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.
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.
Trouble ChildTrouble Child in Free Verse More Like This
The car crash in your head
testimony to knife flash
point blank gun shot
ticking like a time bomb
puts a hole in mother's head
and lets her breathe.
They pull you
out of the wreckage -
slivers of brain
like a milky chrysalis
pinned to a card,
chewing the reminders of childhood
smeared across walls
in bright red paint
and toys crushed
under foot like insects -
the black tips of angel wings,
fragments of tin whistles
all collected with smiles
in a bag at the door
while you try and undo 30 years of lies
taped to your coat
with a kiss each morning,
and daddy's blessing.
and in a white room of glass I watch
the lobotomy of your past,
dissected with the surgeon's bright scalpel,
glisten its new wings.
redemption comes in a plastic bag
that you inhale
into a sharp, clear oblivion
JuneJune in Free Verse More Like This
Children in bare feet
skim the surface of green,
their bright laughter
and the bee drone afternoon
fading in the trees
like lazy wind chimes
on a whitewashed porch.
The day's long perfume
settles under the sun
and draws out shadows
from behind garden gates
and old tire swings
where morning glory creeps and climbs
and gold bursts forth
on freckled lawns.
Picket fences break the blue
where latticework moths
flutter with lanterns in the trees
and cat tails like pan pipes
break the warmth
in jonquilled notes
that braid the world in June.
GlovesGloves in Free Verse More Like This
Her love is like
well worn gloves -
willow green soft
with supple fingers,
the tips taut
and splitting the cloth
textured like May,
urging me to peel back
the tight weave
and run my hands
under her fabric
and explore her seams.
with crevices like new milk,
bursting the stitches
where I run her threadbare
under my heart.
MermaidI rememberMermaid in Free Verse More Like This
we sat on the beach at sunset
and counted the kites,
spent sails torn from galleons
breaking clouds into spindrift,
and watched the seagulls
out of blue and white.
You wore the sky
around your neck,
where the day's warmth
knotted in a chain,
and held shells to my ear
like a mermaid stolen from the sea
breaking the surface of shimmer
and tangled fish
over salty oyster beds.
the color of your hair
lashing against your shirt
and your pirate smile
like a crooked bird
warming the dusk
and the long cool of your legs
wrapping my nights
and stealing the summer...
ScarsYour scarsScars in Free Verse More Like This
are bright and shiny
like baby's teeth
newly cut and grown,
or Christmas toys
your mother hid
up in the attic
praying you would never touch.
I like their livid edges,
how they pucker
under my hands
like new zippers
begging to be left open,
and catch the light
that spills from my perfect world.
And you like
the jagged sounds
my sighs make,
the rush of warm air
that keeps you safe
and how your fragile heart beats
when you unbuckle your skin
and the world heals.
LostYour slouch says it allLost in Free Verse More Like This
and the way
you wear your hat
in your hands
like something condemned
or a color
you cannot remember.
cannot chase you here
in the footsteps
whose faces vanish
torn from wallets.
will not echo
through your sleep
in blind comfort.
And no song
that bleeds your name
across the pillows
and leaves you falling
that slipped through winter...
ConfessionalMy thoughts of herConfessional in Free Verse More Like This
hush the candles,
make the confessional go dark
and the priest's breath ragged.
I can hear it
slide down his throat,
and under his habit
I can hear
his skin disapprove
and prickle the long black robe
in ways that make me blush.
details on my tongue
of how she felt
and the color of her hair
as if that intercourse of words
crushed up into the dark
will break me like salvation.
do you know?01.do you know? in Free Verse More Like This
do you know how badly
she wanted you to breathe?
she'd take polaroid snapshots of the air around you
and she stuck all onehundredeightythree photos
in a little photo album
that she labelled help
so that, maybe,
if she helped you take those breaths
she could finally be your reason for living
since she could never be
just by herself.
do you know how badly
she loved you?
everytime you stepped into the room
it seemed like you'd replaced all the oxygen
and she couldn't breathe
but she loved that glorious feeling of you filling her lungs
pulsing through her veins
and even when she got lightheaded and saw stars
not one of them was more brilliant
do you know how badly
she missed you?
she spent every night awake until the sun came up,
waiting for her phone to ring
and your name to flash on the screen
but all she ever got
was a beep and a warning: low battery
and those dark circles under her eyes
and she wrote you letters
telling you everything she couldn't pu
divine interventionthere was a boy who commited suicide.divine intervention in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
he had put a gun in his mouth, tears flowing down his cheeks, while he whispered a last, desperate prayer to a god who was screaming for him not to do it but couldn't be heard, and pulled the trigger.
at the boy's funeral, all of his family and friends cried, questioning god, demanding to know why he had taken the boy from them, but god had as many answers as they did. he felt like an innocent man, who was getting all the blame thrust onto his shoulders by the real culprit.
when it was time for them to throw their roses into the open grave, a priest stood at the head of it, waiting for everyone to be seated again so that he could say a few words.
