StainI cannot wash you from my handsStain in Free Verse More Like This
your stain, it runs too deep
in sin and marrow
and a thousand storms
that shake the stars from sleep.
I cannot blot away your lies,
their stain upon my heart
like the sweetest balm
spilled from a chalice
that cries the night apart.
I cannot dream away your face,
its sweet stain stalks my soul
where skin comes undone
and bleeds my body cold.
GraceHe wasn't a religious man -Grace in Free Verse More Like This
he did not go to church
or wear dogma on his sleeve
or care whose God won.
But he knew miracles
when he held them in his hands,
and the sound of angels
beating back the dark,
and that grace woke up
inside of him
Dancing with the DeadYou love to dance with the dead,Dancing with the Dead in Free Verse More Like This
tango warm in the dark
as your slippers
barely skim the night
under the willow spun moon.
You let them lead you
and pull you close
and gently trace
the blues of your face,
where stars hunt and steal
like shadow puppets.
You let them court you
and bed you,
the intimate twitch
of your silk
parting under fingers
that beg to touch your memories.
You let them explore
and feast on
the mystery of your limbs
as they fall against the sky,
watching you move
like a ghost
out under the slippery elms,
plucking ragged fire
from your youth.
ScorchThe white cotton of a summer dayScorch in Free Verse More Like This
streams across June
like paint peeling off porch railings
buttercups go drowsy in window boxes
watching the world nod and doze
and the burr of cicada wings
rubs the still air scorched
and scars the sky
like locusts on honey
Lady GrayLady Gray in Free Verse More Like This
No one suspected
she had blood
all over her tiny white hands
like sad red prayers
tucked into immaculate doeskin
and hidden from the world.
She kept count of her bad deeds
like a strand of rosary beads
suspended from her wrist
savoring each remembrance
vibrating on the chain
with a self-indulgent smile
And her sweet face bore no years
and her delicate fingers
left no trace
of the crimes
hanging inside her mouth
the hook and eye of her lips
stained like a broken bird.
But an artist had caught
the sockets behind her eyes
bulleted like wormwood
and where her cheekbones caved
under sallow flesh
and the vibrations of that chain
scored the skin between her fingers
leaving the canvas ruined
and the paint cracking
under her heart.
MagicA wrought iron balcony,Magic in Free Verse More Like This
overgrown with jasmine
frames the summer evening,
pulls magic from doorways
and sends it spinning into the wanton dark
with a clatter of glass beads
and raw red saxophone.
Voodoo heat bleeds out low and blue,
bubbles under door sills
and over window ledges
to set the city humming.
The jazz blast of feet on cobblestones -
a parade of tourists,
washed in summer and silk
shake graveyard dust from their shoes
and disappear into the long, languid dark
among the palm readers and card tricksters
crouched in the curl of a summer dream.
The warm slit of night beckons me,
welcomes me with open arms
and leads me to where you ponder enchantment -
your moon slashed eyes half closed on the world,
taking in its secrets between sips
of rum laced coffee and heavy cream.
Your cheeks spangled like carnival glass
in every hue of my desire,
sweat beaded up like tiny pearls on toffee skin.
Leaning in, I taste taboos from your tongue
that sear my mouth with the
IntoxicatedIntoxicated in Free Verse More Like This
The way you paint your mouth smug
and don't answer my questions
is more appealing after
my second gin and something
when the night throws up its hands
and feels like dancing.
I like how you smack me with words
and call me the names
you read in art magazines
and you like
how I trip over my tongue
when I catch you
lurking at my door
not wearing your shadow.
BirthEvery poet knowsBirth in Free Verse More Like This
the pull of greedy words
angry to be born,
the twitch of pen
like Saint Vitus
between the fingers
shock the page
and ink smirks
blue and vicious
flooding under knuckles
itching the paper
like some hot rage
demanding a new voice.
The Monster Under her BedThe Monster Under her Bed in Free Verse More Like This
It lived under her bed,
dining on dust bunnies
the size of Manhattan
and old report cards,
playing cats cradle with the dog,
and wore funny glasses
and old scarves to school.
It sang out of tune
at inappropriate times,
like holiday dinners
in front of the family
and the old parish priest;
and said naughty words
and spied on the neighbors
with busted binoculars.
It poured paint
down the mail chute
and scratched itself in church.
and broke the good china
and gobbled the cake
mama made for the bake sale,
(but wouldn't eat broccoli)
burping the alphabet
just for good measure.
And at the end of the day
when she crawled into bed,
it curled at her feet
and blew out the lights,
pulled up the blankets
and sent nightmares fleeing
like red rubber balls.
July StormI feel the winds of JulyJuly Storm in Free Verse More Like This
slowly changing directions
like lovers gone awry
in the arms of others
as the hot pierce of sky
rolls back the afternoon
in hazy fingerprints
blistering the grass.
Nothing moves but my breath,
distilled air battering glass
and pushing into sallow
pressed down against the world
while clouds embank the horizon
with a murder of crows
and the day singes
in bottlefly green
like a burnt match.
i am.i am a skeleton draped in your memories you're not even sure you wanted with fireflies floating inside my skull like a macabre paper lantern that is sitting in an attic somewhere collecting dust and spiderwebs and trains of thought. i am lost in this forest that you planted from old pop cans and headphones and there is no white rabbit to follow, only these melting clocks that are not telling me if i am late or not. i am porcelain temples with shellshock headaches that are rocking me to my tangled spinal cord that is mixing up my please-eat and do-not-cry signals so instead i am crying while trying to keep down my last meal of shards of glass and splinters of your broken promises that i swallowed whole-heartedly like a dog swallowing a chicken bone.i am. in Reviews & Guides More Like This
i am half-truths and book jackets bound together with dental floss and sailing ropes and weighed down with your anchor you made from melted-down wedding bands and my self-confidence. i am covered in scars made from your teeth when you smiled
where there's smokethere's definitely a youwhere there's smoke in Free Verse More Like This
and there's certainly a me
but there will never be an us,
no matter how many dandelions i obliterate
or how many shooting stars you knock from the sky,
we were not, nor will we ever be, meant for each other.
[the alphabet didn't put u and i together for a reason.]
we're like cigarettes and gasoline;
we're fine on our own
but we should never, ever touch
because the blast would scorch everyone,
including the starter and accellerant.
[especially the starter and accelerant.]
your arm always just stopped short of my wrist,
so you always had to bend to hold hands
and even though i walk on my toes like your little ballerina
i could never quite get our fingers to intertwine carelessly.
but my lips were made for yours wasn't fate;
it was a careless factory worker hurrying with his snowflakes
because no lips are ever alike, not even for another's.
[your mistake was thinking fate had anything to do with you and i.]
if we were romeo and juliet,
i would still have en
salutations.i.salutations. in Free Verse More Like This
hey there, my broken mirror boy.
look at you.
you're almost as broken as me.
your pieces are jagged,
and i swear i just cut myself on your words,
but hey, i'll pick them up anyway.
they're still beautiful.
hello, my beautiful lost boy.
look at how the stars shine for you.
look at the constellations,
because they're trying to draw a map for you
so you can find your way
back to me.
darling, look at us.
now we're just broken enough
that i think we could fit together
at all the wrong places,
with my jaw between your shoulder blades
and your fingers between my ribs.
i'm telling you,
now we're the puzzle pieces cut to fit,
using each other as scissors to hack off extra pieces
that we were sure we didn't need
until maybe organs started failing
but my heart still beatbeatbeat in time with yours
like a macabre drum that we waltzed to.
look at us,
we've got eternity now,
you've seen it in my dilating pupils
and i've heard it in your slowing breaths
and now were there, on the brin
one percent of deathsi'm thinking of crawling under a rock, or possibly using that same rock to bash my skull in.one percent of deaths in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
i'm sure blood is a prettier shade of red than the clay the cromagnen men used, [but fingerpainting has never been my forte.]
and sometimes, i wake up, and i make up excuses and tell myself lies so that i can drag myself out of bed and get enough motivation to do anything for myself.
i can't eat without feeling the urge to puke it up, because i am not eating for you anymore.
i can't breathe without feeling the urge to hold my breath, because i am not breathing for you anymore.
i can't cry without trying to gouge my eyes out, because i am not crying for you anymore.
