InsomniaDreams. Nightmares. Unforgettable nights of longing for the things so far away. For the things that scare me. Pleasant tales of love, overthrown by stories of hell itself - all unfolding around my bed. My red sheets are the bloodstains on the gray wall one night, a bouquet of roses the next.
What are dreams? Imaginary places of make-believe happiness, as if some form of natural prozac? Realms where fantasy is pushed beyond the borders of our very imagination?
I can't tell. I don't want to. My dreams are chapters of the book of my life, they're the red ribbon on the edge of the next page. Never managed to do much reading with my eyes open. W
Sleeping BeautySleeping Beauty11 years ago in Horror More Like This
I can see him coming even through my closed eyelids.
He gets closer and closer to the bed, panting like an animal from the hundred steps, and I can smell the sweat and dirt come off him in waves that make my nostrils flare. But I stay perfectly still, keep my eyes sealed shut. He comes to me, and his dirty fingers explore me, spreading his filth all over my clean body. How can he?
He doesn't notice at all where my hand rests.
Over me he breathes hard and pulses, and I hate him for it.
The first was to supposed to be the perfect one, the pure. I wanted him to be so... perfect. But he wasn't. He scratched my face with
Day in the LifeYou wake up, forever bound by the ringing chords of the shitty pop punk blasting from the radio. Rubbing the last vestiges of some god-awful nightmare from your eyes, you roll out of bed, and shut the alarm off. The sun hasn't graced the sky just yet, pink dawn looming closer. It feels like you've just fallen asleep. Glancing at the clock, you realize that you had, in fact, just fallen asleep.Day in the Life5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
"And so life continues," you mutter bitterly to whoever the fuck out there that cares. The cat looks up, eyes you with amber orbs shining with mild disinterest. He goes back to sleep. "Lucky," you say, scowling at him.
You stumble, sleep clinging to y
The End of the World Henry called them the "barefoot days." Their shoes came off the second school let out for the summer, and they remained off until school began again in the fall. Every day was just the same and every day was completely different. No day was ever boring. They were at that perfect age when everything was always good and nothing bad ever seemed to happen.The End of the World6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
This was a day just like the rest of the summer days. Or at least, it started out that way. Riley and Alex came stumbling up Henry's front porch at the same time they always did. Henry's mother had already set the kitchen table with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, made just
Because...Kovah Setters, Sophomore, HomeroomBecause...5 years ago in Children and Teen More Like This
Most people say that homeroom is useless. I find it relaxing, though. Its an unproductive period, but its a good place to think. There isnt anything we need to do in homeroom; just sit there and wait for the bell to ring. I guess I take comfort in the moments with no obligations, the moments people mistake for wastes of time. Todays homeroom is quiet as usual. People are always sleepy when they get here. One kids even got his head down on his desk. I look at my own desk. The words, Life sucks, are written in blue ink. Why? If it was so important to point out, I don&
041. insomnia. [part one.]041. insomnia.4 years ago in Other More Like This
So what if I
My nights consist of shaking hands and
A Writer's Manifesto.I am your neighborhood whore of self-assurance. I am your lock-lipped student. I am every angst-ridden teenager, every heart-aching mother, every boy with a bass guitar. And I am a writer.A Writer's Manifesto.5 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
I know the strength of the pen and the impact of digital words. Ill tell you of abandonment that Ive never suffered, of love never lost, and touch Ive never felt. I know the sensation of inspiration struck at midnight, of swallowing native ideas, of embracing a language of words never spoken. Im every sick child you picked on, every boy you cheated on, every adolescent brave enough to pick up a pen, every person who had the guts eno
Open Mic Night at the Jazz BarThere is a reverent hush down in The Jazz Bar for a quiet rendition of we are nowhere, and its now. It seems, for three minutes, that this could almost be true, until the house lights come up and the compere returns and all is forgotten in a swig of red wine.Open Mic Night at the Jazz Bar5 years ago in General More Like This
Then He climbs onto the stage, with a borrowed guitar. She twists in her seat and says they used to be together, until the previous Thursday, but the rest is lost in the cocktail of voices, laughter and clink of ice on glass.
