Holding Out For The DoctorWhere have all the Time Lords gone and where are all the Ood?
This absence of the aliens has put me in a mood!
Isn't there a TARDIS shooting through the universe?
Late at night I dream of how I'll break his lonely curse.
I need the Doctor!
I'm holding out for the Doctor till the end of all time
He's gotta be smart and he's gotta be brave
And he's gotta be tenth of his kind
I need the Doctor!
I'm holding out for the Doctor to put everything right
He's gotta be wise and he always looks good
With a spaceship that's bigger inside
On the planet Midnight
Or in nineteen twenty-three
There's a man with a screwdriver
PutrefactionCurrents run flawlessly through damaged veinsPutrefaction4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Electroshock therapy to blackened vice stains.
Jump start my dead heart, akin to a battery in a car.
Alive, upright, broken and on my way to the bar.
Need a six pack consultation, whiskey communication.
My life's water, fuels this corpse, Mary Reilly amputation.
Strained vision, peering through bloodshot eyes
Sleep deprivation combined with opiate induced coma
Like a dark harbinger, warning me of the ailment to come
I regurgitate all the nights endeavors onto a silver platter
Presenting it to any audience of penguin suits and nylon leggings
Like a stray in an alley awaiting the da
-Painting You With Words-Deep pools from beneath-Painting You With Words-4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Dark waterfalls of silk ribbons,
Spilling across gentle slopes, beneath a sharp drop,
Above a deep ridge.
A flower of sound, singing ecstasy
From above two
Twin suns, soft pink on the horizons.
Atop an undulating plain, glimmering
With dew through the moaning wind.
A crested valley between two rivers
From the lips of
A splitting delta.
A raging ocean bursting warm
With a tropical passion.
The eye of the storm, a temple
Of old secrets and new time.
And the artist who sits
Painting the captured Heavens.
Of the blossoming beauty, fingers paint
A pleasured masterpiece of a bro
it's nearly the end of summerit's nearly the end of summer and i haven't found you yet underneath a dry blue sky, whispering words i know will disappear when the leaves dieit's nearly the end of summer4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it's nearly the end of summer and i'm still by myself and the heat from the sun is a replacement that
it's nearly the end of summer and my hair is shorter but my dreams are bursting and i expect too much
i'm just lost in a childhood fairytale and i know it's better to kiss reality instead of the frog prince
but i'd rather be here
it's the end of summer and i've stopped looking for you. i've stopped looking.
it's fall and i haven't found you yet.
SleepSleepSleep4 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Floating. I feel as if I were floating. What an odd feeling. My fingers are automatically typing at the keys, messing up and getting twisted in and amongst themselves. I dont even know where I am anymore. The computer screen is blinding against the darkness of the room. My eyes are dry. When did I last blink? Glancing to the side, it comes back to me. Thats right. Im in the computer room with that horrible insomniac and workaholic, L. Its probably around 1 AM. Last night neither of us slept. The night before that he allowed me maybe four hours.
How does he do this? Sleep so little and work so much? Day after da
The Day AfterJerusalem, around A.D. 30. Morning.The Day After4 years ago in Humor More Like This
YOUNG JEW (to his friend):
Oi, you know that Jesus feller we mucked about with last week?
Well, apparently, he didn't get the joke.
What?! But that Pilate impression took me ages!
You should see Judas, he's a fucking wreck.
For YouI can only see you through the glassy coating. Its dirty and smudged with fingertips.For You4 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
A computer screen.
Yet I see you. Thick dark locks that drape about your face and you wear mirrors upon your eyes, emphasizing the deep, thick brown behind them. A round face with a perfect smile. A personality of fire with fingers creating art, drawn and written.
Your mind feel s connected to my own. Time hinders on a strange wondering when you know what Ill say, or when I guess what you think.
Were separated by miles, oceans and soon only borders.