[i am crying because of you.]
and when my lies are as transparent as a mosquito net and my excuses as weak as the dog ate my homework, i just sit in the kitchen and stare at the cutlery drawer, but i do not get up [because i do not trust myself].
i am tired,
but there is no rest, not yet.
i still have ma
masquerade.lies drip from your mouthmasquerade. in Free Verse More Like This
like black ink, staining
every surface they
[stop getting your poison on my dreams.]
your charming smile
is painted on and
your smoldering eyes
brim with mischief.
[will they run over with animosity?]
you try to persuade me,
sway me with your forked tongue,
whispering untruths and
broken promises in my ear.
[i wish i could believe them.]
but despite your lies
and devilish disposition,
i find myself attracted to you
like a moth to a flame.
[i know i will burn.]
cancrizans.v.cancrizans. in Short Stories More Like This
saturday. i woke up again this morning. it's raining, too. i remember last night i made a deal with myself. for a minute, i listen to the symphony or the raindrops colliding with the glass, that hollow sound of their lives ending, before i turn over to glance at the alarm clock. it's 7:34 am, overcast, peaceful. i pull open the top drawer in the nightstand and pull out my bottle of prozac containing the last 10 pills. i've been saving them up for this.
friday. i spent the day just walking around town. too much reminded me of you. the corner store where you used to buy me sweets, the park where we lay on the grass and whispered in each others' ears, the clothing store you liked to shop at. it was sunny out, but i was still cold, shivering in my leather jacket that still smells like you. when i got home, i drank some voddy straight out of the bottle and smoked half a pack gauloises, got in bed and just thought about you. if it's sunny tomorrow when i wake up, i won't
don't blink .collab.i do not knowdon't blink .collab. in Free Verse More Like This
how anyone can wake up
and be so fucking certain of their lives
when all i can do is doubt everything
and do you know?
the number of times
i've wrung these eyelashes.
what's the matter, what's the matter?
they aren't even
solid like numbers:
and some days i wish
that i could remember anything
instead of searching blindly
for something i'm not even sure is there.
(you always said
ghost-white suited me, anyway.)
(the earth is spinning out
well, they say it's a small world
but if it really were
i think i'd see you
a lot more
than once in a blue moon
or at least
float to the empty sky,
where i belong.
(with tears in their
they're all just as confused
hearts aren't musicalit's strange, the way the used-to-be's and could-have-been'shearts aren't musical in Free Verse More Like This
mesh together like the wishing-you-were-here's and i-love-you's
that are as fake as my i-wish-i'd-never-met-you's
and there's this sound like falling down a flight of piano keys
with the high notes piercing right through the deeper ones
and it sounds like the left side is having a harder time than the right
like a heart where the aorta is clogging with clotting hopes and trotting heartbeats
until it's beat beat beat beat beat beat beat beeeeeeeep
and it's a flatlining pulse like an opera singer with a sore throat
and she's hitting d flat instead of f sharp and the music is wrongwrongwrong
and it's not-quite-rights and once-more-pleases
until she's overwhelmed and goes home with a broken heart like a broken language
and she's stuttering and struggling for the right words
wishes and wants.i.wishes and wants. in Free Verse More Like This
i wish i could climb inside your chest
to replace that irregularly beating heart of yours
and when you felt like you were dying
i'd push and pull your lungs
to force them to breathe in
and i'd order your blood to flow through your collapsing veins
and carry the oxygen and hope to your muscles
so you could carry on living, even though i'm trapped.
[even if you broke my heart, i'd still be yours.]
and if your skeleton was collapsing
i'd attach threads spun from my dreams to you
and i'd tie them to your wrists to make you my marrionette
and i'd be your [wishingshewas] beautiful puppeteer
and with my help you'd put on a show for the world
where they'd gasp at your broken beauty,
but they'd still be astounded by your crooked smile.
[i know i was.]
so darling, take my hand
because you know i'll always be here for you
when you're breaking down like that old car you drive
or when you can't see anything but that darkness
that you always see at the edges of your eyes
and i'll always
grasping at stardusti saw myself fall in love with you.grasping at stardust in Free Verse More Like This
i fell off the moon.
when the alabaster orb
began to spin
it slipped beneath my feet.
[i stupidly lost my balance.]
i tried to cling to the stars,
but their cold fire
blistered my skin.
still they twinkled, unfazed.
[they were the colors of your eyes.]
i grasped at the clouds,
but i caught dust between my fingers.
when i looked to the ground,
there was no one there to catch me.
[my heart smashed first.]
over-extensionhere i am cultivating my little garden of loneliesover-extension in Free Verse More Like This
a sponge, a chair, a shoulder
here i am with a wad of cotton batting, filling up my cadre of empties
line you all up on the shelf in the back of my head
pull you off and hey, lovely, how are you today?
how was the test the date the hospital the visit to the morgue
did you panic did you leave him did you hurt yourself
are you all right?
here i am lab doctor of chemistry far away, drugging up my
Otherit means:Other in Free Verse More Like This
when I find & choose a family of friends
it will be more a home to me than you could ever know
certain soundscertain sounds you are used to hearing over and over again:certain sounds in Free Verse More Like This
click and drizzle of Keurig coffee maker
whoosh and creak of screen door closing
ancestral Russian-Hasidic inflections in the way you pronounce your H's
rustle of curtains and bedsheets
tap tap of your own feet
how can I help you
how're you doing
click and drizzle of Keurig coffee maker
snap of shampoo lid
roiling boiling water
don't get me started on googolsI was thinking about a trillion today.don't get me started on googols in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I read an article in the New York times today that said
we domesticated first-world humans consume one trillion plastic bags every year.
I read online that the United States combined national debt is sixteen point nine trillion dollars.
Imagine a trillion plastic bags.
Imagine sixteen point nine trillion dollars.
Imagine a string of a trillion plastic bags full of sixteen trillion dollar bills,
stretching out in a tied-together line around the earth, spiraling out in orbit.
Imagine a beach.
Imagine counting the grains of sand on a beach.
Imagine a trillion grains of sand.
Imagine a trillion seconds.
Imagine how many leaves are sitting on your front lawn yet unraked.
Imagine how many.
Imagine how many lawns it would take to get to a trillion.
Imagine how many bottles of soda you buy every year.
Imagine how many bottles of soda you
and your friends
and your friends' friends
and your friends' friends' friends
buy every year.