With little introduction, his song begins. An original, he says, an angry one to start with. Thick wit
citiesCitiescities6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
The view from her apartment window made her feel lonelier. She saw the thousands of twinkling lights and the apartments of hundreds of others, and felt separated from the world. In a desperate attempt to recover her wholeness, she closed the blinds and played some Bach.
The world is always simpler with music.
Born in some other time and raised among the flowers, she wasnt made for cement cities. She wished a vine would reach her window, but she knew plants didnt grow that tall. The colors of her pillows imitated the gardens of her youth, and made her happy and forgetful of the grey of the skies. She bought
Queen BeeEven in my dreams, dear, I am sick of yourQueen Bee4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You haunt me when my eyes close,
amidst the candy cane trees my mind
makes up; You stroll along the sea grass
laughing, like a hyena. You grab my hand
And I have to remind myself: this is only a dream,
a dream! I scream, I scream. Your laughter is thick
as honey now. I can hear the bees.
They swarm, and I think suddenly that I can
feel pain in dreams, can you? You are silent,
I am under the buzzing wings, floating
Away from you. Your ghost is farther away
than ever, now. Sometimes
I wake: a bee stuck in my throat.
The EmpressI believe in Gravity,The Empress5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but not in you.
I have seen
the way you let lies float
from your throat, out of your
empty mouth. I have seen
The way your eyes flash, like
a storm in August. I have seen
you take my trust in your hands
and suffocate it, like a baby kitten.
Addicted to Self-Righteousness James Hairston is clean, and dont you forget it. He gotta drive us all over everywhere, just to prove he can. Orders his coffee caffeine-free, aint never had a drink or a smoke in his life. His damn station wagon has so many bumper stickers on it. Proud to be smoke-free. See Dick drink, see Dick drive, see Dick die, dont be a Dick. National Alliance Against Drug Use. Even D.A.R.E. Hes like a health teacher, back in junior high. That marijuanas bad for you, Bill. I care about your safety, and its going to kill you. I can help you quit. Shut up, man! Whys he even hang out with us? I heard hAddicted to Self-Righteousness6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Three secrets about meA secret about me: Please don't tell anyone. (When I'm alone, I like to think. Sometimes it's about good things, sometimes it's not. But when I think, I am different from when I speak. Because when I speak, I am wearing a mask. When I think, I am naked.) Please don't tell anyone.Three secrets about me6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Another secret about me: Please dont tell anyone. (I cannot live without my masks. Ive got one for every occasion, one for every purpose. I cannot live without my masks, because I am scared. Would you all still like me, if I was standing before you, my soul bare naked?) Please dont tell anyone.
The last secret about me: Please dont tell anyo
WhispersAnd ( shhh )Whispers5 years ago in Open More Like This
I believe that if you are
and still believing
That you will hear
an empty memory,
a soft song
from the sea.
progression of a thunderstormhave you forgotten how it drives you madprogression of a thunderstorm4 years ago in Scraps More Like This
that i sit on my bed at night,
reading and clearing my throat
as though i am about to answer the phone,
or just be prepared to scream
if a murderer breaks into the house?
you do not hear me when i tell you
sleep, please just sleep tonight.
the dark circles look like
ink and broken capillaries just beneath
your pen just skips across paper
and you are dreaming, watching them
unravel behind your conscious eyes.
i am tired for you being tired,
writing letters by the light of fireflies
while i shift uncomfortably in my sheets.
the lights go out and i can only breathe.
Five KissesFive Kisses7 years ago in Teen More Like This
Their first kiss was clumsy−a fumbling of chapped lips and frostbitten fingers in a snowstorm, one trying not to be too forceful, the other not entirely sure this was what she wanted but going along with it anyway.
Their second kiss was a little more organized−caught by her locker and pressed back against the metal; she wondered if the vent-like ridges would leave bruises on her spine.
