Must Love CatsMore Like This
Must Love Cats
Fur of gold to pet and rub,
Perfect cat for me to love,
Razor claws and pointed teeth,
All the better made to keep,
A quick brush along silky fur,
Rewarded with a rumbling purr,
Given a glancing nuzzled kiss,
He is mine and I am his.
SilenceThere is a quietness instilledMore Like This
Within each living soul
Though obscured by ceaseless sound
Its what makes a human whole
ReachIt was just reaching outMore Like This
That kept them together
That kept them apart
That kept them confused
That kept them sure
It was just reaching out
Fall between fingers
Align with palms
Because it was just reaching out
But somehow it was more.
The Adventurer's LamentGive all my love to ages past,More Like This
To times of wealth and wonder;
To adventurers, to lands unmapped,
To pirate's loot and plunder.
Tell history to wait for me,
Though I am far and gone
There's one path left for me to take
Before my journey's done.
I sailed these skies once like a king,
In search of gold and glory,
My body strong, mind clear and sharp,
Pursuing airship quarry.
Alone, I flew the seven seas,
And countless distant lands;
Mount Kailash and the Himalays,
The cruel Saharan sands.
It was the world of yesteryear,
With mountains white and wide
With deserts shifting, sun ablaze
Which beat my weathered hide;
With ruins swallowed up by sand
And skies of high azure,
With tribes unknown and jungles deep,
With monoliths and moors.
Alas, the past's a quiet thing,
She ne'er speaks more than once;
The shining world I once knew
Has vanished into dust.
The clouds, once gold as angel's hair,
Now glower black with coal;
Below, a city indifferent, grim,
In fog as thick as wool.
BingeThe wall paper peeled backMore Like This
Exposing the scented stench
Nasal canal molestation
A hint of Spanish rum
And the smoke of an addict's cannabis
Raped the temporal lobe memory by memory
The cuticle needles
Scratch the wooden hatch
They took control of your weak impulses
The curse is alive
And they cannot drown
Gag that privileged esophagus
He attempted to speak
Make sense in the quietest of rooms
The affliction is the gift
Producing the blueprint of your mind
X-rays of your soul
Soaked by bile and blood
A sincere scripture
And disintegrated wall paper
One Day I Shall Lay Down And Dieone day i shall lay down and dieMore Like This
and so for now here is my kiss, my golden-ness,
my forehead pressed against yours
like two strange animals lost on a plain of
red sand. one day i shall lay down and die so
now here, let these birds pick me apart,
show you it all, the torn underwear
and the girl gazing at the soft glow
on trees, the ferocious lion-love
weeping under the kitchen table. one day
i shall lay down and die
so for now i feast on beaches, your breath,
the flutter of my dress sore against my skin
someday i will find that peace,
plant a spring-flower deep in my heart, land one last cool kiss
on the bow of your mouth and slip away, i know that one day
i will lay down and die but for now
feel your fingers spread across my heart,
feel my roar in the night
Cadaver HotelI live inside of your corpse. StealingMore Like This
in through the incision
between your ribcage and hipbone, I burrow
myself inside of your embalmed organs and
wrap my fingers around your bones,
clutching until my knuckles turn
the same kind of white.
Though you are dead,
your body sometimes quakes-
spasms and sends a flash-pulse of postmortem waves
over me. For quick sucks of air,
I crawl up and out of your pretty mouth, careful
not to hit your crooked teeth.
To avoid dying inside of you-
oh, how I long to-
I have taken
to gnawing on the insides of your cheeks
and the sinewy parts of your
Yesterday you began to reek
the way dead things do,
while it is sour,
it still smells like you.
Letter to a PoetDear Sir/Madam,More Like This
It has come to our attention
this is the twenty-third rejection
of work you have submitted to our site.
We don't wish to be alarming
and we hope this sounds disarming,
but your use of metaphor is somewhat trite.
We somewhat like the concept
(the execution is inept)
besides, your work just does not meet our theme.
You need to have more adjectives
and words like gloam and mucilage,
and phrases that go along in kind.
Please keep the imagery obscure -
the reader never should be sure
just what it is the author has in mind.
Pick a structure we all can stand -
we find your rhythm rather bland
and no deep meaning can the reader find.
So in short, we will be leaving -
please consider basket weaving
or perhaps take up bowling as a sport.
Or perhaps try stamp collecting
for your work we are rejecting.
Poetry should be your last resort...