Imagine how many stars.
peace.a dog-eared copy of oscar wilde's dorian greypeace. in Free Verse More Like This
pale-colored window light beams in my boring
pastel-green striped men's shirt size extra-large
breathe my steam on the window and wait for winter dawn to break proper.
othersome other, other, souther-other in Free Verse More Like This
oft soft, soft, soft
cat named moira
a world to yourself
balloon|fulthere is a colorful myriad trapped and straining behind the organo-cellophane of this stressballoon|ful in Free Verse More Like This
an orgiastic jungle of snippeted preschool construction paper and tiny animals like the ones that mum dreamed about on opiate medication after a fall,
crawling beneath the spherical membrane of no, not now
of Kantian triangles and Bertrand Russell's views on pacifism and modern war
and you're all very interesting, the lot of you,
but I don't have time--
here's hoping I don't hurt anybody this timethe rain is whisperinghere's hoping I don't hurt anybody this time in Free Verse More Like This
it's not whispering to me, but the sound is comforting
and the beeping of the microwave don't tell me nothing but my food is done
and the TV in the other room says "you forgot me,
buy one get one free"
and the Ghirardelli I had for breakfast says don't you wish I wasn't in your throat
and the smell of you still on me says
god I don't know
the desk chairlittle backwardsthe desk chair in Free Verse More Like This
you fell into me, lord,
you fell onto me and my long-fingered last-ditch chance at succession
the matte plastic face i'd been keeping for just this moment held,
held less a few cracks around the edges and eyebrows
a carelessly dropped spoon
sick lovei have this goodwill, this hope,sick love in Free Verse More Like This
this radiant crystal star piercing my chest from the center out, and
i need to break off pieces
hand them out like hard candy.
i need to help.
i am tired, yes. and
i hate myself, yes. and
i feel inadequate, yes. and
i can barely do anything, yes. and
my hair is too long and my laundry's undone and my bedroom's a mess, yes. and
i have this hope,
this yellow bean-bag of a heart
how can i not slit it and let the rice pour out onto the starving?
Shatterglass by eight 0f heartsShatterglass by eight 0f hearts in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
It had survived things that no mug should have had to endure.
It had been dropped off cliffs, plunged into radioactive water, used to hold questionable substances and once travelled several hundred kilometres after Pilot tied a helium balloon to it. It had been thrown at Snippy countless times. It had suffered the indignity of being sat on by Engie after the Captain left it lying on a chair.
It had never been washed in its life.
But in the end, all it took was one little nudge, and the mug the great, glorious mug was reduced to a few shards of broken ceramic and a spatter of sad-looking tea.
It happened like this:
They were seated around the kitchen table in their current place of residence. "Kitchen", of course, is taken very broadly here there was no ceiling, nor were there any kitchen appliances; it was, in fact, merely a ramshackle table in the middle of an empty room.
Today's lunch consisted of cold baked beans which was quite the delicacy considering t
but you are among friendsand hannah is in the back seat saying fuck,but you are among friends in Free Verse More Like This
fuck, and we know what happened to her and where she went
and what stole the ties from her pigtails and
why she bites the cuticles of her nails until they bleed, and she
says fuck fuck fuck and we have nothing to say so we
straighten up, muss our spines like drips down our back, and
we point out the window and say look at the cows and
hannah is huge, hannah is so huge,
and freddie is in the front seat drooling and his teeth are
poking out like this smile might be too much for him,
and sometimes we say he doesn't sleep, not ever,
and sometimes we say he is sleeping right now,
this minute, and sometimes we want to pull
down his eyelids like quiet shades and make
him see the colors, and he drives us to churches
swimming in their own sin and marketplaces and he
says he wants to peoplewatch, to watch the people, you know,
but instead he curls himself up and points to the sky and says a
bunny, a rabbit, a little peter cotton ta
you have such a pretty smilei.you have such a pretty smile in Free Verse More Like This
it has been scrawled and every letter looks like a hooked crow's talon, and i am sitting with my jeans all rolled up and my feet are made of seeds and wrinkles like protrusions of stems and dreamy roots, and i am exploding stars in my mind and they shatter like yellow confetti, slivered gold glitter, and i read so slowly like the words might escape me before i can finish, the tail-ends of ns turning into legs and the es unfurling and falling delicately away and the m scattering away like leaves coated in sulfur and membrane and silk, and on the wall is scrawled a picture, a color, that looks like this:
my stomach opened up wide
and out came
a forest, topped in limp rashes of stringy red and slices of white, splattered lightly with a crimson you could dip your finger in and taste, playing your tongue like a careful harp, and the gilded stains of green came out to meet the sun with extended pointing arms
cat-burning one and a half.cat-burning in Free Verse More Like This
i cannot teach babies to speak, cannot take their lips into my fingers and impress the words upon them, cannot summon the voice with my nails and form it between my fingers like loose ripped cloth, syllables dying their tongues pink and brown as they speak until they turn white and die, legs snapping like frictionless fingers. once i close my eyes with a little palm curled around mine and i heard him, talking to me, and he said:
i want you to take my skin and peel it back, as though i am just bloody silk and you need to find my real flesh, underneath, white and hard; and i want you to bite me, to chew me, and i want you to crawl your teeth inside my tissues and attempt to swallow me with the misplaced and torn organ-skin of your lips, your can
tell me about justice's lover take me to the place where faith falls off the walls and lands in the palms of children whose parents have left them, of people recently diagnosed and those who are still considering. tell me about why suicide is a bad idea so i can close my eyes and wake up in the middle of the night with pins and needles inside my hands and your melting hair curled around your face like dying smoke and i will understand. sometimes i want to lean back and think about why people are beautiful but then i will remember murder and hatred and crime and envy and malice and dead frogs and skinless snakes and homeless shelters and hospital rooms and vending machines and toolboxes and crash sites and lands claimed by the wrinkly fingers of tornadoes and love, and love and love and love, and life and hitched breath and cigarettes and lips and absence, negative space, andtell me about justice's lover in Free Verse More Like This
daises. i want daises. i want leaves in autumn
our descent into heaven1.our descent into heaven in Socio-political More Like This
He leans in and shakes his drink, and the ice cubes rattle into each other like old brittle bones, dancing and bumping haphazardly into the other.
You have to watch the quiet ones, he tells me, taking a swig. Everyone thinks it's the noisy ones you gotta be careful of, but that's wrong. The quiet ones'll get you if you don't make sure.
I wonder if he is a loud drunk, a mean one. If he likes to hit his wife, fuck his children. If he trips up crying to himself. If he likes to dredge up and whine about every bad, black-stain memory. If he's a giggly, excitable drunk. If he'll want to dance and sing and kiss.
If I'll have to quiet him.
You keep resurfacing. You are tender dirt that is hidden beneath all of my thoughtsyou are the tree that contains every last branch of my sanity, and maybe you're in some of the leaves, too, pulled apart by gentle wind and ripped up by an angry storm. I can't let you go, can't make you disappear, can't clap my hands and trap you inside
your skin likes the noiseHold a mirror up to your skin.your skin likes the noise in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
You will be amazed.
I hold my hand before my face.
"The swept up, skinny bones of birds. The corpses of pieced-together, pink ants. Shelled and filled-up cocoon bodies. Tree-branches with God's stolen skin and slabs of white, dust-bone dough. Pasted, solidified pale mucus. The wrapped and tethered, life-given joints of dolls. Limbless and pudgy sticks, fleshed-out and caved in. Matchsticks coated, rolled and thickened with skin, virgin from the tongue of fire. Shrunken and weathered poles, scarred tissue of dragon, shriveled bone, poverty-stricken and skinned-straight gemstones, broken and bended fleshy heartstrings, pulled-out and wrenched"
"They're just your fuckin' fingers, dude," he says.
He grabs my index, my forefinger and my pinkie, and he brings them down, softly. They rest by tree-trunk hips, garbled and shoveled thighs, stacks of paper feet.
"What the fuck? Calm down, dude. Shut up."