Their third kiss was spontaneous−throwing her arms around her friend (maybe more) and crushing their mouths together, knowing she would regret it later when she showed up to class with blood-red lipstick smeared across her jaw.
senses poemsSenses Poemssenses poems5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
1) meet it halfway
when hope finds you it is yellow,
and it is underfoot, leaves crackling
like a spine,
and the earth cries it out,
spilling it from the green-smelling
tree branches, and it is
pacing around your room, hands
quivering with prickly words and sweltering language,
exploding stars inside its mouth,
and you expect to see white and gold glitter
fall through its lips, but
there is nothing; and
when you open the door, metal in your mouth,
it turns around and reaches
2) that other organ
the bluejay hits your window with
his wings spread out, eyes open,
and you listen for the sickening
what is meant by playing deadthe house looks like helium. it is faded with cold as its body, thickets of slatted wood painted palely. shutters are closed eyelids, unbearable lightness to the miserly scene before them.what is meant by playing dead3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
these streets are cobbled and winter-bleached, colours in hibernation save for three bodies of varying paleness lying slatternly in its centre.
bones compounded, salted twigs in white shades bent and broken; there is no blood, just an overwhelming taste of death.
who's that? a bloodless face murmurs from its position on the axis of the recumbent spine.
think his name's johnny, a nearby body whispers.
it's not, the broken limbs in question croaks.
sleepless nights.i.sleepless nights.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you cry at the sight of pretty white snowflakes,
insisting such a beautiful thing shouldn't fall
into such a cold, bitter world. it'll all be gone
soon, washed away with the tears of the
rip up the floorboards, you'll find the knife
you hid there so many years ago. a child
of only five, you saw things that no child
should ever see. you knew the value of
you still cling to the blue stuffed elephant
as you try to fall asleep at a decent hour.
Joey was the the only one who had been
there through it all. he's the only one who
february air leaves your lungs dented and
sore. too man
quiescencewhen iquiescence4 years ago in Scraps More Like This
it is not
by the birds.
Old Man NeptuneWhat immediately grasped me about the sea that dayOld Man Neptune4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
was its tiredness;
the rain bit at waves that rippled, tensed like the skin
of a torture victim, stretched thin over ribs. I'd swung
my buckets and spades at my side
as I approached, a timid mouse quivering
at the writhes of a great fading lion.
Their plastic laughter rattled so meek under the wind,
mocking colours swallowed in the dolorous wet.
I scavenged mussel-shells, punctured by barnacles,
ugsome protrusions huddled like wrinkled eyes.
I waded in, looked the beast straight through. But my
bare cold ankles in the foam were overcome
by the pleading dribble of the slow-moving
Break"We cannot fight for love, as men may do; We should be wooed and were not made to woo." - A Midsummer Night's Dream.Break6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
When you fall in love it doesn't break. When you hope, when you really hope it doesn't break and if it does you mend it, you bind it, you build it back up with glue or bandages or crumbling bricks. You mend it straight away and you keep mending it and repairing it over and over, even if it's breaking faster than you can fix it. Even if all of a sudden it's not the thing it was to start with, it's just a pile of mending...of mended parts. When there is no broken hope or love left, when there's nothing but dust, you die. In one
before you burn out the nightbefore it was popular to bebefore you burn out the night4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and cease existence
before seizing an end could
before adolescent dreams of
with ludicrous situations made more malleable by
poorly-imagined incantations or...
poorly woven tapestries
before the genesis of neo-gothika castles
before american whispers making famous
the central tender
before it was cliche: a mortal lover
a tortured man
all allusions to Romeo and Juliette
Tristan & Isolde
an inhuman alphabetunder the microscope of sophisticated evolutionan inhuman alphabet4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I have pre-meditated my own interloping xeno-transformation
from hyperbolic misanthrope to parabolic messiah
tattooed each sigil from
along the edge of my ta
probably is not yeshere is a picture of us cutting through the red tape that is poetic language. i think i lied, i don't want you to care for me, but i do want you to remember me. you shouldn't ask me how- you say you will, but it is more judicial if i ask you how.probably is not yes3 years ago in Scraps More Like This
i want you to remember me as a beautiful girl though i've never been beautiful, the person who has loved the hardest in the history of the world, with you as her object. i might be a headlong disaster on two legs but i wish it were something in my heartbeat which could help you stay alive. i wish a dream were enough, but i know it isn't. i don't know how you are to remember me when i don't know how