in the land of dead things.When the topic of death visited a conversation, she would pause and look at her slim hands. I would pretend not to notice as a far away look reached her harsh blue eyes and for a long time I thought she was thinking of her father, dead of some cancerous disease that hacked apart his insides. It was something she had no trouble talking about, but she would get swept away in the details and forget I was sitting in the cold car next to her. And often, I would feel embarrassed for her. She wasn't the type of girl to dwell on the morbid or repulsive, but there she would be, spilling her guts like it was a natural topic for discussion.in the land of dead things.5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
She was nineteen when she moved in with me. We found a house in the country that wasn't far from where I worked and she assured me she could get a job as a minimum paid waitress at Petey's. She didn't mind when the men bought her drinks and called her a cheap whore. She would turn her back and reapply her lipstick with every hoot and whistle she received. With
of fish and fairytales.i was five years old when i first started dreaming of fish.of fish and fairytales.5 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
i made wishes on them, sometimes. and 'don't ever leave me,' i told them. 'please don't.'
i know it sounds insane but i could swear - and still do - that they promised me they'd never leave. that they'd carry my dreams into eternity and hold me. keep me from falling. drowning.
'be my gills when i can't swim anymore,' i told them. 'be my gills.'
and they were.
i was nine when my parents got a divorce.
that night, i didn't understand. that night, i cried until the sky was painted in crimson lights and it was morning and the sun found me on my bed, passed out and tear-stained. that night, the world stopped spinning for five whole seconds and i could swear the heavens were looking down on me and me alone. a spotlight was on me and all i could do was lay there and cry and wonder what i had done wrong.
but the fish were still painted on the insides of my mind and i wasn't alone i swore i wasn't alone.
'hold me,' i told them. 'hold
write your reality in his eyeshe said his name was oliver.write your reality in his eyes6 years ago in Teen More Like This
he was painted with the colour of lies and had puppet string fingers. He smelt of burnt wood and methylated spirits. his eyes were uninhabited; there was nothing there. under the moon light you couldn't tell that his teeth were just slightly yellow, but under the sunlight you could tell that he was breaking. he was falling apart. he was vacant. he was, everything but beautiful.
he held her hand.
she said her name was madeline.
she had golden hair that curled in little ringlets around her waist. she had skinny legs and slender hips and a smile that could stop traffic. she couldn't bear to watch people suffer and she liked to re-write reality, the way she wished it was. she knew though, on the inside, that she couldn't re-write her lost forever and always
she pressed her lips to his collar-bone
he lived by night.
the walls of his room were painted beige and he had messy hair. he had always been attracted to lip-piercings and black hair. his fat
EmotionsI am awake but I am sleeping,Emotions5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am happy but I am weeping.
I am tired but I am keeping,
you as close as I can.
I am warm but I am shaking,
I am well but I am aching,
I am through but I am making,
the most of my time with you.
I am hyper but I am moping,
I am stressed but I am coping
I am sad but I am hoping,
you'll come running to me.
I am whole but I am bleeding,
I am alone but I am needing,
I am shy but I am pleading,
for you to love me.
sad french films.'take me to a sunsoaked horizon'sad french films.5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
'wake up to yourself. life isn't a fucking love story'
but oh how she wished it was. if only his smile reminded her of the way the sun seemed to shine just that little bit brighter on a winter's day, or of watching the sun set in summer. if only she could walk around with a handful and a pocketful and a heartfull of stories. but she can never see his reflection in the midnight sky and he never tells her she's beautiful.
he has dark circles under his eyes and when things go wrong he sits alone in small parks drinking until he passes out. at first, she thought it was beautifully sad, but when you're being rushed to hospital to have your stomach pumped, it's not as beautiful any more. when you're coughing and spluttering in the gutter with vomit in your hair and no one around to help its not so poetic.