My hand dissolves. He smiles. They're just y
apocalypse yesterdaythere isapocalypse yesterday in Free Verse More Like This
a massacre in the middle of town.
bobby says he saw it but i don't believe him.
mama says anyone fool enough to believe a man
is fool enough for hell.
i walk past the rain in the gas station,
the blood in the streets,
the pretty ladies combing their hair in windowsills,
daring a man to stop and watch.
when the massacre is over,
though grandpapa says it'll never end,
these women, they stop and watch the moon
and you can hear them from down the street.
i heard them. i didn't see the massacre but i heard them,
these plucked, daisy-dream women.
i don't care what bobby says, the whole world heard them.
"at least we're still pretty."
is in the kitchen
smoking seven different kinds of rainbows.
when i come out of the hallway,
he shoos me away,
waving an arm as thin and bendable as a cigarette.
i oblige, and i come home later,
a sword through his stomach.
i cannot muster an "i told you so,"
and i hide
between the laundry basket and the sky.
i went out in search of rocks.
for my motherYour daughter is afraid to go downstairs in her pajamas because she feels like a balloon animal inside of them. (Do not take this as an excuse to go out and buy her new ones.) Your daughter would extremely enjoy the sight of two men kissing. (In fact, your daughter is somewhat of a homophiliac.) Your daughter has only seen porn twice, but she has read porn more times than one should count. (The second time was in the corner of the screen during American Psycho; the other, on a stumbled-onto-out-of-curiosity Web site.)for my mother in General Non-Fiction More Like This
Your daughter is nervous about a lot of things. (Including, but not limited to: drugs, tornadoes, fire, insects, heights, pain, humiliation, strangers, large dogs, public speaking, real blood, childbirth, open wounds, flying, and people.) Your daughter is endlessly, inexorably, and inexplicably fascinated with both pedophilia and incest. (Don't give her that look.) Your daughter does not know why this is, but she blames The End of Alice, Lolita, the I
ear to your chestyour inner child is speaking and wantsear to your chest in Free Verse More Like This
ice cream by the gallon. it is playing
made-up, off-key drumbeats on its stomach,
playing until its fingers are sore with
skin and dust, belly-button lint and
dreams. it does not want to be an astronaut,
a fireman, or a police officer: it wants to
be a food taster, a librarian, a
smoke-maker and a diamond-cutter. it
wants to bleed, beautifully, and it wants
to never feel pain for the rest
of its life.
(please. please, never let
it hurt, ache, wince. keep it safe,
toying with your h
your apathy, your sunsetsshe says, "i killed your father."your apathy, your sunsets in Free Verse More Like This
big burly man: eyes like fire and red-
tinged roses, burnt at the crisps and curling
in on itself, fetal position,
with black ash; arms like angry feathers,
legs like blocky tornadoes, a
mouth to hang
your linens on; upside the head,
hurricane hands, i hate you i hate you,
inside her stomach,
around the bend, i hate you; shotgun says, "bang,"
Cherry BlossomsSqualls, mighty squabbles of wind and airCherry Blossoms in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Hardly standing, the hot pink blossoms flair
Petals grasp, petals cry, petals rasp, the petals shy
Never do they bloom til' at very last they die
Level 1Never created quite like thisLevel 1 in Free Verse More Like This
In her conception she screamed
"His stats will be our greatest wish,
Our greatest dream!!"
Just a little sprite
After the generational rite
Now my players gonna pick and choose
How I'll win and never lose
A newb I will stay
For just a little while
No attack nor job to play
Though I guess my Charms not too vile!
She says through my screams
I'll grow up to wield a sword
But I just look up at her and beam
As she saves me on A file
BuoyCold, hard, manufactured lifeBuoy in Open More Like This
Held in a merciless monogamy
That sky and sea share.
Always asking it's human mothers
the reason for a tortured soul
And why the swimmers and fliers
Never cease in there stare
Whilst it is not allowed
To join them.
Blank CanvasA blank canvas in a studioBlank Canvas in Free Verse More Like This
sitting, waiting, blankly staring
at the artist, the creator
Waiting to be reborn
Young and pure,
society paints a stroke,
changing me, reshaping me
to one of it's own.
All colors are made for me
while I wait still
for the inevitable creation,
my painting is finished.
When I am complete,
taken to my cell, I am framed
stood upon a wall,
society is gawking at me.
And I am dead.
CreationHe stares at his blank canvas, gleaming eyes.Creation in Free Verse More Like This
Take a brush, create a line, take a color, make a stroke.
It is He who paints who controls other worlds,
Who paints the trees? The grass? The animals in His barren field?
Who dreams blue skies? Envisions crystal waters? Imagines space itself?
Who dares to create men? black? Or white? Or any color he wishes?
It is the Painter.
Dare He dream upon the simple canvas, new worlds are created.
May He awash the canvas with His mind, we are willed to live.
Have, He the tools of creation, and our ultimate destruction.
He controls all worlds.
Through the Painter's vision, man is born through Himself.
Man stands, staring back at the Painter, holding the very brushes
That were used to create, and now Man dreams of his own worlds.
And new painters are created.
Mid-Morning PassionThere's a knocking on the door,Mid-Morning Passion in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
but our clothes are scattered on the floor.
My face is buried in your chest,
Dubious hands stroke your curves as we rest.
Afterglow embraces us, two lust-stricken beings.
The auburn couch was claimed in yearning.
A meow from Harn awakens me.
To the lives we lead outside of this glee.
Your hands massage my backside through furious moans.
The thought of leaving, handing me inopportune groans.
I kiss your chest with a nuzzling of my face,
and once again, I know our hearts both race.
For the passion we shared just hours ago.
It's striking noon, simply all I know.
I wonder if this love is everlasting?
The sharing of this warmth, never ending?
Your subtle kisses upon my head
remind me that it's not dead,
the flames of burning romance,
especially in our passionate 'dance'.
Tokimaru's IdentityThe constant buzzing sound of an air conditioner, though less fear-inducing and loud, much portrayed a flying bee in the small, yet barren, classroom. A flourishing sense of plain excited itself further when the walls of white glowed around the small group of scholars so monotonously. Brown desks of wood and steel conformed themselves into a sixteen-desk square, with only a sparsely-decorated teacher's quarters to distinguish a hardly-enthusiastic teacher. The actual subject, however, did assert it's individuality in the less-than-sparkling vicinity.Tokimaru's Identity in Short Stories More Like This
"Pardon my grace, my beauty, my sound
Drown in your green envy whilst I'm not around."
Tokimaru, with eyes closed and arms outstretched as if he was a blind prophet preaching the good word, danced across the 'center stage' in front of few students. His soft, kind voice fluttered over the sounds of the monstrous bee-like machine. Briskly and gently did his sparkling, violet eyes open and just enough to see the mixed faces of his listeners b
Zaevia, The Mantra MagnifiqueZaevia, The Mantra Magnifique in Free Verse More Like This
Bless her with mystery
O, elegant wing-beating dancer
Lingual desserts, her rhapsodical calligraphy
Never shouldn't she be wiser
Shroud her in shadows,
The pounding monsters never cease
To touch upon the spirit's clad bows
To feel subtle expression is her tease
Guard her with melody
Fruitless tries don't embezzle her heart
The fragrant symphony does not fill the belly
Hypnotism only kills the masked start
VacancyHello, good sir,Vacancy in Open More Like This
Please, come out from the rain
It's storming out fast in a blur
I'm sure your probably in pain.
Most hotels in the town
Are completely filled for the night.
We have one suite not reserved down,
but it may give you a fright.
The last occupant left in quite a quick pace.
after enjoying our services, filling his lust
He left it scarred and a horrible dirt trace
The room is in shambles, almost coming to a bust.
What's that you say?
You'll stay for the week?
Maybe fix it up, in exchange for pay,
You'd even repair the hotel's structure, ever so weak?