god knew the priest would say things about the boy that weren't true, like that he'd had ambitions, or that he'd cared about everyone, when really he'd spent his entire life wanting to die.
but that isn't what you say about someone at their funeral. you make them sound like they wanted to live, or that the
elegy for the deadi am in a tunnelelegy for the dead in Free Verse More Like This
the road under my tires
and it is dark
but i am not afraid
because i sense something
close to me.
it is a burning figure.
he is screaming silently
but yet i am not afraid.
i am asking him why
he is screaming
and he just keeps saying
no, no, no,
and i say no what?
and he says
you can't be dead;
you're my little girl.
there's a light
at the end of the tunnel
and the burning man is gone
leaving only me
in the shadow of god.
two months.one.two months. in Free Verse More Like This
it's been two months
and i still see your face shimmer in front of me
every time i close my eyes
and you still dance with me in my dreams
and tears still stream down my face
every time someone murmurs your name
and i can't help it, i loved you so damn much
and you just picked up your roots
'i can't do this anymore'
and you planted yourself so very far away from me.
it's been two months
and there is still nothing on my horizon
there's no reason for anything anymore
there's no 'forever and always';
there's just a forever that you won't be around for
and you'll always be hers
and i'm tired of waking up to the sound of rain
because even the sky is crying for me
and it feels impossible to take another breath
but here i am, inhaling and exhaling
like i've got something to live for.
it's been two months
and the way you don't answer my phone calls
it's like you've died
but i'm sure it's just me who's crossed over
but you never visit my
after auschwitzthere was a womanafter auschwitz in Free Verse More Like This
with a grimy boy
tugging on her skirt,
cheek bones stretching
the dirty wet paper
of his face
to keep it from collapsing in.
she is beautiful
behind the ratted hair
and caked dirt on her cheeks.
her eyes are as green
as aquarium glass seen sideways.
so are the little boy's.
they have seen the worst
of mankind's confusion.
they have seen
people burned alive.
they have seen
piles of dead bodies.
they have seen
people taken behind a shed
they have seen
bones broken in torture.
they have heard
the screams of terror,
either real or fake.
they have been
dehumanized and humiliated
of who they are.
they stare in disdain
at who i am
what i wear
how i talk.
i am the enemy,
i am completely innocent.
they have seen all layers of hell
and to them,
i am every german-accented asshole
who put their family and friends
in their shallow graves.
they have witnessed the holocaust,
have experienced it
they trust no one.
love in the 1940'sthere are tiny avenues and boulevards that wind through the city, streetlamps on every corner. sometimes a man stands berneath them, when it rains, holding his black umbrella above his oil spill hair and silvery eyes, and he listens to the drops pitter patter on the plastic. i think he counts them, trying to get his heartbeat to synchronise with the staccato beats. but they are erratic, and he just can't.love in the 1940's in General More Like This
i think the man is in love with the young woman who lives in the cottage on the hill. he watches her from under the streetlamp, and sometimes he cries. i want to tell him things will be okay, that one day they will be united, but i don't think he can hear me. sometimes he wanders into the shops along the avenue, empty-pocketed and wide-eyed. he wants to buy her something as beautiful as she, but he has no money. he has hope.
there is an ice cream parlor at the end of the block, with quiant little tables and matching chairs. the man wants to take the young woman in there one day, and s
i see what love looks like.she turned to him then.i see what love looks like. in General Fiction More Like This
"what do you see when you look at me?"
he turned and looked at her, slight surprise in his lips and eyebrows but his blue eyes studied her. after several moments he spoke.
"i see eyes that have been pecked by the misery crows, and in their frenzy, they lost their feathers that fluttered down and rested in your hair and in the dark circles under your eyes. i see cracks running through delicate porcelain skin and i want to stamp FRAGILE across your forehead so people will be gentle with you. i see sharp ankle bones and sharp hip bones and sharp cheek bones and a pacing-leopard hunger pushed aside by feral anxiety. i see s.o.s.'s and help's written in creases in elbows and palms and fading smile lines. i see lips that need soft kisses instead of impossible frowns and worry bites. i see a body but no shadow, only puddling uncertainty and echoes. i see drowned beauty in your tear-stained eyes and running mascara and white knuckles. i see my future in your shoulder bl
the bus comes at five oh sevenright now, it feels like i swallowed my tongue, since there's this lump in my throat that i'm trying to breathe around. i can't remember how i'd do such a thing, though.the bus comes at five oh seven in General Fiction More Like This
today, i woke up, and there was a porcelain bluebird sitting on the tree branch outside my window. i was so enthused i ran to the window and threw it open, but i accidentally spooked the poor creature. it started and fell out of the tree, and cracked into pieces on the grass below.
i'm sorry. i don't know how to be delicate. you always said i'd break you.