ObsessionIt takes 14 minutes and twelve seconds to walk to your home from mine every day. Your mother never fails to smile at me when she opens the door. I never fail to notice that it doesn't reach her eyes anymore.More Like This
You leave your door open an exact two point three centimeters. I don't think you do it on purpose. There is something wrong with the wood that has left it that way. I pause one foot outside the door and listen to you cough, trying to determine how sick you feel today. I hate that every time I think you are particularly ill, I am always right.
Six months, seventeen days and fourteen hours. That is how long its been since the doctors told us you had an illness. I sat there with your parents, listening to a man who said words like 'terminal' and 'leukemia', and counted the number of times he said 'patient' as if it were your name (Seventeen).
The blood bank says one unit is four hundred and fifty milliliters and I watch as they put the needle into my ar
5 Ways to Get Fantasy WrongYes, you're writing a fantasy story. Yes, that means many of the normal "rules" of reality are suspended. It doesn't mean you can just write whatever you like and expect your readers to swallow it. The existence of dragons they'll probably accept. Moscow being the capital of France they probably won't.More Like This
The key to "selling" weird, fantasy stuff to your reader (like dragons and half-elves) is making the world at large believable. This means getting the simple things right. So on that note:
1. Factual Errors
There are things in the wide-world of fiction that are fantasy elements; things like dragons, unicorns, and women who find beards sexy. There are other things in the wide-world of fiction that are factual elements; things like the speed of an average horse, the boiling point of water, and the observation that iron rusts.
Clearly, these are not two distinct categories that can have a line neatly drawn between them. You may have creat
SleepPerhaps it's the pressing consciousnessMore Like This
that across the world
people are at work and school
and walking sad with worry
Did people sleep
before they had to think of that?
Or perhaps it's the dreams
the ones you hate or hate to wake from
that don't offer their portents
as long as you are staring at the screen
or the printed page
or the windshield.
Or maybe there's a part that thinks
if you can just push the night clock round
Dare yourself not to close your eyes
like the everyday sun-wakers
To walk yourself through morning and beyond
the world will have to change somehow.
And the next time you give in
you will wake to something different
a place that's slightly new
and rings with intensity
Perhaps just a little better
than the night's rejected dreams.
It is not enough to writeIt is not enough to put the words on pageMore Like This
or to align them like cocaine lines
in neat rows of cornstalk paragraphs
fertile enough to bear reviews.
No. One must bleed each period,
each dot-dot-dot like morse code mythology
the Gallic cry at the end of the telegraph age.
It must become an ocean in you, these voices
swelling to tidal highs, and quiet - never.
You the new folkteller, urban prophet
who can call to battle anyone with eyes.
Ooze it like sap spilling down the bark.
It is not enough to write.
One must expire with each keystroke,
endlessly. It must come from the bowels.
Purge it as infection leaking out of skin;
lance yourself. Choke back tears.
If there is no labor pain,
the words were never born.
This is a death business.
We bleed ourselves onto paper and
slice our brains into vellum sheet
and repeat, repeat, repeat.
Pure person petrichor
deep inside the ink.
Of Half-Filled WordsShe is not a flutterbird.More Like This
Her fingers are skittish,
her smile is not.
Do not fear that you will
drive it away.
Sadness is her fumbling limb.
It is unwanted, yet
When it is January
she will tell you,
"I am still struggling.
And I am becoming so many people
all at once.
A conglomeration of beauty that
I have managed to mangle.
Please, do not be sad for me."
Sometimes her sorrow is
meant for you. But mostly her.
Those specks and spots
of ocean storm lulls
reveal her truths:
ones she does not want
to extract from herself.
Her heart is not a rabbit.
When it beats
faster, faster, faster,
you need not
run harder to catch it.
Christmas Plum JamIt was to be a different kind of Christmas this year for the little family who had packed up their little home into a little white trailer. They had then driven the many far-reaching miles to the big beautiful mountains and white sparkling snow of the state of Utah so Daddy could start school by the big Y on the mountainside.More Like This
Little Jimmy and Krissy helped Mommy at home during the day, while Daddy was at school. As the holidays grew closer, worry lines began to appear on Mommy's face as she contemplated what to do about presents this year.
One day Mommy had an idea. She had recently learned how to make jam and wanted to give jars of jam as Christmas presents to friends and family.
So Mommy and Daddy took Jimmy and Krissy to the store to pick up some supplies for the jam. But while at the store, they found they only had enough to buy the jars and the sugar. They didn't have enough to buy any fruit for the jam. Mommy was s
Rwanda 1994The children stare at the whiteboard.More Like This
Numbers are added to numbers,
and identities are subtracted from history.
