, and you draw an apple. You look at your drawing, and it's utter crap. It looks nothing like the real thing, and you wonder why. "Hey, a real apple is red and round. My drawing is red and round. Huh. What's wrong?"
You draw some more apples. Many times.
And finally, one day, you have a Eureka! moment. You realize, *d'oh!* a real apple isn't entirely round! It's wider at the top, narrower underneath. It's got funky little lumps at the bottom. It's got a dip like a crazy deep belly button at the very top. You draw another apple. The result is better, but it's still crap. Much nicer crap than before, but still.... Hmm.
You draw more apples. Repeat.
Another day of drawing, another Eureka! moment. Hello! The red isn't really red. This particular apple is slightly darker than true red. And it's got some tiny tan spots on it. And at the top, the red turns into a pale green color near the stem. You draw an apple once
brzozy.brzoza jest biala , zawszebrzozy.7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
jest pomimo wielu skaz
jak brzoza tak i
wiosna jest biala
klasyczny bialy swiat
i zaden dym
z ust i oczu wydobyty
i zadne wymiociny
nie zburza bialych lat
nie zetna bialych dam
Soul PoisonVenturing forth into the darkest reaches of the heart,Soul Poison12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Searching for answers to unspoken questions,
I gain the knowledge that poisons the soul.
The truth I find is a silent assassin,
It\'s venomous blade dissecting my sanityin tormented silence.
Striving for what I cannot possess,
the serum I seek hides herself in plain sight,
undetected by senses blinded by fates cold hand.
Death grips my heart in a ravens claw,
Savagely draining its beats like a countdown clock to doomsday.
My tainted soul screams in deafened silence,
Calling it\'s mute defiance to the
indifferent world we are thrust into.
We are born of pain and blood,
It is foolish to think one could live and die any differently.
So I venture forth once more,
I remove the parts of my soul which taint me,
Quarantined until the day my serum finds me,
And I die another day.....
FragmentsFragments9 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
A moment with you
A lifetime of joy and love
Heaven, here on Earth
a used heart, a new startA used heart, a new starta used heart, a new start7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
After I thought love was dead
I found it, again
I thought this was the end of my happiness
I could not have cried any less
But I found love again
And my new life was about to begin
You were there
When I was neglected
You were there
When I was rejected
When I needed a friend
When I thought it was the end
I found a place in your arms
You made me smile with your secret charm
You are here
You are with me
I have no fear
That youll forget me
Though feelings of the past
Are buried deep in my heart
The spell you have cast
Has freed me at last
Out with the old
In with the new
I cant believe it
I think I love you