i put on my favorite yellow print dress, the one you said made me look like a buttercup, and i walked to the bus stop. i waited until the bus had made twelve passes before i politely asked the bus driver what time it was. he looked at me like i was crazy, having seen me twelve times before this, just sitting on the bench whenever he'd open the doors. he murmured that it was almost six pm, and that this was the last pass the bus would make. i smiled, turned, and walked
flip this housepeople think they can just waltz into my life like they own the place. like i don't already fucking live here. they rip up the floorboards, bang holes into the walls, break the windows, like i don't fucking want any privacy or some kind of stability. like it's a fucking free-for-all in here. yeah, well, this is my life, and i'd really fucking like it if you'd get the fuck out.flip this house in General Fiction More Like This
i'm tired of you tracking dogshit and idiocy on my nice carpets and i'm sick of insomnia and the hulls of dead dreams blowing across the floor like dry leaves. it's all from you, and if i could get some fucking sleep for once, i wouldn't be so pissed about the fact that you threw your own broken dreams at my life and shattered the windows. thanks a lot, asshole.
illogical logic.if ever you should wake up and find yourself inside my shoes,illogical logic. in Open More Like This
and you are on the verge of madness from overthinking
about how human beings are kept happy so long as they have purpose
as they see no point to life if there is no purpose for them
which is why they are always questing for the meaning of life
when all life is is an illogical situation
that everyone is trying to solve logically.
sometimes things just happen and the only way to get the answer
is illogically, and illogic is most hard to follow, as it is non-sequiter
and it can go off in any direction, usually being the one that makes the least sense
since it isn't logical, but since it would be logical to follow the most illogical choice
it can't be that one, therefore it is the most logical one,
defeating the purpose of the illogical answer
therefore you never know what the hell you should do.
and that is okay, because there is no answer,
and i know you can't accept that there's no answer
since it is beyond frustrating
citizen outsidermass, densitycitizen outsider in Free Verse More Like This
i've never been a participant,
but i think i see now.
i've read your pain in the newspaper, between the lines,
in television broadcasts and radio interruptions,
spilling out your eyes
i've never understood,
because i wasn't there,
wasn't old enough to understand
[we had a model airplane, i remember,
full of plastic, blank-faced souls:
i made it crash
and they all went falling down]
there were clouds encircling my head
as you stood trying to thaw from the ice of shock,
break through waves of reformulation
i was gone.
"it makes us a nation,"
you say, between gasped breaths,
"it makes us whole."
i feel that i've missed something.
Cotardwhen you go out of your bodyCotard in Free Verse More Like This
you know where to hide
when two ways of ceasing to exist become one
you know what to do
when you do not recognize your own face in the mirror
when the woman behind you in the supermarket checkout line keeps on sighing at you like you live only to be an affront
when you forget how to be
you know you must tread on
last nightmind shat out a day's worth of worries:last night in Free Verse More Like This
medications and melanomae
film-reels of trauma
63.5mm rolling past in twelve different directions
unshattered somniac cotton not quite spreading
rock back and forth in the ocean cradle and pastel lights
and i hit her in the face to
ricochet back to earth
and lay slowly melting for the rest of the night,
technicalitiesi cannot say i am nottechnicalities in Free Verse More Like This
what you named me, em.
i have reinterpreted your every word six hundred and sixty-two times over
you haven't read--
i know you haven't--
i don't know if you've read, much, or at all
i don't know if you're much familiar with the theology you pasted on me like kindergarten stickers
which have just barely started to peel
and i cannot say i am not
i cannot lie,
here i stand hymen unbroken christ in my hands and i say to you,
HPVI was stuck in the arm by a nurse todayHPV in Free Verse More Like This
this large, kind woman in generic teal scrubs
sat seventeen minutes in the infant-decorated waiting room,
surrounded by blocks and plastic penguins,
waiting for her to call my name
while some huge-headed kid in basketball shorts twitched involuntarily
and played with his hems
she stuck me in the arm as gently as she could
in order to protect me from the human papillomavirus
and I did not, though I could have,
ask her if she knew any good endocrinologists
heading towards homeheading towards home,heading towards home in Free Verse More Like This
away from the the sun;
the longest sunset
hemophiliac darkness growing
flecks of light in cities,
a galaxy below our feet
and i'm drawn that way,
through atmosphere vapor, the lavender-peach-sorb-
of the sky
to question realityreal men do this, people say,to question reality in Free Verse More Like This
real men do that
and all I'd like to know is
who says I am real? who says who's real?
am I defined by the length of my hair or the length of my cock?
by the colors I wear, the actions I take--
am I a chromosome?
am I how I was brought up? am I the name on my birth certificate?
am I my body or the chemicals it produces?
what makes me real? who gives that right?