sometimes she sits down to write about how she feels but nothing comes. all she can see is him with white noise spilling from his mouth and his angry
can't talk about it nowi sit on the end of her bed and watch her braid her hair.can't talk about it now5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
she's beautiful in the dim light from the lamp on the floor.
the way her dark tangelled hair falls around her shoulders makes my heart ache. if only i could run my fingers through it and show her how amazing she looks.
she has pale skin and red cheeks, wide eyes that are sometimes green and sometimes brown, and dark eyelashes that she wishes were longer.
she talks to me about love sometimes. tells me how she's too broken to care, too scared to want to. i tell her that love could heal her cuts and bruises if only she'd let it. but she won't.
if i could tell her how gently i'd handle her heart and for how long i'd hold onto her essence maybe she'd understand what love is about. but she's never really been in love has she? not like this.
we sit on her bedroom floor and drink whiskey from the bottle, her wasting away and me yearning for her to see what i do.
but soon enough we'll move apart and she'll cry for a week over having lost
an autumn poem.now, i am writing about your handsan autumn poem.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and how they are warm, like melted chocolate
i am writing about how it is silent
and i get butterflies when you look at me,
i feel nervous
i feel almostbeautiful
and almost wanted
and i want you
i want you
i am writing about how i can't stop thinking about you
and i see your face in the clouds and the cracks
in the pavements spell out your name and there is dirt
between my nails and it makes no sense but i wish it was you,
i wish all of it was you
and i am writing about your hands
but i'm still not writing about you
i'm writing about how i wish it was autumn
with red and gold leaves tumbling down and the scent of spice
lingering in the air or maybe winter so the snow can coat everything
and erase the world in white, all white
and i'll have a reason to feel this romantic
and i want you told me
and i'm writing about your hands
but i'm still not writing about you.
graveyard music.i believegraveyard music.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is a poem
the clouds: the page
the stars: the words
is a sheet,
Beware Candy HeartsHer heart has a red candy shellBeware Candy Hearts5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It's pretty and sweet,
But it's brittle as hell.
If you do break it, though,
I think you'll find
That candy was just the first line
One of many.
And few, if any, will be quite as sweet,
Unless you think getting mauled is a treat.
I'm Not Gonna Cry...I'm Not Gonna Cry...6 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
I looked down at his beaten form, horrified.
He was merely a child, barely half my age at most. There he was, in a decrepit alley, sitting along a wall that was splattered with what I hoped to God was not his own blood.
It saddened me that when I moved my hand towards him, holding out some food, he looked as if he wanted to scurry away. Even sadder was that he couldn't move, or do anything else for that matter, in his state. He took to merely staring at me with fear etched in his eyes.
I looked around at the main street that the small little alley was connected to. It was large and bustling with people on a bright sunny day.
I didn't get why the people stopped, looked at the little boy, and then walked away as if they never even saw him.
I looked back at him and saw the tears in his eyes, but they didn't fall. Somehow, I knew he was trying to hold them back.
"I won't hurt you."
"Everybody hurts me."
A labored, coarse voice, way too old for his age, occasionally racked by a gurgling sou
Between dreamsI'm listening to ice melt. It's funny sometimes, the things you notice when you're alone. The things you hear in the silence. The things we see in the dark. So I listen to the sound of the ice. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. Cracking, dripping, wasting away. Am I fighting my sanity? Am a living in a dream? Nothing seems real anymore. In this silence. The ice is still ice but I don't feel like myself. I'm flying maybe, maybe hovering. I see myself in the puddle below. Soft touched and looking back at myself. A looking glass of water. Am I Alice? I run my fingers over the puddle and suddenly I'm a Picasso, a masterpiece. A work of art only to be seen in the dark. I am giving way like the hardened water. Drops of me gone, a little more every day. Drink of me what you will and in the Winter I will be myself again. Sane and wide awake.Between dreams9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
GodlinessDr. Finch likes to label my phases. Today is a Fear Day, meaning I am too afraid to get out of bed. Fear Days scare my mother more than my Fire Days, Germ Days, and Intruder Days combined. She wakes me this morning to have me get ready to go to her church. Her hand is warm as it shook my shoulder, but I scream.Godliness6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Shhh, honey, it's just me. It's time to get ready for church."
