A Guilmon change Part 2Karov punched the nearest rock, angrily. Missed...oh, no matter...the next one will be...hey, where did he go? he said, looking around, anxiously. Where is he? Where is that stupid lizard?A Guilmon change Part 27 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
Right behind you
Karov turned around...he saw the red creature's fist. A punch in the face, and Karov was on the ground...his riffle landed a few meters away from him. You...how did you...
Alex smiled, showing him his deadly fangs. Let's just say...that I am fast...now...
Karov grabbed the gun in his pocket. Fortunately, Alex had good reflexes, and he managed to kick him in the face, and steal the gun.
Bad move... Alex said, aiming the gun at the man's head. Now...I have some questions for you
Karov spitted blood on the ground. I won't tell you anything...you are wasting your time he said, smiling.
Alex smiled too. Oh...so, I don't need you anymore...and you know...I'm starting to get hungry he
Hippie Lesbian GirlShe don't care for me,Hippie Lesbian Girl9 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Half as much as the trees,
I've heard she's a lesbian,
Guess she won't play with my pen,
She likes animals and plants,
But won't let me in her pants,
I don't care about the environment,
Just wanna dance in fields,
I don't care about global politics,
But I'll sit and watch you spin,
Crazy hippie lesbian chick,
Oh won't you be with me?
Hippie lesbian girl,
Oh how I watch you twirl,
From the window in math class,
While you check out Jane's ass,
Hippie lesbian girls, they don't like me,
They're afraid of STDs
Hippie girls don't like pesticides or razor blades,
Lesbians won't let men give them AIDs,
But I'll love you; yes you'll see,
But hippie lesbian girls,
They don't like me!
I don't care about animals,
Or how the world will explode,
I don't care about green house gas,
But knowing you do makes me smile,
If not even for a while,
Hippie lesbian girl,
Oh, won't you be with me,
I won't give you STDs
Blonde BombshellBlonde Bombshell11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She's an airbrushed blonde bombshell, a teen queen glam rocker
Every boy's masterbation fantasy, perfect on paper,
Disguised by makeup and mishaps, holding in
Her bursting alcoholic liver (its cool, that's why) with the lies she delivers the crowd and
Her lungs burn (its all those cigarettes, you know), but that's no concern, because she's
Beautiful. And she knows it.
It's nothing new, this death she's learned to fake, to die inside
But she's not willing to sacrifice her fame for
Dignity. Because no one's going to remember, (no one's gonna count at the finish line, right?) how much
She has left, when she steps into the Rock and
Roll hall of fame, half dressed, but it's
Gucci, Mom, it's okay, and she'll smile for the
Camera, a girl's best friend, she's good at it now. It took some practice
At first but she's mastered the art of faking it harder
And harder until she's breathing hard, its believable. You might wonder
Why her smile never breaks, it's
Ballad of the Love Lost GeekMy heart burns for you, my darlingBallad of the Love Lost Geek9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
At 52x speed.
My heart burns for you, my lost love
The Dvd has a 2.8 gigabyte capacity.
When we were together, it was bliss
Just like playing Battlefield2 with surround sound.
But then you sniped me from where you hid
And there was no medic nearby
My heart was fragged.
You had hidden your true self from me,
'twas as if you had built a Gap generator, playing as the Allies in Red Alert.
I wondered then, and still do: was it worth using the spy plane?
It was like in the first level of half life,
I didn't know what to do
I didn't even have a crowbar to defend myself.
And metaphorical headcrabs made zombies of us.
It was like playing diablo 2 on hell difficulty,
And being slayed in the cow level,
And not being able to get your body back,
and then having all of your party members declare hostilities.
But with you, my love
I could not save and exit.
You made me feel like nothing
And you did all that you could, to hurt me
Like playing a network of age of empi
catch a falling star.you would trace letters on my back, like broken messagescatch a falling star.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you forgot to say out loud. i would whisper my replies, but i
always felt too noisy compared to your silent stream of gentle
words. your silences held secrets and sewed them to your worn-
out lips. danger and understanding stayed glued to my eyelids.
in one night we created our own means of communicating.
i wonder how many others know that language now.
you could make fireworks sparkle and dance in the brightest of
colours. it just took a few moments before the sound to reach
our ears. it all happened so fast, it was like someone turned a
light switch on and off. even the stars looked dead as they began
to fall and tumble from their places in the midnight summer sky.