My sir, I commend you
In your efforts so brave
I fear it's bad, maybe too-
W-well if you insist, we hope you won't cave.
After long hours, the staff sees you looking poor.
Down trodden, sweaty and frustrated.
We offer our assistance, seeing your ratty and tore,
The hotel staff as a whole, but you tell us we're not needed.
It's been a full week,
and the hotel is bustling, business is booming
You tell us your going to stay, the ro
SpiteThe beast that guards your Self at nightSpite in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
He's the one who gives scare to a sense of fright
A malice-driven guardian with goals wary
Not some heaven's angel, or a magic fairy
He's your little pet, a hidden excuse
For all your family-imposed abuse.
His gnarling mouth and ferocious bark
With blood, forever leave their mark
Insulting bites and paw print treads
Stand below their severed heads
Dragging you inside his jaws
His price for hiding your many flaws.
Places-4: ClosetPlaces-4: Closet in Free Verse More Like This
Our first meeting was inside a closet.
Incidentally, so was our first year together.
Our first meeting was difficult.
We were like two tiny existentialists
Fighting for the most valuable resource of our times.
The darkness beyond the closeted door
Belonged to her. She had stayed there
Before I arrived and opened the door.
She wouldnt share her darkness with me.
She fought like a wild animal. Following
The two most important things in the closet
The animal instinct. And shadows
Darker than the darkness. And hence, glowing.
Her strength and her pace drew me to her.
I fought back.
We fought for many days. Continuously.
And then, like it happens with all fights,
We forgot why we fought.
The reason fell short of perpetuating forever.
And our fight went beyond the boundaries of reason.
Slowly, we came to realize that the fight
Had become something we looked forward to.
An excuse to each others company.
We knew each other by the smell of sweat.
And touch. We fought f
How 'bout Using This Pen?How 'bout Using This Pen? in Philosophical More Like This
Your mind is a principle. A theory of waves.
Your last thoughts rippled onto my fingernails. Leaving scars. The pattern was always oddly recognizable. Some say the scar had the same unmistakable marks that were always to be found in your tears. The characteristic stain. Now, invading my fingernails too. If I let them grow, the scar shall become never-ending. But youd miss the clue, inescapably. You dont look at my fingers no more.
You dont look in a straight line. Your sight follows a trajectory path. A half eclipse. Uncertain of its target. Until it ends up falling on to something. There are times, however, when it reaches no target at all. The uncertain trajectory disseminates into a speed of light through fields, airs, darkness and the various absences of it. Propagating into a million small waves. Breaking into a medium restricted for sound vibrations alone. You do often end up looking at a voice.
Transmutation. Physics has a knack of defining things that al
DroughtDrought in General Fiction More Like This
I have a frozen rain in a glass jar. A regiment of raindrops. Carefully synchronized. The droplets are always in the state of falling. So that the rain goes on forever.
I often step into the glass. I look for you, dear girl. Behind one of those raindrops. I walk carefully through the rough, uneven passage between two raindrops or three. Sometimes, its too dense. I take extra care to keep myself dry. Youd need my warmth when Id find you in the rain. Too wet. Drenched.
Do you remember how you had hidden yourself behind a tear once? Said you cant waste more fountains than this.
Weeping is sacrilege, you had said if you cant drink your tears.
Ive drank it all now. Ive drank my own tears. Ive drank the tears of all whove wept in our town. Ive drank up some of their blood too. And I think Ive drank up all the rain before it could sprinkle on their palms. And their closed eyelids.
When some of it froze i
Death of a SolipsistDeath of a Solipsist in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Does the world come to an end when the train stops?
Waking up wasnt easy. It had never been. The emptiness still hung above my head. And the berth still seemed to recede beneath. It seemed the earth was pulling everything into its womb. The center of dislocation and dissolution. The earth was pulling it all. Save the void.
For thats all there shall be. Void. Ensuing. Stretched beyond the ends of endlessness. We shall be floating around. For gravity is just a carpet rolled under our feet. The earth shall pull in its own gravity too. Making destitute out of us. Carving dreams out of us. Making us nothing less than nightmares. And waking up isnt easy.
Waking up wasnt easy.
You ought to wake up in the same rhythm youve been sleeping in. The same rhythm youve been sleeping through. The rhythm youve been slipping through all this while, selfsame. And you must wonder if youve woken up at all. And given the number of times the feeling had recurre
Marriage: An IntroductionHe lost his temper that afternoon. It wasnt an easy find. He searched everywhere beneath the cushion, between his many clothes, inside her ears. But he was unsuccessful (as he always is). But for every failure he faced in finding his temper, he lost a little bit more of it.Marriage: An Introduction in Humor More Like This
He decided hed bring the house down. Dismantle it. To be better equipped to search his lost temper. Hed dismantle the house before the dusk. Before she woke up.
One by one the logs fell. All around her bed. Without disturbing her sleep. And even after this was complete he was unable to locate his lost temper. He lost more of his temper. He sat on the dismantled logs. Lying haphazardly all over the floor. alongwith the nails. And one hammer.
He forgot he had to make it back to home again, before the dusk.
After she woke up and rubbed the last traces of slumber from her eyelids, she couldnt believe what she saw (well, she never did). She saw the logs and the nails lying all over the floo
TasteThe taste of his smile was indigo. She had felt it before.Taste in General Fiction More Like This
She had invented sarcasm that night while they were having dinner. And he had smiled. And that smile had cut through her sarcasm. It ran across his lips. It ran across the streets. It ran across the jubilant people dancing on the streets. Foolish and ignorant people.
Ignorance shall cost them their colors. A grey world.
The taste of his smile was indigo. And it had disappeared one day. Like he did.
She thought he was hiding inside their child. It wouldnt be difficult for him. She had given him more darkness than a world could contain.
But she always felt that he wont be able to hide for too long. All he had to do was smile. For the taste of his smile was indigo.
The Causal PrincipleHe had painted the picture of nothing but a solitary teardrop on a piece of black carbon paper. On the other side of the paper he had laid down the river.The Causal Principle in Short Stories More Like This
Night bloomed in the river, that morning. Reflected onto the air above. Paintbrushed into a random breeze.
She woke up that morning into the dark, tear-strained. She knew at the primacy of her senses, that this wasnt an eclipse. It was blindness. One of those denser forms of darkness where you cant see anything even when you close your eyes. For it pours into your nervous system. Shed never see him again.
Standing there on the riverbank, he realized shed never be able to comprehend his gift. Or understand it.
He tore off his tear.
Night: An IntroductionNight: An Introduction in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
He says he had watched the earth on a casual afternoon. Intermittent with the darkness. He says the earth had climbed into his eyes.
He says he carries his childhood in his palm. He says someone had thrown a night at him. It had made a hole on the right side of his forehead and gone right in. The night had dissolved in his blood.
He says he had watched the earth on a casual afternoon. It seems dark to him. The shape of a pebble resembling the night that hit his forehead.
Earth is a night, he reiterates, life illumines us with the selfsame darkness that death buries us in.
Places-1: Sand DunePlaces-1: Sand Dune in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Theyve spotted footprints here.
Its the aliens, they say.
My pennies are lost somewhere in those sands.
Fallen off my pockets.
Camouflaging beneath the grains of silica (or if
We take away poetic excess from that sentence
Its just there under the sands).
There are guards around the dune
They wont let me dig.
No, not guards. Just the sand.
I say my pennies are important
And they wont let me dig.
Importance is a matter of political discretion
They say, in times of such forecast.
Dont you see? Its planets, galaxies
And flying saucers. Science awaits us all.