My head is still buried beneath my blanket. "I can't go. Please leave me alone."
"What day is it?" she asks, although she knows it is Sunday.
"Sunday. Sundays are Fear Days, you know that. Please leave me alone."
"Henry." She says my name in a disillusioned sigh. "Sometimes-" she pauses, "I think I just hope that that might change."
My head hits my pillow again. I will not sleep, because I am ten years old and the average amount of sleep needed for my age is eleven hours. My
The Ability to FlyShe made "guilty pleasures" a tautology. Throwing her ice-cream to the ground after the first lick, she ruffled the feathers of her wings and stuck out her tongue.The Ability to Fly6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Her eyes were sky blue.
She hated the colour.
She refused to see them in mirrors,
So her hair was a charming tangle.
She wore bright colours, long skirts and loud bracelets, and whenever she moved, there was a swish or a click. Her smile was sunny and she danced while she walked. Every appearance of happiness.
When their parents weren't looking,
She made mean faces
At small children.
She couldn't stand the way they enjoyed
Her wings were large, and they made it hard to buy tops, but the feathers were beautiful, and she could wrap herself in them while she slept.
Daily she was taken for an angel,
But she stepped on sand castles
And pushed over snowmen.
She hated joy,
And I'll never know why.
All I can do is wonder,
Why was she given
The ability to fly.
i dream as a lion.i used to dream about sinking into the ocean. i used to dream about going up in flames and finding redemption in the way that the ash fell from my hands. now, when i dream, i think about the way that passion used to light my veins. i think about the pain that pinched my limbs and the cramps that woke me screaming in the middle of the night. i dream about the agony - the way i would stare at the sun and call it living. the way that i called each bleeding wound life and each burned palm passion.i dream as a lion.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i was the girl that swallowed the world and spit up the ocean. i remember the way that the mountains scraped my throat and the slaughter of the world settling into the pit of my belly. i remember the bitterness hitting the back of my throat and the way that even when i doubled over, even when i screamed out, even when i hit my knees that i was crying hallelujah. the way that the world was brighter for the pain and the way that i believed the only way i could see was when i was saltwate
Alice-Wonderland ReimaginingAlice-Wonderland Reimagining5 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Alice in Wonderland Reimagining
Based on Tim Burton's film
Also on Alice's Adventures Underground and Through the Looking Glass
A young girl named Alice Kingsley in late Victorian era England suffers from nightmares of falling down forever through the darkness. To counteract these her father presents her a popular children's story: Alice's Adventure's Underground. As Alice Kingsley shares the name of the main character, she identifies with the heroine and her nightmares are replaced with visions of Wonderland.
As she grows older Alice treats the story and its world as a refuge in times of distress. In school she drifts away to a mad tea party. During a dull social engagements she's whisked off to a croquet game with flamingos and hedgehogs. During a bombastic opera she imagines away the grim trappings of the theater and replaces them with dancing lobsters and a grinning cat to tell her riddles. The unintentional side effect of this is that she becomes reliant on her dreams, dissolute w
Fun with a Rorschach Test card oneFun with a Rorschach Test5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"Look at this card,
Tell me what you see."
I said, "Gosh,
I guess I see myself,
An inkblot's like a mirror,
The way it's shaped by
And a fold of the paper.
How like life,
She told me not to be
I thought that was
A bit cheeky, coming as it did,
From my own
She said "Come on, now,
Play the game.
How about this one?"
I guess I see a million ways
To make the world
A bit more beautiful.
Like writing poetry about rape
In a Mickey Mouse notebook
That always makes you smile.
Or like greeting each change of
Like a delightful stranger,
With glee and mild surprise,
Or like loving daffodils
A bit too much."