ANTH-0005-04the frontier an empty stomach, a no-man's landANTH-0005-04 in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
the intricate system of ditches and gardens
water-worn patches of white sand
a full moon -- a hill of ashes
the only fingers left are the only clothing he knows
as a child he showed unreasonable rage
unavenged ghosts dangerous even for sure-footed girls
they took so much bloodlately Ithey took so much blood in Free Verse More Like This
think in sounds I cannot describe
shrink inwards whilst telling myself "you must take up more space"
watch venous exudations like wine-colored paint at the doctor's office
shush of white cotton shirt on skin
reference book says cops tend to stand with arms further away from their torsos
a search for side effects
pale blue dotfervid preparation andpale blue dot in Free Verse More Like This
staring into the screens,
pressed into your seat
the huge granite hand of acceleration
even through the headphones
a roar like thunder,
like a thousand waves:
controlled disaster made by man,
every hour of work
a drop of sweat
all the mental and manual exertion
for a lift the Earth barely thinks about
for a lift the Earth could sneeze in its spare time
and, Lord, we are in the air
the jolts as the solid boosters and external fuel tanks bust off and abandon us
and, Lord, the eerie silence,
the lurid emptiness,
the first view --
the gasp from the pilot beside you
as home comes into view
this marble, glass of atmosphere,
laid below you like a woman waiting
and everyone you've ever loved or known down there,
too small to see,
too large to believe
you turn to the pilot, but you say nothing
because there is nothing you can say.
RA TV script episode oneRA TV script episode one in Sketches More Like This
Greetings, fans of Romantically Apocalyptic
Today, we present to you the script for RA episode ONE as a pilot episode, composed by several writers from the RA production team (Rythmear, Oddshot and Alexiuss)
Because this is a 100% DeviantArt production and we have NO budget or corporate support- it is now up to YOU whether this episode and further episodes will be released.
I will now proceed to outline the costs of filming this episode and explain how you can help out, so I can release this episode for everyone here on DeviantArt, and make MORE episodes in the future, using already purchased props to make this the FIRST DeviantArt hosted, and fan sponsored TV show.
Renting a van for a week to get to filming location (abandoned hotel): $500
4 character outfits, props and sandwiches to feed actors for durat
writing on the walli am your mother before she knew you, before you intruded upon her womb and painted bloodied messages on her gummy walls and let your foot imprint itself inside her pinking skin and left all your sunrises behind and tried to peer from outside her skin to see where the air might touch and turn and make you.writing on the wall in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
(she misses you, you know. you should visit her more often.)
i am your mother before she met your father, in a can on the street inside a restaurant around the corner all her life for the first time, and she rubbed her fingers against her eyes trying to muster some form of strangled black tears but all that was left were little red marks identifying exactly where the fingers hit and almost broke through, and she keeps a straight face all the way till the end; hers.
(when she talks, she strokes the white roses you promised to give her. i never
know quite what to tell her, so i tell her, "soon, i
don't tell me if the sun diesi.don't tell me if the sun dies in Free Verse More Like This
there is a drumbeat of silence
mirrored between your hands. you
massage the pit of suffering and
grace and sinew and dust and cells
and tears with echoed fingers. there is
too much for you to squeeze
between shaven palms.
(i only ask that
when my hair has fallen loose and my
skin has worn itself into jewelry,
you take me home.)
you listen to the
crickets. they sing a eulogy for the number
they have lost today.
the day i die, i will come
tapping at your window, my fingernails
drumming to find the skin
chirrp; chirrp; chirrp.
don't wait up.
for every criminal: a flower.
(pluck it in the morning,
when the dew is still on
the backs of dragons and
butterflies and monsters
and ocean salt carried inside
the wings of pigeons built to be
doves inside a cradle of space
and time and air; and don't forget
when jesus ate my house1. do you hate me?, she asks.when jesus ate my house in Free Verse More Like This
my legs are in my face, pressed in the
crevice, earth-break, ripping of my nose, hanging
between my eyes like an extra arm, curling
in on itself. i feel sick, dizzy; the world is
a dribbled basketball, a honeyed ham,
an empty soda bottle, a gutter and
a staircase. i could grab her face,
stretch the skin, vomit.
no, i want to say. no, no, no. please,
don't think that. why would you think
that? no. no, no, no. please, no.
i sob and shake. she wracks her
brain for reasons to hate
herself. i can't respond. my mouth
slows and my head fevers, paces.
i shiver. her eyes melt.
i am silent, fitfully,
2. my head is the new
he starts up his car; the engine rears.
my stomach roars with fitful delight. my gut
cooks up a tornado against fasting, against
eating, against being awake.
she laughs at my stupid jokes, my
silly words, my bad metaphors. she laughs and
she smirks and she smiles and she grins, a
welcome back to kansas"Before you kill yourself," I say, not unkindly, "I want you to tell me what your mother's favorite flowers are, so I'll know what to send her afterwards."welcome back to kansas in Socio-political More Like This
I wish I could help you, kid.
I mean it.
You tell me you love me while you are sobbing. The phone skips in connection when the thunder roars hungry and I nearly miss the end of "you." I am biting my nails and the rain outside begs for me to come out, asking for a retreat from this pavement and these cupped hands.
I feel like a burden on your white carpet. It molds like hot iron to my feet and I resist the urge to tell you that I'm stuck, stuck, so terribly stuck. You look at me apologetically and miserably and you begin to cry and I have to shut my eyes and let the world stop.
