A Boy Named NothingA Boy Named Nothing11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Nice guy, nice girl
Lip Service lace shirt
Red Balls trenchcoat proper, pert
Plus fingerless gloves, black without seams
Flagrant vagrant, spooky kid's dream
Just a notch below pop, cop a feel, steal the lot in a blind shot
Fads blow with the throws
Though you never know
Where it is his mind goes when the eyes close
Only give what you get and never take what's shown
In his Mexico
The speech, a tangent
The life, a pageant, a desert that you deserve
Unnerved by the curve of a post-morten social norm he shows scorn for pornographically designed intelligence forlorn humans who abley act so inhumane
When you're so fargone an outcast, love and hate look the same
Picking up where insult left off, he maims
A mind too wild for a life, a body so tame
It's not something he can contain
So it's cut out and let flow onto a mirror
When endorphins overtake tears it's that much clearer
Sgt. DivineSgt. Divine10 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
A few of the men say this used to be a church, but it's hard to tell anything in this storm. We are pinned under a black and violent sky that has held us inside this crumbling room since we arrived yesterday morning. The water slides along the cracked ceiling and bombards us from different spots.
Captain tells us to keep our weapons dry, but he knows it's impossible. The floor clutches our boots with three inches of sucking wet mud. If the wind ever dies down we'll have a better look around this old place, but for now we just listen as it batters the trees into the stone.
None of us know how long we have to wait here. Captain says we are to protect this structure so our side can launch rockets from it if the war ever begins. Barnes says there isn't going to be a war. He says neither side is willing to start it; but here we are, drenched and freezing, just in case.
In the brief moments when the wind and rain pause we can hear the water trickling down through
largethere is a birdlarge8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sitting on every heart, and with
each subsequent beat it looks as if
it is caught in fear,
and becomes very still against
the shadow of something massive
when you age, there will be
inevitables. sooner or later it will be
a week of afternoons before you can
fold yourself up again, and
breathe in the artificial
quality of dreams once more,
because the things you know are not
ones that can be put to paper, they are abstract
and boiling, like something red erupting
underneath the sea,
the sheer white ricochet
and spasm of childbirth. they are
an exhibit in the museum no one understands,
and that the learned try to interpret, that
the disabled hurry past because it reminds them
of something whole, while
everyone else shakes their heads and says
"I could do that."
fleeting, and flight, you cradle
in your hands. the bird
know by now the thin distinctions
between blood and skin; it is caught
in something bigger,
the dimunitive. it could be a flash, then
the soft thudding and h
Satan MacMurphy, Issue 1Never mind what the brochures tell you, ladies and gentlemen—Las Vegas is about the least glamorous place on the face of the planet. Sure, The Strip is all neon and glitz, but that's only a three-mile stretch of pretty for all the tourists—glamorous make-up to camouflage an old, wasted whore. I never did like the Strip, and any time I saw one of my cases heading that way, I knew to bring aspirin. We're not talking about that today.Satan MacMurphy, Issue 18 years ago in Humor More Like This
North-town was my turf, and all the little back-alleys down Industrial Ave—the dark little corners where the bad boys hid their dirty deeds. Cheap strip clubs with overweight dancers and nasty bars that smelled of old cigarette butts and spilled liquor. Sal's was one of the latter, and my home away from home. It smelled marginally better than the others, and it was only a block away from my office—you do the math.
This is where I met Ms. Betty Banton. I knew she was trouble from the moment she
Sex.Sex.10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm going to actually have sex
And I'm going to be real good at it
Because I masturbate alot!
Transparent like the Wings...Transparent like the Wings...8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Three young boys facedown on the sidewalk:
beaten down like ragdolls, vertebrae all used and rollin like an escalator
but the one with the bloody nose can still talk.
That redfaced boy all hum and shake, human vibrator,
he won't shut up about his godsize dreams tonight.
But for his clothes all dirty as newspaper you'd think the kid was
I dunno somebody who was somebody and did things right.
Not somethin what smelled on the street and buzzed.
Sits there with the dayold babies in the dumpster, shouts:
Said I got nothin less but a half a bottle of something green.
Said I am gonna get bigger and bigger from here on out,
yeah you know I am gonna be something to see.
Writing in BloodWriting in Blood10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She sits alone
And writing in her own blood
A love letter
That may one day
Reach here beloved
Her beloved is there
At the end of the world
Waiting for a letter
Written in blood
And there she is still
Writing in blood
A love letter
That is never to arrive
Spirited Away: The Return Ch.1Chapter OneSpirited Away: The Return Ch.18 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Chihiro sat at small, cluttered desk in her one room apartment in downtown Tokyo. One hand braced her chin as she looked out of the window at the only view she had - a red brick wall across the alley. Her other hand held a wide, felt tipped pen, hovered over a sketch pad but never touched the paper. She'd been working on an illustration when her mind had drifted back to the subject of her art - the Spirit Realm and her time spent there. Kamaji was her current object of fascination. A roughly sketched portrait of him at the bellows marked the page in front of her.
What were her ethereal friends doing now? Was Lin still working at the bath house? She'd wanted so badly to leave and see the rest of the world. Had Bo grown up? He was such a large baby...he might have been meant to stay that way. Was No Face still with Granny? She certainly hoped so. He'd been so sweet and she knew no one at the bathhouse would allow him in. What about Kohaku? Surely Yubaba hadn't harmed h
Coalwho breaks their back, and lines their cageCoal8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with glass to hold their power? Like a quiet
finch, tar-covered and hunched over
its child, murmuring a gentle salve.
we wrench as a reed in the flow of
a mighty wind, that crushes our chests
and snaps our legs. We hold our liquid hearts
in the fleshy sieves of our cupped hands.
down the plateau of the cheek
I burn, I sizzle.