"catch a falling star and put it in your pocket.
the cynic's love songI will not write love poems becausethe cynic's love song7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
stars and laced fingers and deep
kisses make me sick. Because dawn
doesnt blossom and the night
always ends. The pillow loses its scent and feathers.
I lose myself in closets, waltzing with skeletons.
The sky fades from violet silk
to rough gray wool filling my throat
until I choke. I will not write love
poems because my soul aches for release,
but there is none. The grass
browns, the trees turn to skinny sentinels, watching
through sleepeyes. Life becomes routine
until I dont notice where my feet take me.
I love yous fall on ears full of cotton balls
and the echo never comes back. I will not write
love poems because love is a baby
growing in the womb of the world:
this time we cannot bear
the weight of it so we walk to the clinic
wearing black sweaters and shame
in the set of our lips. I search for anything
to make me dizzy and forgetful.
I search for anything to touch and never
get farther than my breasts and stomach.
monsters aren't human.whispering the headlines of last saturday's news, he's rocking back and forth, back and forth to the sound of laughter collecting with the rain water. mornings of splattered paint and scrambled eggs fill his life like he filled so many hearts. saving his last breath for later, he smiles instead. maybe simplicity is what we have yet to learn.monsters aren't human.6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
"i'm a monster in my own skin. and monsters aren't human."
sinking ships and shrinking waistlines. she's a mess. all tooth aches and flyaway ribbons of jet black hair. she's the girl with the sharpie markers drawing aimlessly on undamaged skin. in her room are pictures of her failed perfection along with the posters of sought after measurements. she's the girl that was a best friend to someone.
"i'm a monster in my own skin. and monsters aren't human."
empty alleys and broken glass bottles once filled with anger. he's the father with washed out eyes and dead dreams. paycheck to paycheck, bottle to bottle. the eff
The Portrait[975 words]The Portrait7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
You see, its hard to explain Jonathans words formed a small puddle on the expensive, imported carpet next to the shattered corpse of the china vase. His down-turned face was painted in shades of red; the light hue of guilt brushed across his checks with two bold strokes of embarrassment for eyes.
It cant be that difficult, just come out with it.
He didnt mean it, Daddy-- Emma tugged on Fathers sleeve.
I'm talking to Jonathan. Father removed Emmas hand from his suit. Don't speak.
I-I heard Emma shout from the kitchen and I thought she had gotten hurt so I ran to see what was the matter and on the way the vase fell over, he said hurriedly, his shoulders slowly hunching and his palms facing the ceiling.
You ran. Fathers eyebrows fought over the territory between them. &
when he is sad.he throws his heart at the wall with full forcewhen he is sad.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
steps on it afterwards. he picks it up and places
it back in his chest like a child placing a dead
hamster in the ground. he stops speaking. he stops
trying to make everyone understand
that when you put a heart like that back into a body
an infection spreads. it hurts and keeps him in bed for days.
he stares at the wall, has blankets over the window
to block out the world. he buries himself in the tunnels
of his sheets and becomes a worm for some greedy early bird to eat.
the other day he was walking down the street and a child
stared at him, wide-eyed, then asked her mom
why people's faces twist up like that. Her mother
ignored her but he heard and quietly removed his face,
placing it in a box until it stopped betraying him.
this also helps him to stop speaking, unless
it is in deep throat sounds late at night
when he peels back all his skin except for his eyelids,
drawn tight like dams.
it never helps,
he always ends up drowning
Iffif he isnt having an affair with the ocean,Iff6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and moved by poetic verse
if he doesnt think the world is a playground
meant for the childrenatheart
then tell him to walk away.
if he cant give me a real definition of freedom,
one not read from dictionaries
but from the words etched
in our spirits,
if he cant hold my hand and say this is why
we made sure to have fingers,
this time around
then direct him to the nearest exit.
if he wont wake me up at three in the morning
because he was afraid that I
might not be dreaming of something beautiful,
or he forgets that Ill try to fly away
if he holds on too tight,
if he doesnt want to dance
to the rhythm of the world, then
tell him not to bother.
but if he wants to love
please, show him in.
Seven Reasons Why I Loved You.</b>Seven Reasons Why I Loved You.9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
are spent waxing lyrical and
kissing your eyelashes in the library,
you mouth the third knuckle on my right hand,
and memorize the hollow of my cheek.
tender kisses press like
afterthoughts and postscripts on my forehead:
Story for a penny in a canStory for a penny in a can6 years ago in Spiritual & Occult More Like This
I'd always known there was something wrong with that house. One time, walking to the downtown mall- school, I mean- I saw that overstuffed Halloween decoration, sitting on the porch. Real cats aren't supposed to get that big, na'mean? That thing could've swallowed a poodle and then picked its teeth with beagle bones. Threw a can at it and it just meowed and washed its chest.