Im left waiting too
Waiting for science and the concerned officials
(At least, if not the actual aliens) to arrive.
Im left waiting in the queue
Oh yes, I forgot to mention
By then, theres this queue
Of people curious to learn bout the footprints
Of people curious to learn bout people curious to learn bout the
Places-19: AuditoriumLets speak of a time when there was sound.Places-19: Auditorium in Spoken Word More Like This
We used to linger in the auditorium
We had players and audience.
An existence meant for each other.
A belonging sans personal acquaintance.
Lets think of a time when there was sound
And we had kicked it across like a pebble
From one place to another. Reverberated.
We were players and audience.
The auditorium was a convergence of sounds.
Sounds stitched across each other.
Sounds that made no sense
Sounds that never tried to make any.
Then one day, we thought of publishing
A newspaper in our town, for our town,
By our town. And we came to realize
That individual voices were important too
If we wanted to make news.
We started unstitching the sounds, therefore.
But individuality was not a property of the auditorium.
And it was difficult dissecting them.
We tried making more spaces for our voices.
Shoved each other aside while we spoke.
And later, (since none of it helped)
We engaged ourselves in the tedious job
Of erasing each other
Fall Apart -Having a Ball-I can feel everything falling apart around me, and I can feel that I'm probably not much longer for the world. But this cataclysm that I've triggered is so much more fun than anything I've ever done that I just can't bring myself to care that I'm about to die.Fall Apart -Having a Ball- in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Can't LookI can't stand to look at him. That pale skin (He hasn't been outside in a long time.) The greasy hair (He doesn't clean much, or often.) Thos eyes, sunken but alive, but only with a malicious glee (He lies, you see, and only for the thrill of making someone believe what is patently absurd.)Can't Look in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I can't look at him. I hate him. What he looks like offends my eyes.
So I pick up a chair and smash the mirror.
Fear Of FallingI've always hated falling, in any way, literal and metaphorical. The sensation of falling in love or down the stairs, it's always been all the same. Terrifying, sudden, and I know that I'm going to be hurt.Fear Of Falling in Philosophical More Like This
And every time, I hold out the same hope that I'm wrong. I wonder, some days, whether or not it's really worth it to try and pick myself back up, and if I should just do my best to revel in the chaos that is inherent in everything. Sit back and enjoy the ride.
But I can't help but fall anyways, and throw myself into the fall. It's painful, but the rush is like nothing else. The feelings are more pure than any of the muddled emotions I feel on a daily basis that I can't help but love the fall.
I just hate the outcome, the broken bones and hearts.
Coffee and Strawberries"There's just so much in this world, and I know that I'll never see it all. Why should I bother?"Coffee and Strawberries in General More Like This
I didn't expect an answer, and I didn't get one. Instead, she just looked at me, brown eyes glowing at me. I got the feeling she was laughing at me, so I took a sip of my coffee so I didn't have to look at her.
In the time it took me to glance at my mug, pick it up, and look back up, she was in my face.
"Because," she said in that whispery voice of hers. Then she kissed me.
I couldn't respond to it, my mind just wouldn't process it. By the time I realized what she had done, she had gotten up and walked out of the coffee shop.
The rest of the day was spent trying to figure out what she had meant by that. The only problem whas that I couldn't focus. My lips still tingled slightly, and the constant distraction served well to kee[ me from doing anything useful or even remotely worthwhile.
Sleep was also slow to come that night. I kept thinking of her, trying to place the taste of her.
When I f
Not PerfectI hate being reminded that I am not perfect. I spend so much time trying to be that this is almost physically painful for me.Not Perfect in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
But part of me is amused. After so much time spent ridding myself of weakness and fear, she scares me? This girl, who smiles all the time, and is kinder than anyone I've ever met, and I'm afraid to even talk to her?
Ridiculous. now, if you will excuse me, she's coming this way, and I gotta go.
All I Can SayIt was one of those moments where your breath catches in your throat. You know the ones I mean, where there is just pure emotion in the air, and all you can do is let it carry you and try not to break down.All I Can Say in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
The weird thing is, I couldn't tell you what was going on. I will never be able to tell you who was there, if it was happy or sad or funny.
All I can say is it was perfect.
Pray"I don't pray anymore," she told me. "It's not because I don't believe anymore, because I do."Pray in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
"Then why don't you pray?"
She paused a moment before answering. "I think it's mostly because I just don't think he's listening to me. Mostly when I pray, it seems I'm talking to myself."
"Maybe you're not asking for the right things."
View PointsEvery action has an equal and opposite reaction. So don't hit someone unless you're sure that you're okay with them hitting you back.View Points in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Just because you didn't win that fight doesn't make you any less of a winner. Unless you're dead. Or hospitalized. Then you're just fucked.
Not everyone gets to have a truly defining moment. So if you get to have one, congrats. If not... Too bad, that sucks and I am sorry.
Don't trade your friends for anything, unless you're in prison and really want a candy bar. And even then, be sure it's a really good candy bar.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When in the company of cannibals... Leave.
Party crashing is more fun with a dramatic entrance. Just make sure that there's no one on the other side of the door.
No, pretending to be a vampire does not make you cool.
Being unique does not mean acting different or looking different from everyone else. You will find that you fall into a group. Being unique is not caring what they think of you, and doing your ow
not titledI can't remember the last time I've seen him like this. Actually, I can. It was the first time I met him.not titled in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I met Jack on the playground the day after he found out his parents were getting a divorce. He just looked so... I don't, broken, that I had to go say something to him. I'm a bit of a collector, you see, and what I collect are broken things.
Today, it was even worse. When I first met him, he was crying. Now he was so far beyond that that he wasn't even moving. Just sitting there, tears falling down his face. He wasn't bother to wipe away his tears, he wasn't moving, just sitting there, slowly falling apart, and I wish I could say something to him.
But there's nothing to say. Everything has already been said, and anything I do at this point would just be flogging a dead horse.
So I just stay, and try not to stare at this slow motion breakdown, and try not to hate his parents anymore than I already did for further destroying this work of art that they so casually tossed aside. I try
NeverSometimes I think about everything I'll never do. All the places I'll never go, the people I'll never meet, the insturments I'll never play. The fame I'll never achieve.Never in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
These episodes don't usually last long, though. And usually what stops them is seeing my friends, and knowing that as long as I have them, it doesn't matter.
dreamers never dieWere sitting under black-lace clouds and kerosene-stars when you first say you love me.dreamers never die in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I grab your hand, I press two lies against the palm, I touch your cheek, I say youre the most beautiful thing Ive ever seen. Except grass growing under my fingers. I say thats more beautiful than you.
Your eyes warm, you wrap an arm around my waist, you tell me I am oxygen bouncing against your lung-walls, sunshine pooling in your smile.
I dont have the heart to tell you I am black-infested-smokers-lungs.
I dont have the heart to tell you I am smiling without teeth.
I dont have the heart, I dont have the heart.
You write me letters on the back of my hand, you whisper me sonnets when were driving too fast.
You tell me that I am a bird, I call you a carcrash. You roll down the windows, you stick your fingers in the wind and smile.
You swear you can close your eyes and feel the people in front of us with your fingertips. Theyre laughin
promethean hearts_collab.I reached out with unworthy fingertips and stolepromethean hearts_collab. in Free Verse More Like This
fire from heaven to create a heart beneath these
shuddering ribs so that I could make music in time
with your golden heartbeat. Your fingertips are
blessed with the touch of a thousand eternities that
I want to spend lost in these velvet touches with you.