Weve been s
film projectorfilm projector4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Before the change, he was a god in his playground. He chased birds and ran from girls, with a rag-tag following behind him an army of messy hair, dirty knees. They threw Frisbees on good days, and punches on bad days. Countless games were invented, a dozen rules learnt with each one, and he knew there was an order to every one, a routine. Bodies would shuffle, legs would fly in all directions and someone would fall flat to the ground in a prayer that the gravel didnt go too far into their palms.
When an echo of a bell broke the monotony of lessons, he would scurry out to the fields with his friends, chasing fireflies across th
give me lifeHe said I was too cold, too bitter, too full of doubts and pessimism, so I prayed -give me life4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Give me warmth, the sun, Sir Temperature.
Cast your hands over my eyes and defrost my bloodstream. Kiss my eyelids and put fire into my frostbitten heart and shake the ice from my irises. Warm my nerves and make sure they aren't too numb to feel. Put blush to my cheeks and rose to my lips, please. Take away the blue.
I don't want to be cold, anymore.
He got tired of my smiles, and warm hellos and my warm hands always finding his. He got tired of the phone calls, asking how he was, asking how we were, asking him if he wanted to see me.
Welcome Home, My DearGood morning, Mr. Hermes.Welcome Home, My Dear4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Rise and shine and
search for a new pair of kicks,
'cause I need your winged walkers.
Those god- and goddess-types
must have a little patience...
(They watch us kiss and love and punch and lie
...so surely they can wait for those
letters to the editor.
While you're hunting for a comforting sole,
I've got to soar on a cool, crisp wind
down to the house of my love
and sweep her off those earth-huggers
she calls "feet."
She's got to fly with me
as we stretch toward the sun
and skip a finger or ten
'cross the stratosphere.
We've got to taste a bit of the sky,
a tablespoon of serenity
StarchildEnough of this windy and whimsical twirl, this free-spirit, starchild, endearingly manic madness. Around the maypole with your flowered skirt and dreams ready for the shattering. You? How can you change the world, you pseudo-tribal figurine of humanity? All there is, all there ever will be is a mass of swirling thought-particles slamdancing to an intangible beat. Waves upon waves of intuition and supposition, could-haves and should-haves, maybes and nevers, rising, falling, cresting and finally rolling back, subtle retreat of a shimmer that loses its beauty through repetition. You know the old example. Enough primates and enough typewriters sStarchild4 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Sonnet XIVAnother empty bed glares back at me.Sonnet XIV4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I know that very few acknowledge them,
but beds, despite their lack of eyes, can see,
and yet, despite their stares, do not condemn.
They query me with why I came alone
when all of them no doubt have room for two,
but they have never asked me to atone
for anything, for anything will do.
The beds, like we, despise the emptiness
and savour body heat and nightly sighs,
but they know that we always do our best
and do not need their eager how's and why's.
My bed knows well there is no rush, for I
was born alone in one, as will I die.
Hour of LeadRed capillary condemnations bled laceration-exacerbations — queenly, sore,Hour of Lead7 years ago in Surrealism More Like This
She sealed the door and ate the flesh and kissed the floor; ash-dry lips stitched
Up and through spit pillbox black and viscous-blue...the screw-tight tongue rasped
"Testament!" and down came cradle [a grey lament]. All throughout the painted
Night, his cello strings shrieked and sighed...
Polytorturous the poisoned liar dancing through the smoke and fire, eating stars and
Shards of glass — the roving achesmith, a shadowed mass. Witty pink his toothless
Bite, the sewn-shut throat his genius blight...bristle-backed and robed in fact, emotions
Fled his slaughter;
Nature Hates A SuckerAn empty heart can not stay that way forever.Nature Hates A Sucker4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Your head can keep a girl on constant repeat,
but eventually the idea of her decays, leaving
a vacuum that will be replaced by something real.
NeverI want to destroy everythingNever4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that reminds me of you,
but I can't reach the stars.