Then the birds: every Friday, they'd bunch together on the power lines. Sure, no biggie there; birds gotta roost and get warm, all fluffed up in line, tweeting. Except -
Not crows. Full fledged, "Morrigan-is-going-to-get-you-if-the-witches-don't" ravens all sitting on a single line. No surprise power went out in our neighborhood every couple months. Never seen a fried bird though.
Between black cats, cracked glass, flickering lights at home, the city calling the dump 'historical', and the birds watching, it was kinda weird no one had this idea before. Group of kids see a big old ratty creepy house, f
They Say Budapest Is Lovely...She came into the cafe, ordered aThey Say Budapest Is Lovely...7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
lowfat something, sat crossing legs; skirt
was short, legs were smooth and she
was all types of stunning bathing in afternoon
sunlight. Pulled a chair and sat across from
her, said, "I know you from somewhere,
you're so familiar." "I'm every girl
you never talked to," she said. "How
bout the lips?" I asked. She tapped
them, "Every pair you never got the guts
to kiss." I leaned over, we kissed for a
moment, sat back, talked about
politics, named dropped Sarah and Barack
till we both disclosed we were bored,
hated politics and politicking.
Moved on to travels, said for you to come with me to
Budapest. You said, "Haven't had a bath in
weeks." Got me a lowfat, double shot something
to go, we skipped the joint and headed for the airport.
Cities looked like bioluminescent beings in the twilight
hour at that height, the smell of her hair swept
over my shoulder relaxed me, cleared my mind some.
Watched her steady rhythm breathing as I realized
I didnt ev
CursedShe was the most beautiful girl she had ever seen, and she hated it.Cursed7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Her hair was smooth and auburn, shiny, sleek, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldnt make it look messy or uncared for. Her face was heart-shaped and her complexion was perfect. She never used any products; she never even wore sunscreen, always hoping that she would get a sunburn that would leave her face wrinkled and damaged, but it never happened. Her eyes were pale gray and never stopped sparkling, no matter how little she slept. Her nose was nicely shaped, her mouth just the right size, her waist and hips thin, her proportions perfect. She was gorgeous, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.
It wasnt fair, she thought, that everyone believed her to be perfect. Just because she looked wonderful didnt mean that she was wonderful. Her parents, the two people who supposedly knew her best, thought that
i'll let you in on a secret: You suffer.i'll let you in on a secret:7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I know you do; you know you do. I've always been here for you. I've seen you cry and I've seen you yell and mostly, I've seen you dream. I am the one pinching your lids closed, I am the one wrenching your lips open, and I am the one squeezing the tears from your drainpipe eyes.
You don't need to tell me, because I know. I have you all figured out. You're sick, you know that, and you're nearly dead, always nearly deadbut you persevere, and you hold out, and you're so beautiful, and I'm just here to hold your hands, because you suffer, so much.
Yes, I know all about you.
I know why you are still alive.
I know about your love troubles. I know about all the people who have fucked you and I remember finding you coating the
The Day I Met God.I met God one evening.The Day I Met God.6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The funny thing is, i wasn't wanting to find him.
God was smoking.
"Why are you smoking?"
"I'm God Kalea, i'm stressed."
We sat atop a big balcony and watched his creations move.
"They're so beautiful", God was breathing hard.
But I know they aren't. they aren't. they aren't.
How do you tell God that?
"Why do people rape, and murder and steal?"
God's mouth is the shape of a sinking ship
his face carries the wrinkles of one thousand dying souls.
you inspire meive never met the optical illusionist that started me withyou inspire me6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
writing poems on my mirror
and my hand
and my jeans
but i think that if i did, we could be best friends.
except maybe we wouldnt
because if shes anything like her poetry
she would be so full of vivid-disturbing-wonderful images
so full of heart and thought and elegance
that i would be frightened of drowning
in the depths of her eyes
and i also might hate her just a tiny bit because i admire her so much.
because she can take thoughts
(even the difficult-to-see ones with the fuzzy outlines).
she can take them and spin them into
tapestries of woven words so dreadfully stunning
that i can read them again
and even after the fifth time or the twelfth,
still be unable to form a coherent word
other than beautiful
i think she would have written the moon and the stars
if somebody hadnt gotten there before her.