I am only coal, within a great fireplace.
Black and ordinary, but I can yet
spit from the fire, heatedly
like an angry snake.
I may terrify. Let my rough edges split
the yolks of rotten eggs,
As I come to the shimmering surface.
Dramione: SolutionsDramione: SolutionsDramione: Solutions6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Hermione broke off from the kiss with Draco to stare into the horrified faces of her friends. She started blushing, her face heating up until she thought that it would fry right off her skull.
"Uh, hey, guys," she said in a total trying-to-be-casual voice. "What's up?"
Harry and Ron just stared at her in total shock. Ron's face was starting to resemble a beet, and Harry's face what getting as white as paper. His mouth was open, and Hermione had to stop herself from telling him to close it before a fly flew into it. The moment was just too tense for that sort of humor.
Draco was still standing behind her, and Hermione turned around and looked at him with desperate eyes. She didn't know what to do here, and clearly her two best friends were having an episode. Draco normally knew what to do in these sorts of situations.
Draco saw the look and took over the situations. "Potter, Weasley, close your mouths before a fly makes them their home. Although I don't k
Once...Once...11 years ago in Children and Teen More Like This
There was a world where all of the parents lied to their children. These were not hurtful lies though, but rather ones meant to comfort the children. Simply, when the child would lose something, a toy, a gift, a favorite animal, anything really, the parents would tell them "Somewhere, someone is caring and loving and cherishing it"
But slowly as the children grew older, some becoming parents themselves, they came to understand that it was not so.
Some were angry.
Some were sad.
Most were indifferent and assumed that they should do the same, that it was just what you told children.
One child, however, grew up still believing.
Though he understood that what he had been told wasn't true, he wanted to make sure that it would be true for everyone else.
And one day,
He began to collect little things here and there; books, necklaces, toy trains and little dolls. Everything he came across he kept and loved. Soon it took over his room and house and even his attic. So the man, getting a lit
ComposureComposure10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
the look of your eyes
are as wildflowers tamed
while your butterfly kisses
gather like moths to my flame
the comfort of your company
like a climax caving in
in the fortress of this rubble
we'll find ourselves again
the subtlety of your breath
like the rhythm of the waves
though we be in more danger
thru your words i'll be saved
the honesty in your voice
summons memories from afar
what once were only wishes
have finally become ours
-heart for rent-A place-heart for rent-10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That has emptied
A hallowed out
And broken things
Blackened shallowed heart
A flash; a change
For the first TRUE time in my life
Harriet JustHarriet Just10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Harriet just swept through the room.
It's the same as it was just now, except
the bathroom door is open, the rum
of her shampoo is everywhere,
and the word '...late'
now rests on the edge of my ear.
To the Young PoetTo the Young Poet12 years ago in Open More Like This
To the Young Poet
I hear the young poet speak of the beauty of
And emotional emaciation --
That dance our souls
On splendid strings of self destruction
For all the world to admire,
Creating an early grave
But lasting fame.
And I can't help but wonder
If perhaps she has a point --
True beauty is ephemeral,
So those who create it
For a direct connection to the divine;
The price of the profound --
But then I wonder
If perhaps she just is a child
Struggling to be Van Gogh,
Too young to know
That true tragedy comes from without
Not from within,
And that people grow weary
Of drinking the bile
Trust that it is your own,
That discerns beauty,
There is more than enough
To go around --
So there is no need
To create your own.
Neverending JihadIf at all there is fault, it surely will rest on usNeverending Jihad10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
So perhaps this God has finally come to restore justice
I can't stand these saints who don't realize we're the same
Hundreds of years ago didn't we kill in the same God's name?
The Middle East calls it Jihad, Europe called it the Crusades
The postions and the players are the same as the scene fades
And open act two with a replica of our current dilemna
A new religion's emerged and killing with a new dogma
"Kill the infidels in order to wash away iniquity!"
"Kill the infidels and count them on your rosary!"
To Small BreastsThe radio wafts the tones of Nils BlytheTo Small Breasts6 years ago in Open More Like This
Over dreaming lugs barely sentient,
The years fourth quarter fogs softly,
Yet in my mind August dreams float;
Thoughts and reflections rise to the
Nub of unbidden nipples in the cold,
Embracing the delectation of the petite:
Softly rising downs of English lasses.
A gentle swell of desires intelligence,
Weaving in tongues the wishes of the wise;
Beautiful undulation, understated
Response to summers pert call;
Springs subtle cry; winters imagined whimsy.
The well crafted breast: small, delicious.
TormentedWalk away from this person you foundTormented5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
There is nothing left of curiosity here
No mysteries left to discover
Smiles fade and in time so do I
Break me apart by now I am numb
Insults fall on deaf ears
Exposed emotions seem to have no sorrows
Pathetic tears roll down bitter cheeks
You are my torment
ParkourBeauty is bodies in motion.Parkour8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
With the liquid movement of muscles,
Our generation is spreading its wings.
We don't tear down your walls;
We spring and scramble over.
We leap like wild things
Over your obstacles, your rules.
Freedom is personified.