JacquesDo not ask me how I found him; it was no intention of mine. I simply did because the living move and the rest tend to stay put. He had been sitting in that old chair for ages. It was only a matter of time before somebody would come across it, and it was only fair that someone finally should.Jacques4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It was so hot that day, even indoors, even in that ancient building. At first sight I assumed he was just another fugitive of the sun like myself. When I think back I recall the subtle indications I missed then; the smooth and thick layer of dust on the floor around him; his full set of clothing in the vibrant heat. I thought I saw him flinch as I entere
DannyDanny stepped up to the rooftops edge. No one walking the burning concrete was looking up at him, spectacularly drab, silhouetted by the motley death rattle of a dying day. Pigeons took flight from their home just below Dannys position, center stage, tearing attention skyward to a useless creatures furious meandering. Danny sucked Portland into his lungs and then time stopped; Mother Earth sneezed into Father Times mouth and everything fell to a standstill. Galaxies paused in mid-explosion and stars stopped in mid-formation and the Earth halted in mid-rotation for a million years and everyone on its surface frozeDanny4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
FallenShe was a Paradise.Fallen4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I lived in her, surrounded.
Skin smooth to my fingers;
her hills and valleys.
But I ate from the Tree
of Complacency and Sloth.
RestaurantsA small company of guests are preparing to order.Restaurants4 years ago in Humor More Like This
Excuse me, is there a vegetarian option?
Certainly, madam. We call it the Door!
the cost of thishis neck is a battlefield. small cuts andthe cost of this4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
he is bleeding into the collar of his white
shirt. he speaks with his hands. his
tongue speaks something foreign. i recognize this,
i say and he laughs. he says no, no, no.
he has lit a fire inside of me. i can feel
the embers in my stomach. i speak with
smoke signals, spell out his name from
all the ashes left. my face is crimson and he
laughs, says it looks like blood. says, says.
his body is of scars and bruises. there are
cuts around his fingernails. his veins are raised high,
small mountain ranges on the back of his hand.
there is a bruise on his forearm. i picture pressing
Sonnet XVAlthough once real, no sign has linger'd onSonnet XV4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
to prove that thou were'st not always a ghost,
but many years will pass 'til thou art gone
and in thy hallow'd memory, we toast.
But our borrow'd glasses too will wane
when wine with time doth cease to circulate
and in these vibrant bodies, drought will reign
and none our brittle words reverberate.
But do not be disharten'd by this course,
remember sorrow shares with joy a grave;
as our worries ended much with yours,
whatever vigour lost, the living save.
Should none upon that distant shore compare,
but wait awhile and we shall meet thee there.
cacti.cacti.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
now mark, learn and inwardly digest as i count freckles,
or would those be melanomas? ether way, you're my cancer and i'm not living out of this one.
be my taylor figueroa- we shall elope to mexico,
sojourn to a beach where the moon is on first-name terms with everyone
and we will trip the light fantastic. i'm an ugly duckling,
i just need some catalystic fluorescence and a night to shake off what i'm forgetting about.
"can i teach your eyes to be as big as me?",
whispers the moon, and your heart swells biblical proportions against your brittle bones.
kaleidoscopic dreams invade our nightmares,
desert sunrise will steal thunder fr
last-chance antibiotics.last-chance antibiotics.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
heroin of my heart,
you are making house-calls to my head. prognosis:
may experience shaky hands, inflaming lung
the worst is yet to come. you have a solution:
prescribe dissonance to the inner organs, ebbing
lungs, like dissipating balloons all grey and green.
the viruses, they're out of your league boy.
it's never 'the right time' for a checkup,
or ask the blotches on my stomach what they think.
influenza insects tap restlessly on my window
like i'm open for business these dire hours.
my sense of time is dusty, ridden with moth-balls
and it's set to a nocturnal standard of time, anyway.
The EgoIt occurs to us that the twenty-first century will be defined by widespread egotism.The Ego4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
This is expected. After all, the philosophical underpinnings of the long-dead American Dream and of the country in general have so very much to do with a sort of excessive individualism, a rampant self-interest that borders on zealotry.
I can triumph. I can conquer. I am the best. Such is the Western mind, and it has utilized all of the anxiety and denial and arrogance that such an ideology entails. It instinctually seeks to dominate, not necessarily for any specific purpose, but to prove beyond proving that domination is entirely possible and an easily acc