ends with one. And IIts November again and I feel as if the bracken on the trees has changed so much. And yet, I would not knowI am so far away from that placein not only years.
I believe you look the same. Of course I cant be sure, but real-time details dont change my mental image of you. So I say it. So I believe it. You would rather me believe youve changed for the better, but I know better could only be the same as you were.
But I have changed, of course. And of course it is only ever one-sided this we would agree on. You try to tickle out the nuances you remember that I do not, but I didnt tell you I learnt to suppress the urge to laugh.
But Ill laugh, dont worry.
What I remember most are your eyes. Because they are everything I knew I wanted to exist. No, I couldnt tell you what colour they are, in certainty, but I know them more than I know my own.
Although, I must learn to remember that all we're doing is finding a very similar kin
to build-up smilesi'd like to seduce happinessto build-up smiles8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
buy a new dress for contentedness
slut it up for ecstasy
pull down the sheets on frivolity
melt down the wax around sacrifice
excuse myself for rushing
i'd like to choreograph prayer
the build-up to the artifice
stop smiles from touching
begin the wake before the dawn
the black before the white; a pair
disbanded before a circle shared
one half realising, "i'm just another pawn."
this is...stop:this is...6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
this is the sound of stars
screaming like fireworks, and
mangled promises spilling
through trainwreck teeth. this
is the sound of lungs filling
with air and girls with brown
eyes and the whisperwhisper
of sheets on skin.
i have never heard a more eloquent silence.
this is not me, this is
the purple-blue of midwest
sunsets and the hope found
between quintessential smiles
and blinding neon lights. this
is the amount of air between
worlds and words and the freckles
on your left shoulder. this is not me.
but i promise you, someday i will be incredible.
you are filled with delicate bones
and inchoate dreams, and maybe
someday you will turn your suppressed
screams into more then just an escape
route. maybe someday you will finally
see your elegant imperfections and
enchanting eyes and you will realize that
you are beautiful.
Love Tales1.Love Tales8 years ago in General More Like This
He was watching her breathe, when she stopped suddenly and turned towards him. In this breath, I hold a thought she said, Ill set it free once you can guess it.
And still when he sits before the sea, watching lovers cuddling, he thinks of that breath of hers.
As she has been going down the stairs she finds that feeling returning of becoming lighter than the air above her. And then, the fear of rising up in through the block of air and reaching the floor she had started from; of finding the door, she had closed before she left, ajar; of finding him sleeping in the green light of the night bulb. That color hurt her eyes.
He dreamt of waking up.
When did you fall asleep on the sand? Did the last sun hurt your eyes? Like it had burned me? And the pages on which I wrote these love tales? Will the sea water heal your hurt or my love tales? Must I hold my breath in anticipation too? Hope? Do you know to dream? Am I the one whos asleep in
EucalyptusEucalyptus9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
her skirts are so thick
if you spun her upside down
she would open up like a rose-
violent yellow pumps
and bubble ankles on
lanky blue legs, waving like stamen in the rain.
she's pollinating all over the room
a good thing to ask would be
why have I waited so long.
Do you remember burning me around your neck? I singed your hair, but didn't say anything.
It just curled from my fingers.
I sit far away now-
wrapped around my new love like a cat,
telling ghost stories and missing your shoulders,
flicking back and forth against the subway walls.
I got a letter today
a train schedule
another reminder of my
residence in the wings.
why have I waited so long?
I remember the day
you sat in my livingroom
somber, surrounded by fruit,
while I ran back and forth
miserable and sweating, trying to
find something appropriate to wear at the funeral.
you played at his memorial
and I watched
leaning back on the carpet and forgetting
entirely where I was.
bambi eyesthe word pretty suited him rather than the word handsome.bambi eyes6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
he was coffee-table sex and a fake smile.
youre naïve, he would say, but i like that about you.
(i never thought my naivety was a good thing
until he started telling me it was.)
he was sitting on his bed in a oversized sweater
and blue jeans.
he had one hand gliding up and down the neck of his guitar
while the other was strumming the strings.
last night i had a dream that you were happy again. i said.
he stopped playing and looked at me through his thick-rimmed glasses.
it sucks dreaming about things that will never happen, doesnt it?
yes. it does.
he is the boy who stopped cutting his hair
because change began to scare him.
his sungold skin turned grey
and his bambi-eyes rolled to the back of his skull.
thats when i started wearing black.
he was small in size but big in heart
and the cobblestone streets are starting to seem
empty without him.
Just One TasteLet me swallow you wholeJust One Taste8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and trace my tastebuds around
every tender drop of who you are,
starting with those world-worn,
mud-trodden, kiss-me-tender eyes.
I'll open the centre of your smile
and work my way inwards:
ramble over the
rude roughness of tongue,
trip against the scar
tensed below the surface,
enumerate each eager emotion,
stumble amongst psychosises
howling for salvation,
submerge myself in memories
so macabre they have no end
and graze these lips upon every
guarded groove of goodness.
Then, maybe, below the bile and bitterness,
I'll reach the core of you and ring it
as bright as childhood.