This is a classroom of twenty two;
in a week it's a class of thirteen.
and nobody asks,
"Where is Chantal,
who sat next to me yesterday?"
Everyone knows where Chantal is.
Itemized LoveIf you: Compliment my eyesMore Like This
I will: Hold your hand.
If you: Buy me an ice cream cone
I will: Let you have a bite.
If you: Tell me I am pretty
I will: Blush and call you a liar.
If you: Walk me to my door
I will: Let you kiss me for two seconds.
If you: Repeat this for two months
I will: Think I love you.
If you: Buy me flowers
I will: Tell you so.
If you: Propose four years later
I will: Say yes and help you pick out a ring.
If you: Invite your mother to the wedding
I will: Pretend I enjoy her company for your sake.
If you: Turn bright red on the wedding night
I will: Laugh and hide under the covers.
If you: Buy us a small house in the suburbs
I will: Want to have three children.
If you: Take Jimmy to his soccer match
I will: Take Monique to her ballet class.
If you: Let your eyes wander from time to time
I will: Pretend I don't notice at all.
If you: Find out about Dan from my yoga class
I will: Break it off and stay together for the kids.
If you: Need someone to stand by yo
Who Am I Today?More Like This
I'm the HE who lurks the shadows.
I'm the IT that's under her bed.
I'm the MURDERER you send to the chair.
I'm the NEEDLE they found in his neck.
I'm the RAPIST that follows her home.
I'm the RABID DOG that bit your small hand.
I'm the NOOSE that swung from the rafters.
I'm the WIND that rattles the leaves.
I'm the MOTHER who didn't love you at all.
I'm the BAD COP that gives you a ride.
I'm the BUM on the side of the road.
I'm the DEAR JOHN you never did read.
I'm the BAD TOUCH you felt in the night.
I'm the COLD EYES that looked at your flesh.
I'm the REGRETS at the bottom of the glass.
I'm the GUN you hold in your hand.
A Fill in the Blanks LifeMy name is _____ __________, and I'm ___ years old.More Like This
I was born on ___ ___, ____ in the United States of America.
I have ___ siblings, some older and some younger.
I go to school at _______ _____, and I guess I get okay grades. (B+ Average.)
When I get older I want to become a _____ ________, and make the world a better place.
I don't know it yet, I'm actually going to become a ______ ______ _______, and work in a cubicle from 7:30 AM to 6:30 PM for about thirty years. That isn't as bad as it sounds.
My longtime crush is _____ ______, who is one grade older than me and has a perfect smile.
_____ ______ ends up dying in a car crash three years from now while coming back from a party. That's okay though, because we lose touch after she moves out of state, and I forget about her after I get my first girlfriend.
My first girlfriend will be named ________, and she'll be my first everything.
Six years later I will remember the taste of her watermelon chapstick, bu
Wedding and a funeralToday is the happiest day ever, I keep repeating in my mind as I drive to the church. I am to marry the most interesting woman, she is smart, very witty, and very gorgeous.More Like This
The bells sing loudly as I arrive at the church and louder still as I now await my bride at the alter... There she is, standing under the archway as beautiful as ever. The mere sight of her stirs the emotions and boils my passion for her, and yet my heart feels heavy.
She slowly walks the aisle but no more then ten steps does she stop and lifts the veil. My heart shatters as my eyes stare at the tortured face she tried to hide, I fall to my knees, everything goes blank except the bells that rang in my mind and the vision of the pained look upon her face.
I should run to her, have her explain why she would leave me, try to reconcile whatever demons or problems she may be facing ... That is what I should do but my legs fail me, struggle as I might my body will not respond. The look I saw said it all, she fancies anoth
No More Ice CreamThe artist was sketching statues in the park when the little girl walked up to him. She wore her hair in too-messy copper braids, and in her small hand she held a dripping ice cream cone.More Like This
"What are you drawing?" the little girl asked as she licked melted caramel fudge off the side of her thumb.
The artist looked around, but he couldn't see any adults that might have accompanied the little girl to this side of the park. Aside from a jogging elderly couple, he hadn't seen anyone else this entire afternoon.
"I have absolutely no idea," he admitted; finding there was some kind of comfort in admitting his artistic shortcomings (really, the shadowing on the statues was god awful) to someone too young to know any better, "Excuse me, but where's your mother?" little girls shouldn't talk to strangers in the middle of New York.
The little girl shrugged, and while doing so, she inadvertently dipped the end of her undoing braid in a glob of brown goo, "Don't know. Brian took me here; but he left."