"Roses," you mutter, and it is silver and shaky in your hands, with a circle mouth and black air for eyes. "My mother's favorite flowers are roses."
You load and cock it.
I watch you aim.
something for sticks + stonesWhen he wakes up out of his coma, the doctor comes out and stands before me.something for sticks + stones in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
The doctor, a serious man with serious eyes, looks at me and the grayness of his body overtakes my vision: his graying skin, his whitened hair, his bleached teeth and his lost eyes. "He's woken up," he says, and he nods at me, inching to the left and extending his arm out to show me the way inside.
"Me?" I whisper.
I am craving alcohol. My veins scream the need for caffeine. I smell like old cherry sodas and fresh smoke. I cannot quite remember the shape of his face or what the past two weeks of my life have been like.
God, I think, I could really use some relief.
I walk inside.
1 This is Acheron, Arachne, and alulae;1 in Surrealism More Like This
charon navigates your veins, your annals, your bloodchambers, your stems and streams. he loses his river-drawing pole in your waters, and afterwards he closes his eyes and pretends that his arms could unpaint the stillness, could remove the ripples, pretends that he could bend down and over and pretends his cock could pierce the water and pretends he could let loose and the entire world of you could be poised
2. THESE ARE MERELY LYRICS, and I hope your eyes, your soul,
I hope your hands, your lid-fingers, your dream-nails, your
blinking outpouring palms can craft a tune for them to rest on,
(but there are so many notes
3. "I know about you."
I could not help you along. My tongue could do nothing. Pray, Sister Mary, pray, in your white-cloth robe. Change your n
existentialism in heaven1. First, we have a lesson in breathing.existentialism in heaven in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
(I stutter, and in the back of my head there is a slide and small children are slipping down and losing their lungs, tucking under inside of them, and I came around afterwards and picked up all their organs and buried them inside the tanbark, hid them away in a little box that only I will have, every thought they expelled with their breath and would've liked to keep, and I press my fingers down and they are gathered around me and they say st-st-stutter with their necks like paper cranes for hope and peace and a hopeful mouth. They do not love me.)
She opens up my mouth, peeling back the ridges of my lips with her claws, and she looks inside and peers into some sort of mess and she says I can't sort through this with my hands alone, I can't, and she closes it up and says no, no, that will not do. And she holds her palms against my stomach like twin suns framing my belly-button with her rabbit-colored thumbs and she peers into the hole and wrinkle
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
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
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,"
Love Covers AllIt is the feeling of joining,Love Covers All in Free Verse More Like This
The very object that eludes the pure of heart,
and who are not the pure of beauty.
A wholeness shared by a couple,
Would it just be a fill of a void?
This love you call the greatest thing in your world,
A simple cover-up for the cracks in your armor?
Surely he could mean more to you,
But thats not it
Its hard to lose and love.
Hes just that cover,
For you still grieve for a historical loss.
Its not enough that he beats or rapes you.
Its those damn scarlet glasses that make him perfect.
Oh, theyre just accidents.
I fell. Or maybe youd say
He just gets really into it sometimes!
Anything to keep this false feeling of completeness
Your not really in love with him, just with the abuse.
Scientific Elegance with T.Walden pond, icyScientific Elegance with T. in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Sun artist strokes with melting
Always day of cracks
In tricky night, Moon paints ice
Walden pond, product of the gods
Stolen from the moon
Walden pond becomes the tip
As cracks free water
The vein leaves show us
Hibernation ends, they play
All emerging lakes
To reveal the truth, hidden
To none but Thoreau
HollowEmpty treesHollow in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Do not cry
When their world
Seems to have gone awry
So I shall stand,
The world gives to swallow
Toy StoreThe rickety old wood, chipping paintToy Store in Open More Like This
As deconstruction experts hold restraint.
A withering old man plants himself cashier
Just in time for a little girl to hear.
Few years in, this guiltless adolescent
Ribbons in her hair, face of the god-sent
"Please sir?" She asks with a much angelic tone
"May I see your wares, lest we both be alone?"
The dilapidated old man dreams a pleasant smile
He guides the little girl around, his bones creak as does every tile
Fading signs of prices old
Do contrast against boxes with unopened folds.
The red-dressed child with money in hand
Spits at every Barbie and Ken who stand
Painted smiles, plastered perky pupils
She clenches her stomach with befallen ills
"Don't you have anything more unique?"
Asks the child with disgust at Barbie's anorexic physique
"Well there is one . . ." The old man he barely creaks
As he takes steps to the back which seem to take weeks
Moments later his return seems outdated
In his hands lies a wooden box so weighted
By scoldings and
Masks of Imperfect SuppressionSobbing quietly, a spec in a herd of six billionMasks of Imperfect Suppression in Open More Like This
These cold icy bars steal the breath from a husk
of joyless flesh withering in guilt
Staring out, his head in a tilt
Was it because of his 100 faces
that he's here today?
Surrounded by shattered masks
Burdened by innumerable tasks.