Beautiful, pure, a dying breed01.Beautiful, pure, a dying breed6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He's beautiful, pure, a dying breed. He's small in size but big in heart and he always sleeps on the right side of the bed. He scolds me for being too serious and I scold him for eating his steak too rare.
He's flipping through my fashion magazines with one bare foot propped up on the coffee table. They tell him pointless things that he thinks are very important, like how faded jeans are in and that he's a summer, although he always liked autumn best.
"See?" he said to me last Fall as he pulled off a red oak leaf off a branch. He pulled it harder than he needed to, the entire tree shaking with his force. "Things are most beautiful when they are almost gone."
He says the same thing about melting icicles and fireworks and sand castles. And because I love him so, I don't tell him that the reason he's so beautiful is because he's almost gone.
He's beautiful, pure, a dying breed, and sleeps on a mattress with no bed frame. He lives alone at eighteen, his house a mess of old pizza bo
shooting star sonataI saw you staring out over the blue and bushy earthshooting star sonata9 years ago in Surrealism More Like This
under a lamp post burning dim and yellow when
i slid across the opal sky in june. i spun and zang like a rocket down
like a spark from dusty shadows on the moon.
Like a spark from dusty shadows on the moon i
darkened, twinkled, -saw the crushing weight below the clouds-
the tight box houses crunched tiny corridors and frowns.
so cold it must be there, blown about by wind by wind and drenched by rain and washed out by rain 'till nobody has color anymore.
And nobody has color anymore. like dried up
vines that wrap around a tree and
--that is the most natural thing--
So i saw you wispering wishes at the sky
--that is the most natural thing--
trusting in the wind to carry them high
out of your own orbits up to me and i
might carry them to god
let me tell you something boy -i've been there-
let me tell you god spoke once
in long and dusty tones and now
under a lamp post
A River Measured in TimeAlberto Banks had been saving all his life. He wanted to buy a river.A River Measured in Time9 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
As a child, he had been given a ribbon by his father. A blue ribbon. His father was always this strange man who would scrutinize his past much more spontaneously than he would do with his future. When he had brought the ribbon for his child, he would have seldom thought what the boy would do with a ribbon. The consequences of his actions were never quite as important as the precedence of the consequence itself. When he handed over the ribbon to little Alberto and noticed his confused expression, he wondered why he had bought it on the first place. He wondered whether he had done it subconsciously. He wondered what particular knack or interest had he noticed in little Alberto which could have prompted him into an action so decisive for the child.
"This is a magic ribbon", he said at last "if you spread it, it'd become as long as the river."
His father's words were just as unmindful or irrelevant as was his buying of t
constellations named after youThis solar system will self-destruct in...constellations named after you6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i'm planning my exit strategy
four hours ahead, just for it to
fail and fall in the cracks of the
ground; sinking, six feet under,
just let earth swallow me alive!
i promise not to scream or cry,
but promises might as well be
broken if the owner's heart is.
it's a common misconception
that i was born in a planetarium,
so let me clarify:
one misguided prediction
a simple misrepresentation
or flawed communication,
can eclipse common sense.
our universes are imploding
and my bones are exploding
and i'm out of empathy fuel.
i'd eat every star in this forged sky
before letting you touch the insides
of my skin, of my shirt, of my life
if you could call it life without you.
let the sun paint my cheeks blood red;
let the moon laugh at my complexion;
let a black hole swell in my ignominy;
let fifteen apocalypses shine me blind.
my empyrean time machine
is stuck in the fucking past,
with newspapers headlined
The Velvet TimeWhen day has gone and twilight's flownThe Velvet Time8 years ago in Open More Like This
and lovers' touches, soft, are known,
the silence sweet is broken long
by a loved one's voice and cricket song,
When words are sift and hearts are bright;
the air is chill and paths are steep,
the sky is vast and twice as deep;
the world is wide where we have grown
yet here we're never left alone;
this is the Velvet Time of night.
The SwingThe Swing8 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Once, I wrote on a piece of paper. On one of its faces I scribbled the word - 'Reality', on the other - 'Imagination'. Then, I left it to the winds. It went and dropped into a river. One of its faces was washed by the water. Taken in by the river. Its alphabets gone. The other face remained.
I really don't know which face remained. But, all the same, I kept living by that face. Some of the people I met in my separate lives thought imagination was my name. Others believed it was just a mask.
Sometimes, I felt I had left reality completely for imagination. At other times, I felt imagination has left me completely for reality. Actually it was a swing, I kept moving back and forth, going nowhere. And the swing became my life.
Once, a lady I had little known, had been sitting on a swing, looking at the sky, musing. Sometimes, she was no longer awake. At other times, she was no longer asleep. She lived the life of the swing for those few moments. She osci
The Becoming of Dubleu - 4If you've just landed yourself on this novel you might want to start from here.The Becoming of Dubleu - 48 years ago in Transgressive More Like This
CHAPTER 4: Our First Meeting
I don't drink coffee usually except on days I'm waiting for Dubleu. I know you'd go ahead and ask me –
"What does coffee have to do with Dubleu?"
"Is he frequently late and you need coffee to restrain your senses from falling asleep?"
"Is there some deeper meaning too?"