You are the pitterpatter of my pulse, the floor dropping
out during the pauses between my breaths and no
matter how many times I turn shooting-star-words into
ropes to hold myself together, they always burn away
and I fall to pieces at your feet. I would pick myself up,
but my comet-dust-bones have finally dissolved and I
am too busy loving you to try and regrow them.
Your galaxy is just wide enough for me to drown inside the
light shining from the eclipse in your comet-powder-blue eyes.
I'm tripping over the Milky Way and the silver words pouring
from your gilded lips; every breath you take is a song echoing
through my heart, breaking off the
we could walk on water.I will find you on the edges of the river,we could walk on water. in Free Verse More Like This
right between the creases where the moss
grows thick and the water gurgles hymns
so softly that you have to still your pulse
just so that you might hear it.
[Quiet, darling, quiet; open your heart and listen.]
You will find me in the pocket of the oceans
darkest wave, curled against the starfish and
seaweed, painting my moon-sand skin with
every color so that I might be as achingly
beautiful as the coral you dream of.
[Pray, darling, pray; open your hands and believe.]
We will find one another in the deepest part
of the deepest lake, pressing kisses together so
that when we breathe one another in, we might
simply breathe, fashioning oxygen from a wish
and touching each other as if one touch can
save the world.
[Sing, darling, sing; open your mouth and love.]
born in flames.if we don't start fires, then we'll breathe forth floods.born in flames. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
beneath our poetic simplicity is a raging monster with gnashing teeth and complications snarled all around its bloodied tongue. we're earthquake-palms hovering over the equator, sending continents careening into one another, their haphazard edges crumpling like damp paper. we're gaping ocean mouths gasping as life and death and the mess in between is sucked dry with a terrifyingly efficient gulp.
we're emaciated and starving and clawing at the lock to get to the feast on the other side. we're clumsy and awkward and knocking knees trying to finish a race on four feet and two hearts and no breath because we left it at the county line. we're practiced and naïve and reading the instruction manual in gaelic before tossing it to the wayside to learn with hands on experience instead, because --
class is in session:
professor, teach me the geography of twisting torsos and tangled limbs. professor, teach my the science of exploding
it's written in your veins.it's twelve to midnight when i frown with my eyes, forty-eight past sanity when i smile with my lips. as i'm standing in the ocean, waist-deep in murky thoughts, toes dug in coral i arch my neck and watch the stars burn like hellfire. i imagine that they burn in me too, that somewhere buried behind my lungs or stuck between my ribs, stars are smoldering. i splay my hands on my chest and i can feel the heat, each individual fire warming my palms until the milky way starts melting through my pores. the galaxies are filtering through my skin, strewn across the top of constellation-water and in comet-tail whispers they say:it's written in your veins. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"i'd like to save you, i'd like to think i could, but my breath's busy breaking down the ozone layer
and my darling, my dear, i'm sorry but you're just going to have to wait."
my lungs are turning inside out and my spine is an aging willow that's falling to meet the aquatic embrace. i imagine life is a metaphor and i'm just a run-down adjective trying to keep up.
i wish i could.i wish i was a clichei wish i could. in Free Verse More Like This
so my paper heart wouldn't
bleed anything but ink
caroline dreams in technicolorcaroline is the type of girl to keep her eyes open when she kisses.caroline dreams in technicolor in Short Stories More Like This
she is the type of girl who has an open-twenty-four-seven heart. she draws swirls in empty spaces because she says all the white on the page makes her feel lonely, as if she might fall between the lines and never get up again.
she is the type of girl who thinks the idea of sitting under trees is more beautiful than actually doing it, because no matter how poetic you think you look, at the end of the day youre still itching, covered in ants and hot.
but shell still do it, because looking poetic is all she has.
[sometimes, caroline thinks falling in love is lot like sitting under trees.]
caroline once fell in love at 10:30 a.m. and fell out at 10:32 a.m.
she laughed, put a hand to her chest, said he stole a piece of her heart but that was okay because she planned to give it all away anyways. it was useless to her, a rusting instrument trapped behind tone-deaf ribs that could be musical in the ri
when i say it isn't personal.and if its cold in the middle of the night, you can trust me to burn the building down.when i say it isn't personal. in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
if the walls are too tall and the secrets too thick. if you cant breathe past the black souls twisted around ash-lungs then follow me. trust me to start a riot. because we are more than they can handle, because we are smoldering indecently, we are young and heroic and flawed and angry. because we are bleeding hands tearing down doors, we are throwing fists against impassive chests.
we are feeling too much while they arent feeling enough.
and you better believe me: were going to revolt.
and if they try to stop us, we will hurdle their pathetic attempts at blockades. if they try to put us in a box, well stick dynamite in their teeth and blow off the fucking roof. because we are unstoppable, untameable, uncontrollable. we are wildfires and tsunamis and twisters ripping through small town america.
we are clawing down cliff walls and demolishing forests. we are the re
i can't see the sky.i hate the word lonely.i can't see the sky. in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
it dries out my mouth like i had tried to swallow tumbleweeds, it scratches the back of my throat like i'm trying to regurgitate memories from an empty stomach. it leaves me sitting in the middle of an empty room and wishing the ceiling would cave in because then at least i'd be able to watch the stars.
instead i'm just laying on top of the covers pretending to count them in the drywall and imagining what it would feel like to have your arm behind the curve in my neck. instead i'm closing my eyes and listening to the suction in my veins because i am hollow and caving in. i keep painting you with rich, lush adjectives, but you're just a cardboard pipe dream that falls flat and leaveleaveleaves me without air.
i keep spending my nights sketching your eyes on the ceiling, but i still can't see the moon.
and you know, i keep my hands busy during the day to ignore the faint shaking they do when i know they want to be holding yours. i keep my mouth talking to ignore t
selfish desires.this isn't right, but it's true; this isn't fair, but it's honest.selfish desires. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i'll tell you "i love you" when suns are exploding in our fingertips and the last of the nectar is dripping down the wells of our throats. i'll whisper it under the covers when our breath is mingling and our skin is a tapestry we've been painting all night long.
i'll find a hundred different ways to let you know. whether it be scrawled on fogged-glass shower walls or sung across hushed, golden car cabins or whispered reverently into your curls late at night. i'll warm you from the inside out, until fires are burning in your intercostal muscles and galaxies are caught in the fishnet of your lungs.
and you'll be so caught in the words that you'll miss the tune. you'll be so tangled in the sounds and shapes of the confessions that you'll forget the sinner's tongue they came from.
i'll tell you "i love you," but it will be a lie.
what i won't say is "i want you," which is what the truth will be. oh, because you'd much prefe
WheretheWildThingsAre AnalysisMany of you may be familiar with the tale of Where the wild Things Are. You probably read it at some point during your childhood or you most likely saw the 2009 film. To be sure, it's one of the most popular and beloved children's books to date and is still widely read in many households with young people. This popularity has led to many speculations about the book's nature. Some say there's a deeper meaning that belies the playful adventures of a young boy in a wolf suit. Others say it's nothing more than an entertaining and fanciful tale for youth. However, why would an adult write something as seemingly nonsensical as this? Very rarely is it for "entertainment's sake." Why a wolf suit? Why monsters? Why an island?WheretheWildThingsAre Analysis in Academic Essays More Like This
In the following text a deeper content of the work itself will be given an in-depth analysis and have some of the more esoteric themes.
The book itself opens up with a small boy by the name of Max who has a liking for causing mischief and wreaking havoc around the h
How To Write YaoiToday, we're going to show you how to write The Greatest Thing to ever happen evar.How To Write Yaoi in Editorial More Like This
Yaoi. Since it's a known fact that all female characters are vastly inferior to the male ones, none of them are suitable to be shipped with a male character. In fact, they can all go lez in a corner. No. This is going to be about yaoi. The greatest thing to evar happen evar of all time. Because we could never let a woman soil the true and pure love between a man and another man. And nothing is more sacred than that.