A jester for the fans of stupidity
A smart ass for the scholars
An assistant for the needs of others
A mask-bearing child wishing for bothers.
Actors are praised for fake tears
While directors receive it for leading
His mind's the director in this tragic play
The body's acting for an affection pay.
Always drilling for the ideal character
Never giving until he can give what you please
Fruitless endeavors are all that seem to result
And the masks he produced seem to be his insult.
Annual CelebrationsOne day just askingAnnual Celebrations in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
For a sanctuary name
And here you are basking,
With one day to claim
Having cake, ice cream,
And a party to boot
Another year does it seem
Our lives are intertwined so astute
Candles, the torches,
The flames of annual
We managed the crutches
Without a manual
A night garbed in bliss
For a sister so grand
A day not to miss
Like the cake, never bland
As the party concludes
We all head home
Your left with a prelude
To the love guarded in stone
Clear Blue SkiesWielding your freedom by a wooden spool,Clear Blue Skies in Free Verse More Like This
Surely the child equipped with reigns isn't a fool
A tempered blue sky, soar in monotony
It seems as if living would be indulgence or gluttony.
Would one quiet storm be to much to ask for?
Just a break in this routine, one simple downpour.
Feeling as if we're frozen mid-flight,
Not even gentle winds lessens my plight.
Only in an awakening break
Will my alarm go off, in a violent quake.
The veil of aqua rises above me
Just for my wooden limbs to see.
Wrapped in blue shades of protection and fear
Was I not allowed the blessing o hear?
To hear the subtle conscience groping at my side
You only had to take one! Take one gusty stride!
So, in conclusion, it seems my string is broken
And I leave these words as one broken token
To dare split a blanket of monotony
And tell you that living isn't simply gluttony.
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
Alice of SoyakuLittle dream, does it seemAlice of Soyaku in Open More Like This
That your torn apart by the seam?
Wary future, lusting desire
Do the strays set your soul a-fire?
Wonderland in all it's glory
Tells a very tragic story
Heart, Diamond, Clover, Spade
Sanity, do you need to fade?
Child of the heart was born
All grown up, he became torn
Pleasant life be the total tale
Lies fight losing truth by tooth and nail
This boy's dream follow one route
Truth, the stagnant line so stout
Ever-present sincerity reigns
His world, lies died, Truth dictates
Boy, he never thought that the unsaid
Couldn't be better off living dead
His heart, the mangled fleshy thing
Truth has stopped it's constant riiiiiiing
For a Saddened ChatoyantIf I . . .For a Saddened Chatoyant in Free Verse More Like This
Told you life was easy,
Would you scream "Hooray!"?
Held your hand beside you,
would you go to smile and play?
Painted you a picture,
Would you be in greater disarray?
I can't do all these things,
but tell you you're your own clay!
So, I, challenge you to stand up!
Get your butt up off the ground!
Sing your lines never give up,
When you take life's ugly pound!
It's only you who can shape it up,
Make a sculpture from a mound!
So, I, challenge you to stand up!
And may you never turn around!
You may . . .
Doubt your ability
With the greatest of faults!
Think it all stinks
That life's given you some Halts!
But I dare you, change that attitude,
And have some chocolate malts!
There's no way I'm gonna let you give up!
So get up and strut your stuff!
I want you to put on your greatest ballgown
For I'm telling you to go!
We're gonna have a night on the town,
And get rid of all that woe!
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.
TaleI had seen the avalanche coming to cover her sacred nudity. Between that potentiality and actualization resided this tale. I had found it over there and tried to save it from being buried forever.Tale in Transgressive More Like This
Me and her. We both knew of the tale. We had been told about it..... Had been told that it was too dangerous..... That we should not listen to the tale even if the tale tells us its tale. We knew.
Me and her. We both knew of the avalanche. We had been told about it..... Had been told that it was too fragile..... That it could come down anytime like the glass-rains. We knew.
She loved walking down the way the avalanche would come. She told me that she had had a premonition in which she had found the tale exactly in the center of the potentiality and actualization of the avalanche. She had found the avalanche waiting for a provocation of sounds. And she was voiceless. She told me that she had been a mute child ever since her voice started to disappear.
She was upset when she had discovered this
May I Borrow...May I Borrow Your Lighter, Please?May I Borrow... in Biography & Memoir More Like This
I carved shadows on the midnight rains. A whole lot of despondent footprints on the water. Somewhere, underneath the third layer of the waters, I left you back with oblivion. But your shadows were lighter than the water. They came up on the surface of the water and floated with the kerosene.
"I love the smell of kerosene", you used to say.
Matchsticks. Drenched shadows in memories. Darkness. A drop of water from the tap, repetetive. Music on your bathroom floor. The intoxicating fragrance of kerosene. I saw you dancing with the flames inside your eyes. That night, you didn't let me in.
Tonight, I walk through the infinite corridors of the burnt-out rain.