"Or is it just something you say because you've been assuming that your readers are a freaking bunch of fools?" (That's some serious accusation!)
None of those are correct, though. I'll give
SurrenderThe pain surged from his sleepSurrender8 years ago in Surrealism More Like This
As he fell out of it
Breaking his night. A crack
On the center of his back
A third hand grew.
The third hand grew
As he spread his original hands
To pick his bloodstains
From the dusts and floors.
The third hand grew
Picking up invisible times
Sprinkled onto the places
Hed placed his back to.
Sweat. As his fingers darkened,
Moistened the flute holes. Loop-holes.
He created the music of sweats.
Sweats that dripped upon claustrophobic spaces
From his first ten fingers
And on a passed-away time
From his other five.
Like curtains on his windows
Danced with the winding notes.
Revolutions. Creeping on it
His third hand grew into his past
It brought back a broken wing,
The second pillow, colorful lights and him.
One night, once again,
He found his second him
Sleeping on the second pillow
Not letting go, for once, of his third hand
Secured in his nightmares
Filtered of the future he had found.
And as his hand stretched
Further and further
Into the time
Comedy VS TragedyLaugh at a joke only we knowComedy VS Tragedy9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Shove each other over in the falling snow
Whisper and try not to laugh too loud at the picture show
You + Me = Comedy?
Phone call late into the night
Mend each other's broken hearts with light
Fight together to make this dark world right
You + me = Tragedy?
Make up games and paint our nails black
Go on road trips to do things that are wack
Buy each other stuff and no need to pay back
You + Me = Comedy?
Watch you loving her (wish it was me)
Watch me loving him (Not really..)
Watch us look right over a major possiblity
You + Me = Tragedy?
Kinda wanna take a chance
See if we can do this dance
Thinkin' you could be my lover
Wanna find out how this play ends?
Take a step into the unknown?
You + Me =...........<3?!
tragic tale of a broken world"Once Upon a Time... The Tragic Tale of a Broken World"tragic tale of a broken world12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
once, i awoke with the sun
and through my open window,
cool winds carressed my face,
breezes whispering their secrets
and i heard their words.
once, i climbed the tallest mountain
And laid down on its peak
pressing my ear to its wise stone form
i listened to its story:
Once, a little boy screamed
Signing papers in permanent ink
Showering him with gifts,
Trying to outdo one another.
Fighting over his attention,
But never showing love.
Leaving a $20 bill with a note-
"I'll be home late, don't wait up."
Telling lies about each other
In the name of custody.
So, Never having felt so lonely,
He puts a pistol to his head
And silently prepares to pull the trigger.
"All I ever wanted...
For you to love me, and love each other.
That's all I ever asked for."
And, through the mountain,
I heard him cry a little.
Once, a lonely girlfriend screamed.
Her welfare boyfriend,
So in love
Only wanting the best for her
Knowing she dese
Winter's SongWinter's Song6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Five years have passed since you died. How could I forget it when it happened on Christmas Eve. We were at a party at your folk's old cabin, a dark and lonely place in the middle of the mountains.
Every year I think I am ready to move on, but every Christmas Eve I hear that song in the air and it's as if I could hear your voice still calling to me. Of course it can't be you you are dead. We never found your body, yet even when you went missing, I was sure I could hear your voice calling out to me.
That was the first time I heard the song too, and it should have been the last. I heard you singing while playing your violin. It was a sad song. It was about white mountains and cold plains, desperation and solitude, a warm flame keeping you alive as it's extinguished by melting snow. It spoke of voices in the blizzard and spirits in the mountains. I never liked how you played the violin, your songs always made me sad. But this time I felt longing in my heart, the same feeli
Out of all the loveOut of all the love i've lostOut of all the love8 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I miss yours the most
Out of all the voices i have heard
I miss yours the most
Out of all the times i've shared
I will cherish yours the most
Out of all the hugs given
I long for yours the most
Out of all those i miss
I loved you the most
And out of all the wishes made
I remember yours the most
Time has been stolen that can never
Be gotten back
Out of all those i wish i could bring home
I want you the most
I fell so lost with out you
I feel so sad
I feel so alone
Like the lone flower in the sand
I love you more than i did a year ago
Just remember that if your looking down on us
That out of all the friends we've had
You are the dearest one
and we found...we love like we sin, terrified and breathless.and we found...6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
we are tea-at-midnight girls, naming constellations
that don't exist after lost tourists we meet on the
street, reminding our freckle covered shoulders
that even beautiful things can be made ordinary.
we are broken fingers and half-closed eyelids and a
penchant for mischief. we are ribbon skin and frantic
desires and incandescent hope. we are a voice spilling
secrets to falling leaves diving after their arachnid brothers,
mimicking the millions before us who were
judged unfairly, unjustly but all too correctly.
we whisper promises to dandelions because they do not
know how to hold grudges and we refuse to die because
the world can not stand the sight of our scars and
cloud-colored eyes filled with a malady called freedom.
we are believers and dreamers and scared to death but we
are not done yet. we are dusty library windows and thunder
raking through bones and leaving eyes glowing, skin shaking,
burning whispers of 'I'm sorry, but this is