A Portrait of A PoetShe spends most days dreaming of beingMore Like This
lightning quick, talented,
and oh, oh-so beautiful
and her days are truly just beginning
As she sits in Science class, writing out
frolicsome metaphors brimming with emotion
her confidence is pining
from deep hurts and a broken heart
yet she finds inspiration most in unhappiness
So she scribbles down painful thoughts
amongst her oblivious classmates,
hoping the words will come
Her skin radiates sunlight, as
Phillipine blood runs in her veins,
and she rests her head in Thailand sunsets.
Her travels have led her to Cambodia-
snapping pictures along the way-
and she sees that the same sunny sky in her own
is reflected in the eyes of those strangers
she has found
oh, oh-so beautiful.
Her words jump out
in bright and vivid colors
leaving her fingerprints on your heartstrings.
All Forty-fourI hid the scars... all forty-four.More Like This
I knew that he knew, but he never asked. Not once.
I hide a smile because I know he doesn't mind them, but I frown a little at his easy acceptance.
Does he really hate them in his heart? These scars. My ever present brands of personal rejection.
He squeezes my hand and I look at the ring on my finger.
"Acceptance" the little diamonds seem to say.
I pull my sleeves down lower and slouch a little more.
I know he's seen the scars- those accursed scars- on my arms, but what about my shoulders, my neck.... my back?
I escape to the bathroom and look in the mirror. They are still there, I know, but I remove my shirt to check anyway. There they are, white and mocking as they have been for years. Forty-four individual voices saying that I'm ugly. I believe them.
Quietly he enters the bathroom, and stands behind me. His reflection remains emotionless as his eyes rove my back. He says nothing, but brushes my hair away fr
periwinkle smileshe has periwinkle in her smileMore Like This
and Sunday morning f o g in her eyes
you took for granted
all the times she didn't lie
Vacation - XXI Send me away,More Like This
Just let me sleep -
Where I can write and create,
No more watching numbers procreate.
Let me go,
Just let me dream -
Where I can breathe and live
And not go until I have nothing left to give.
Falling.I'm falling. I'm fading.More Like This
When does it stop?
I just need to find that one thing.
That one thing that will save me.
That one thing that will fill this empty hole in my heart.
I want to give up.
Not because I'm sad.
I'm just so tired,
and I constantly have this pounding in my head
that makes it hard for me to think.
I have searched and searched for that one thing.
That 'something more'.
I've looked for it in places you could never imagine.
I thought i found it in you but I was wrong.
You can't make homes out of human beings.
I don't even know what a home feels like.
Maybe a home is the holes patched up in the walls
that were made by your angry fists.
Or the sound of plates shattering
as they hit the wall and fall to the ground.
Or the tingling feeling in my legs
that makes it hard for me to walk when I hear someone yelling,
because it reminds me of you.
Maybe a home is the same as walking on glass,
or sitting next to a ticking time bomb. Or maybe thats just you
I am so fucking tired.
She's an artistShe's an artist.More Like This
Always seems to be daydreaming,
She draws to escape her pain.
Cause for a single moment,
When her work is done.
It seems like there is no more rain.
And she could finally touch the sun.
The one that shines so brightly in her paintings.
But then it's gone,
So she keeps drawing,
She's become good at escaping.
Running from reality.
Because dreams are the only things she wants,
Her imagination is the only thing she's ever known.
And it's sad really...
Because she tries so hard to be happy.
But the most beautiful thing she could ever create.
Was that smile upon her face,
And that is the one thing that remains blank.
Waiting to someday be something more than,
My deviantART StoryMy deviantART days began in 7th grade, I think, because that was a relatively dark and difficult part of my life; it was a big transition age for me, and I'm pretty sure everyone else too. Interestingly enough, there was a lot of romantic relationships for me, which is strange because I'm more than just a little weird; I guess I was just a bigger manwhore back then But with all of the transient emotions and thoughts going on back then, I needed a hobby because schoolwork was too quickly done and a touch easy for me, so I guess I was spending too much time playing guitar (gasp, can there be such a thing?) so I decided to pick up poetry. I had always had a flair for it, when I wrote a little something and was published in a poetry anthology. I guess I wanted to see how good I actually was at it. Not very, hahah... >.>More Like This
So, here are some of my favourites, or some that I can still remember how I felt at the time.
The one that started it all. My first
Two SidesOh. It broke.More Like This
Don't worry, we can fix it!
Why bother? It'll just break again.
But then we can make it stronger!
It won't make a difference.
Well, we have to fix it if it's broken, right?
Not unless we stop using it.
But we have to use it!
It's useless fixing it though; it never stays quite right.
Then we'll just have to make sure it does this time, won't we?