1. Tops and Bottoms As a rule, all yaoi couples must have a certified top and bottom (or uke and seme for you Japan types). NO EXCEPTIONZ1111!! You're either top. Or bottom. Period. The end. No exceptions. That's how all relationships work. And if you're relationship isn't like that, then there's probably something wrong with you. Or you're a woman. Then there's definitely something w
The Greatest Fic EverOne day, the Roarschack was walking randomly down the street when this random stranger jumped out in front of him and said, "Walter, i am a mysterious girl from your past who has now grown up into a beautiful young woman and i am secretly a vigilante and we need to be together because we're both vigilantes and we're both liek rlly messed up and we complete each other in our mutual messed-uppedness."The Greatest Fic Ever in Short Stories More Like This
"Rrrraaaarlllll," said the Roarschack.
Hideously rejected, the mysterious and bootiful young woman then went to hogwhutz.
"Pruffesser Snope," she said, "I am Voldermort's secret daughter that no one knew about and also Harry Potter's dark twin cousin. I can speak parsell tung and potions is my favorite class, we are compatible so won't you love me because I had an abused childhood where Voldemort killed my mom and because I'm technically not a legal adult and long flowing hair and green eyes which is mysteriously like someone else you knew and oh hey this is hogwhutz, a magical place
How to Make VillainsWe've already gone over how to make every kind of awesome main character. While main character's have little things to add to their epicness here and there, there's another vital thing that makes them truly great. Something that means more than their weapons or their bravery or they adventures they go on.How to Make Villains in Editorial More Like This
1. Puns Nearly every awesome or memorable villain that has ever been awesome or memorable before has usually made puns at some point. They're not lame or cliche, they're the the universal measure of villain intelligence. The more they're able to come up with puns for any given moment or any given situation, the cleverer they are. That's why you don't see good guys making puns as much. Because they're not evil geniuses. Duh. The villain needs to have a pun ready and loaded for use at any time, any where. If the villain can't do that...well, he's not very clever or evil now, is he?
2. My Plans, Let Me
How To Make a Real MonsterTales of monsters have been around since mankind was old enough to feel fear of the dark. Quite possibly even longer. And despite many thousands of years since, monsters still remain popular unto this day. You see them everywhere, stores, films, media, video games, comics, etc. A lot of people want to create monsters themselves. But how does one stand out in a world already so saturated with goblins and swamp creatures? How does one seem unique while managing to use an element that may have been done many times throughout history?How To Make a Real Monster in Editorial More Like This
Never fear. For in this guide, we will turn everything you've been taught about monsters thus far and turn it upside down. You will be taught how to create a real monster.
1. Getting With the Times Let's get one thing straight. Century-old tales can be only interesting for so long in an age of iPods and portable microwaves. Therefore, we need to make our monsters appeal to the times. As in, we need to make them appeal to the audien
Avatar But BetterOnce upon a time, there was a planet far, far way called Pandora. It was rich in unobtainium and the Na'vi were selfishly hoarding it all to themselves like wicked blue dragons and not sharing it with the rest of the universe.Avatar But Better in Short Stories More Like This
"Please sir," said a tall, strapping gentleman by the name of Miles Quaritch. "May we have some of your unobtanium? Our planet is in dire need and only this can save it."
"Hohoho!" laughed Neytiri and Jake. "You humans are inferior to our blue race. you cannot even play basketball at our level. How dare you think you can even deserve the unobtanium."
"But, Jake," said the Colonel, manly tears rolling down his man face, "I thought we had something special."
"No," said Jake. "I am a Na'vi now. I can run and jump like a ten foot tall blue child and play basketball better than any human. I can fly on dinosaurs. I can screw with blue neko smurf girls whenever I please and they will make me their king. Join me, Colonel, and I will make your face the greatest on Pandora
How to Make a HorrorHorror: the other white meat. Everyone's watched, read, or played one at some point. Maybe you're just feeling tired of seeing cute fluffy things on TV every goddamn day. It's getting increasingly difficult to find good quality freak-outs in an increasingly sheltered and child-proofed world. Need a break from your daily bombardment of family values and God-fearing overtones? Well, never fear. Here are some quick tips to guide you into becoming the Stephenie Meyer Stephen King.How to Make a Horror in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
1. The Kids Every horror has to have children. Because children are usually creepier and far more hellish than your typical ghosts if given the chance. Especially little girls. Also, only dark-haired little girls are creepy. Blonds and red-heads can't be creepy. That's just silly. Everyone knows they're too dumb to be conniving or homicidal.
And the longer the girl's hair is, the creepier she is. For extra horror goodness, make sure her hair's length surpasses her actual <i>
Guide to the AneemeiHello. Today we'll be going into the depths of the jungle in search of an exotic and incredibly wild beast in its natural habitat. It is a very curious creature indeed, sometimes it takes great care to make itself the most noticeable thing in plain sight, other times it hides amongst us, camoflaging itself as "one of us." That is, until it is properly baited and/or the creature assumes it is only in the presence of other members of its species, in which it will then throw caution to the wind and commence returning to its true nature.Guide to the Aneemei in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
That of the aneemeifayun.
In general, the aneemeifayun species is largely capable of human speech. However, it functions more like a 'second' language than anything else, only to be used when absolutely necessary. And even then, it is often sprinkled with an assortment of oddities from their first along with being somewhat broken and incomplete.
Some examples would include:
"omg disis sokawaii," possibly meaning, "This shit in front of me is fucking adorab
Wii Would Like to PlayLittle Susan B. stood staring at the thing before her in disbelief.Wii Would Like to Play in Short Stories More Like This
"Fat," she said. "I'm fat?"
"I'm a machine. Machines don't lie."
"But I'm ten."
"Ten and fat."
"But how can you tell? There's gotta be some mistake."
"Okay, kid, listen up. I've got your goddamn height and BMI right here. Right here inside me.
And according to my records, you suck at boxing, you suck at running, your physical age is that of a 48-year-old male and you suck at Brawl."
"Hey, you're being mean!"
"I'm not mean. I'm a machine. Can't take playing with me? If you don't like it then take yourself somewhere else and maybe go and play with the other babies outside in the sandbox. In the sun. With other actual humans. Like a sissy. Go ahead. You're obviously not man enough to play with this."
The Nintendo Wii puffed out his chest as little Susan B. ran away crying to the sandbox.
A short distance away, PS3 and 360 frowned disapprovingly. PS3 sighed.
"Man, I don't know what
Every YouTube Fight Ever(This will almost certainly contain heavy profanity and the usernames used in this were pulled out of my own head and aren't any real people that I know of but if someone has usernames matching them then it's probably coincidental).Every YouTube Fight Ever in Short Stories More Like This
SamusFan20 in the video description: This is my Metroid compilation of pictures in a slideshow featuring Samus set to Queen's "We Will Rock You." I hope you guys enjoy.
DisgruntledAsswipe87: Jesus Christ you're such a faggot. Why the hell would you post pics of a fictional girl and set it to Queen? Do yourself a favor and go get a REAL GIRLFRIEND, loser. Oh, and stop shaming such a great band with such a shitty video game and your BS imature antics at attempting to fap to it.
(In reply to DisgruntledAsswipe87) ConcernedStranger17: Hey, calm the fuck down, douchebag. If this person is so "immature," than what the hell are you doing on a video meant for a video game girl, anyway? I bet you were at home looking for something to fap to and found this and decide