She smiled. "You're talking about Meg?"
I said "More about the way
She popped out my eyeballs
And rubbed them clean on her sleeve.
When she put them back
The world looked better."
Proprioception and Kinesthesia"lately I've been losing my hands,Proprioception and Kinesthesia5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
feeling like they're on your hips
when they are in my pockets.
i can feel my fingers wander,
but i'm watching them
flat on the table."
"i never know what you mean
when you talk like this.
you know that."
x marks my heart.i am lying in the field of wheat, dappled with sunlight, drunk with acceptance.x marks my heart.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i am holding my fishnet-fingers wide to catch the dreams leaking out my pores. all my wishes are exploding from behind the rib-dams too archaic and tired to stand any longer. i am smiling for the first time in months and digging my hipbones and angelblades in the soil like seeds. i am a sunflower, i am an orchid, i am pushing the petals away to reveal myself to the waiting world. i am wrapped in the warmth, gently coaxing the tangles from my thoughts, my vulnerabilities uncurling slowly to reveal their belly to the persuasion of the heat.
i am blind, but with eyes shut, i can finally see who i am.
[i'm writing you letters in braille: i wish you were here.]
i am swimming in the belly of the ocean, crusted with salt, saturated with silence.
i am breathing coral in deep to paint my insides the color of magic. i am shrugging off the weight of the past and letting it disperse with the pulse of the tide. i am f
that kind of valentine.i'm the kind of sick wherethat kind of valentine.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
every second is slowed
into the kind of time lapse where
every noise is magnified
into the kind of sound where
every sense is amplified
into the kind of awareness where
every hope is fluttering
into the kind of longing where
every cell is screaming to fall
into the kind of person that
AffectionIf I could spreadAffection5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
across the world
with the blow of
I would so love
to watch the white
puffs float to meet
I want to see more eyes,
lighting up like fireflies;
finding their way home.
L-O-V-ELove is just a word.L-O-V-E5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
A 4 lettered word.
All words mean something, but saying 'I love you' just doesn't cut it.
You need to prove your love, without going all the way.
If you can prove it, it's real.
moonlight in the sand_cdear moon,moonlight in the sand_c5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
my body is made up of saltwater and wishes, and a thousand star fish that try to mimic the constellations. and sometimes, that's all i ever want to do: imitate the sky so that you can find a home somewhere within me. you make me want to tug at the horizon and pull it closer to me, let in sink into my spine and curve along my ribs. and then i'd let you rest in the hollow spaces between my neck and my collar bones, becoming a part of my skin. but you also make me feel divided: i'm always here when you are gone, always longing for something i can never touch. and i feel empty hoping for something a million light-years away, half the world away; you're only ever lighting the surface, never diving into me and casting a glow on the pink coral and bright white sand.
i sleep cocooned in milky light, floating amongst the lost hopes and fantasies that have somehow slipped through the atmosphere to comfort me here. when i sleep, i dream of you. i dream of your oil-dar
dear t, love m_cDear M, I used to wonder if the collision of our skin would be the ignition of rapidfire passions, the birth of brilliant starlight in the cold of loneliness, of suffocating space. I used to imagine that the heat of your breath would spill across my tongue, and reignite the cold ashes in my lungs. I used to hope that the sway of my skeleton and the clacking of my bones could be a rhythm you would stay around and dance to. I used to dream of us on moonlit beaches, sleeping on the waves and swimming through the sand. I used to do a lot of things, but your shiver-up-my-spine smile tends to drag my thoughts out to quieter seas.dear t, love m_c5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Dear T, I used to imagine my bones were fractured and chipped in all the wrong ways. I used to think my heart was a poison my body kept rejecting, leaving me on my hands and knees spitting up old relationships, lies and heartache all over my carpet late at night. I used to look at the sun and wish myself blind, stare at the ocean and wish myself ten thousand le