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
A Few, Famous Weeks...A Few, Famous Weeks For ForgettingA Few, Famous Weeks... in General Fiction More Like This
He had tied his index finger to her memories with a thread. Whenever hed raise his fingers at her, she knew hes talking about her past.
She wanted him to be precise. But for the moments that went unnoticed, he often rounded-off her memories.
When she walked out of his heart, she forgot to tell him where she kept the key to their cupboard. They had designed their cupboard to be airtight. To keep their memories safe from the fungus and bacteria. It was an alternative to their own hearts.
She had taken his alternative away, forever - he thought.
This morning, she had stepped down his heart and walked into the alternative. Their cupboard.
One evening, when he sat by the porch thinking about her, he woke up.
He couldnt recall when he had fell asleep. But now his eyes seemed torn apart by life. he could suddenly see to all the different direction in one indivisible fragment of moment. And from two of those unce
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
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
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
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
ContinuationI take another sip of my beer and grimace. It's warm, but I suppose that's fine. The TV isn't providing any distractions tonight, and I can't keep my mind where I want it. So I drift into what's been bothering me lately.Continuation in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I can't shake the feeling that I don't matter. It's been happening to me more and more lately, but it's especially strong right now.
I have no friends, any remainders of my family either aren't talking to me or are dead. No pets, not even a fish or something similar to that to take care of.
I work a low paying job as a cashier. I spend most nights alone in front of the TV with a bottle of cheap beer, and I usually pass out there.
As far back as I can recall, I have done nothing noteworthy. I barely graduated high school, didn't bother with college. Any inheritance I got from dead family dried up long ago. So basically I've been spending my life slowly drinking myself to death alone in a small apartment on the bad side of town.
I can't and won't kill myself,
Because I Know ThemSome of my friends signed up to join the military. I spend some time each day wondering if I'll ever see them again. I tell myself I will, that they'll be back to annoy me with their petty quarrels and drama ridden lives, complaining about their girlfriends and families.Because I Know Them in General Non-Fiction More Like This
Sometimes I can't reassure myself that I'll ever hear from them again. So I tell them to be careful, reaffirming my status as a kind of a mother hen figure, always hovering and making sure they do things right.
I do this not because I think they need me looking over their shoulder. I do it because it's the only way I really know how to show that I care about them. That I worry about them, because I'm not sure how many, if any, will come back. I know one is going for a military career.
And all this is brought to my mind today, and I wonder: will I see their names written up on a wall for fallen heroes?
I don't want to, but if I do, I'd be proud to know them.
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
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
Seven Deadly SinsPrideSeven Deadly Sins in General Fiction More Like This
My name is James, and my sin is pride. I am, quite simply, the best. I have never lost anything, and the rare times when I have are not worth mentioning.
I do not have faults. I do not have fears.
I am perfect.
My name is Kristin, and my sin is greed. You name it, I want it. I strive to be rich, so I can have everything that I have ever wanted. I will get it through any means necessary.
I want it all. I will get it all.
No matter what.
My name is Jordan, and my sin is envy. You have something, and I want it. I don't actually care what it is, I want it.
It will be mine. Everything.
Everything that you have.
My name is Zach, and my sin is gluttony. I want to eat. I want to keep eating. I want things, to excess, I just want it.
I am hungry. I am starving.
I will have all my desires fulfilled.
My name is Rachel, and my sin is sloth. All I want is to sleep, and to dream. To spend my time in my own little worlds, in my mind,
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.
ChangesWhen I was a kid, my main concerns revolved around whether or not I could get out of school (I couldn't) and whether my sister was going to throw up on me again when I picked her up (she did.) Then I grew up a little, and became an adolescent. I became concerned with my grades, I thought ahead; what did I want to be (I couldn't decide between cop and teacher: they seemed too similar to me.)Changes in Philosophical More Like This
And when I became an adolescent, I realized that the world was not as nice as it used to be. I wondered how it had changed so much, seemingly overnight. Of course, so much of my time was spent worrying about my grades that I forgot about all that.
I grew up a little more, and I was a teenager. My concerns changed again, and again the world got worse. Politics came into my world. But I was more concerned with what the girl next to me in class thought about me than I was with the world, too concerned with other people to think about, well, other people. So I forgot about it, figuring that really, the
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."
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
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
second-chance renewal.i can't guarantee i'll be what you want.second-chance renewal. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
you see, i can only offer you the remaining fractures of a weathered, storm-bruised heart in trembling palms; can only pour the relics into the crevices of your chest. i can only offer you the ruins: tangled and mismatched and soggy from salt-rain. can only give you the junk drawer, the elbows and broken bits no one wanted: the jealousy and anxiety and selfishness and impatience and insecurity. i can only give you these, wrapped in newspaper-covered cardboard boxes, no satin ribbon dressing them up as something they're not.
oh, and you deserve so much more! what i have left rotting isn't enough and it never will be, but, oh, i would give it to you if you asked. i would reach lacerated hands towards my marrow-locks and tear them apart. i'd give you the right combination of numbers and twists and turns so you might undo the not-so-treasure-chest. i'd let you take the choking corpse of my trust and let you try to reanimate it. i'd sell m
good thing we're fools.I think I might love you.good thing we're fools. in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I think thats a stupid thing to say, why would you say something like that?