It's okay to have cheesecakeI get overwhelmed quickly if there's too much of something,It's okay to have cheesecake7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That's why I steer clear of long lists
I hate Dora the Explorer.
We like TV, but it doesn't make us happy.
So why do we spend hours in front of it
Instead of doing things we like?
TV is a narcotic. We're addicted.
I'm compulsive. I inhale food.
I don't want it. I'm not hungry.
I need more.
I have no self control.
I act on impulse.
If I want something, I need it now.
I'm obsessive. I have intrusive thoughts
About death and scary images.
I stayed up late to watch a show that I thought would be good.
But I still watched it.
I like even colors, numbers and days of the week.
Yellow, green, orange, white.
2, 4, 6, 8.
Thursday, Friday, Saturday.
It doesn't make a difference though.
It's just being irrational.
I complain about washing dishes.
But I don't mind it.
I sort the dishes in a certain way.
Spoons, forks, and knives first.
Little plates, medium size plates, big pl
Cyclops, RevisitedWhen he was young, my father shot out his best friends eye with a BB gun. He always told that story over a martini, the olive used to further accentuate the gruesome scene, mashing it between his thumb and forefinger as the exclamation point to the tales climax. My mother was appalled. My brother and I laughed every time. My father had a sick sense of humor and I couldnt have loved him more.Cyclops, Revisited6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
In an undeniably ironic turn of events, he lost his own eye at the shooting range using a rifle modified to lessen the kick, a perilously sharp hook of metal scythed close to the sight where two of his sturdy-but-ugly additions seamed together. After a particularly sloppy shot, the butt slipped from his shoulder and that little, overlooked blemish tore his eye clean from the socket. So, of course, he saved it in a jar which he kept next to his tool bench, leaving mother utterly mortified every time she had to go fetch him for dinner, church, et cetera.
When he died thr
The Day I Met God II.What do you say to the lonliest man in the world?The Day I Met God II.6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"I think you're doing the best you can."
but in my mind it played past tense.
the best you could.
For awhile I had this sudden urge to hold onto God's hand.
I wonder how long it had been since someone comforted him.
This time, I shifted, uncomfortably.
"It's okay, Kalea. You don't have to."
for some reason I forgot that he knew every moment.
God got up, and walked to the edge of the balcony
i watched him grab the purple clouds and pull them closer to us
"Kalea, do you know what it's like to destroy?"
Yes God, I do.
I knew he could read my mind, but instead I said
I watched God pull the clouds back and let them fly across the sky
God walked back to the balcony wall and held his head in his hands.
This Was ConventionThis is a test. No, not so much a test like, check check, one, two, three, but an experiment of sorts. Like the first potato clock or when teachers decided to demonstrate the use of condoms on bananas instead of the fully erect penises of hired male models. I am not explaining this properly. Worry is a troubled girl. The entirety of the Universe breathed a sigh of felicity when she was extracted from her mothers womb, entering existence in a burst of blinding light and a gurgled scream, rice paper skin and dental floss hair. Not literally. That would be terrifying.This Was Convention6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Her birth name wasnt really Worry. She acquired it in high school after a series of anxiety attacks and mental breakdowns and et cetera; thought the world was going to end every day. She was so conscious of everything self-involved: had to justify every action she took, every sentence she spoke, like some unseen audience was judging her. Shed skip school for days at a time, forging her father
I'm Missing OutTwo girls I was in love withI'm Missing Out7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
didn't believe me
when I told them.
One girl I said I was in love with
believed me and
loved me back.
Too bad I didn't believe myself.
hydrangeashydrangeashydrangeas7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when i was five, loneliness killed my mother.
i'd watch as she'd sleep, her hair spread in a golden,
angelic halo that dead people usually get. and under
her mattress, in a place she probably forgot about, sleeps
a thumbprint photo of a man with sand-colored skin
and burnt brown hair--
one i don't want to remember.
she'd lie in the heat, chalky as an overcast sky,
letting a fervid maine sun warm her shivering
fingers. her hair grew thinner, like Christmas
tinsel carefully taken down the tree in March.
when i was six, my mother found Bruce.
he looked and sounded like a bulldog--a raspy voice
and short, white-blonde hair that seemed to disappear in
the red of his face, his mouth stitched straight as the
horizon. his muscled arms would wrap around her waist
as he fingered her tinsel hair. when his voice started shaking,
getting louder, she'd gather me up and let me shiver under
the purple-red flowers of her comforter.
then she'd slink back to him, trying to extrapolate the soft