Because when you look at me my toes curl and my stomach flutters.
Is that a quote from a book?
No. I dont think so. I dont know. It all gets a little mixed up sometimes.
So you love me like they love in books.
Question or statement?
Question, then. And, yes. I love you like Scarlett loves Rhett, like Elizabeth loves Mr. Darcy, like-
Stop, just stop. Dont love me like that. What happens after the last page?
We continue on loving like happily-ever-forever.
No, wed drop off, we'd end. Love isnt static, it doesnt continue in a flat line. Who can carry the same tune for years? We rise, we fall, we bump arms and step on each others toes. Ill annoy you because I cant stand going to Chr
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.]
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
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
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
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
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
How To ArgueIf there's one thing that a person can't live without, it's arguments. Whether it's online or real life, chances are you're going to get sucked into them. Like the death of a pet or every ongoing anime series since the mid nineties tanking horribly and hitting rock bottom, it's inevitable. So here are yet a few more tips to help you succeed in that key aspect of life (and online).How To Argue in Editorial More Like This
1. Name Calling Dropping Something that you're bound to see in almost every other argument in life is the ever-present name-calling. Fuck key points or backing up your retorts with actual intelligence. None of that is necessary when you have name-calling. Name calling works especially well in real life. But since one can get their face brutally smashed in in real life, this makes doing it online slightly more advantageous (and easy to get away with). Besides, what are they gonna do? Reach through the screen and break your teeth in? They wish. Name calling allows you to score points
How to Make a VampireVampire lore spans many, many years back into the past and they still remain popular today as one of the most recognized and exalted horror icons in the monster world of fiction. Yet despite having many different variations the world over, some parts have either been watered down or completely written out for today's modern audience. Maybe you want to share in the stable, ever-growing fangirl or fanboy-powered market of vampire literature? Well, look no further. Here are some tips to help get you started:How to Make a Vampire in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
1. Beauty and the Beast Despite there being years and years of pre-existing exotic vampire folklore from all over the world, it really has only dwindled down to two types that actually sell in this day and age. Either: A) Smoking hot undead vampires that want to sex you or B) Incredibly violent gore-loving animals that want to kill everything.
How does one come down to choosing?
Well, just try and figure out what kind of audience you're going to pander to. The mai
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
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>
Kingdom Hearts AnalysisIf you've played video games at any point in your life, you've most likely heard of the Kingdom Hearts series at some point or another. Perhaps you've played it yourself. The widely popular action RPG title with a young protagonist and a large metal key. The most noticeable "theme" with this game seems to be the one that involves light versus darkness, ex. good versus evil.Kingdom Hearts Analysis in Academic Essays More Like This
However, did you ever think that with such an "epic" theme, the creators could possibly have had, say, deeper intentions for the game? Possibly something a beyond what lies on the surface, something beyond the seemingly overly-cliched plot of a young "chosen one" going around the world (or worlds, in this case) to "save the world" along with the blatantly too-shallow-to-be-metaphorical plotline?
Some would certainly think so.
For starters, one of the most noticeable aspects about Sora's appearance is that he consistently wields a large key. But why a key? Some wield guns, other wield swords, some even wield a
How to be a True Fan1. Merch Does the object of your obsession have merchandise? Yes? Good. Make it your job to own every available piece of it. If you don't own every piece of available merchandise, you aren't complete. In fact, you won't have a functioning life because there will be a large gaping hole in your chest where that missing merchandise should be. The hole will be so mind-rendingly large that your mother, your best friend, your car, your dog, not even your smoking hot girlfriend will be able to fill. Also, the hole and stinking lumps of meat that surround it will be gradually eaten by the nastiest of flies until you do find something to plug it up with.How to be a True Fan in Editorial More Like This
And cement will not work.
Make it your job to become a next-gen treasure hunter and send yourself on a never-ending quest to acquire all existing bits of said merchandise to plug that hole before the fly eggs do. Yes, even the Japan-release only ones.
2. In the Beginning A true fan must also have been alive wh
How to Win an ArgumentEveryone gets into arguments at some point in their life. Electronic communication receptacles are no exception. If anything, one is more -likely- to find that it is easier to become embroiled in an online argument than anything else.How to Win an Argument in Reviews & Guides More Like This
1. CAP THAT If there's one sure-fire way to make a point stronger, it's typing in ALL CAPS. Considering that there are many instances when sound can't travel over the net, one must find the next best available way to be heard. This "next best" way is through "shouting," which just happens to be done online through typing in CAPS. Just like screaming, shouting, and general tantrum-throwing in real life, this method is a highly efficient method of making sure that your point gets across and makes you seem ten thousand times more valid and understandable. Additionally, it makes your argument come on more forcefully and shows the opposition you mean "serious fucking shit" with your side of things.
After all, loud noises work with dogs and small