You know you're just setting yourself up for failure.
We'll see. You know we're going to end up using it.
And a week after we start using it, it'll break. Again.
We just have to learn how to use it properly.
And what is this "properly"? Have we been using it dangerously this entire time?
Well, no, but—
Exactly. It's not us. It's them.
You know, you shouldn't blame it on others.
Why do you never care about it?
Why do you care so much about it?
Cough DropsHe never liked the taste of medicine.More Like This
He would always get sick,
but would never take anything for it.
No Tylenol, no Advil, not even a few cough drops.
He would just suffer silently through it.
His sweetheart would always hound him about it,
saying that someday it'll be the death of him.
He never paid attention to her,
always ending the little spiels with a kiss to her temple.
Then she would drive home,
She spent the afternoon at his place one winter,
nursing him in his fever,
as he still refused any and all medicines or drugs.
She gave him her lecture, as usual.
And she drove home,
but never made it.
He remembered getting the news,
falling to his knees
with tears slowly soaking into his shirt,
cracks slowly forming in his heart.
Yet to this day, years later,
he still refuses to forget her.
But, only now, by his bed,
there's always a bottle of cough drops.
to the girl i lose my words aroundi have been meaning to tell you for years:More Like This
i think you’re beautiful. i have
seen nothing on earth that holds a candle
to the ocean you carry inside your body.
it spills over your edges sometimes, like
a rain shower around you, blurring your penciled-in
lines until there is nothing left of you but your natural
cliffs, valleys, and deserts.
i like that.
i have never met someone who is, somehow,
a sea and a storm at the same time.
maybe i never will again.
maybe you are the only one
who gathers clouds on her forehead
like a promise, or feels the push and pull of the tide
with her every step.
you are beautiful, honestly.
you are honest, beautifully.
it is in the way you talk, the way you hold ice
on your tongue but forget to use it—
you always forget to use it, i don’t think
you know how.
to be truthful, i’m afraid of your smile
and how it breaks over me, how it pulls
me like a whirlpool down, how it pushes me
like a current back to the surface. i’m afraid of
The Tiger and The DoveA bird in a cage has not enough rageMore Like This
unlike a tiger that is whipped and bled on stage
has the fight and the might
to devour the prey
that falls into his sight
waiting for the time to strike
and scratch and bite
and swipe down all that oppose him
and all that dispose of his free life
they cower in fear
and tears will appear from the eyes
of those he despise
and the cries
of pain are all in vain
for their lives are his to claim
all but one beneath the sun
will all be done the same
all but the dove who flies above
will escape the reach of his riegn
but the love of the dove
that fits like a glove
in the heart of savage tiger
can tame the beast
and teach him at least to act a little finer.
so the tiger swore
that before he died
he would save the lives of four
and learn from the dove
who sored high above to live and love more
the first one he saved
was a maid name Paige
who fell to her sure demise
but the tigers fine eyes
spied the maid and saved her
before too late
after the first
Do You Want To Know Medo you want to know meMore Like This
do you want to know the me that laughs at the sky
or the me that crys in pain
do you want to know the me who will listen to your sobs
or the me who will tell you when you complain
do you want to know the me that will accept your imperfections
or the me that points out your flaws
do you want to know the me who will keep you safe and warm
or the me who will leave if it is best
do you want to know the me that others see in public
or the me that noone else sees
do you want the me that likes to spend time with you
or the me that loves you
They Watch You SleepThey Watch You Sleep:More Like This
There are many bards who can tell you tales
Of the creeping shadows that come at night
We've seen them crawling along the walls
In the absence of the light...
On the darkest of nights, cold and chill
You can hear them quietly gibbering.
They speak of things that you cannot know
Which is why they are always whispering.
It is said that they will know the future
and that they know the fate of every man
They are here to watch his path unfold
or perhaps to have him damned...
These sick and twisted animals
Bear a stench that is rather foul
But you will only smell this scent
if they choose to remove their cowl
It is said that their eyes are like obsidian doorways;
Which hold the key to the depths of the mind.
But none have the courage to look within them;
Afraid of what they'll find...
So my only advice to the weary traveller
Is to believe in the safety of the tavern
Do not look toward the darkest of corners
or you might just stir their cavern...
Symphony RainsMy timeMore Like This
It's runs through my fingers
No place where it lingers
With every second it slips away
The desert is the hand
of a giant beggar and
my path is a wrinkle on it, they say
Intices me to fly
Into endless blue, "try!"
It shouts but then it will lead you astray
The sun does sting
while the world does swing
I see all as if I look through a bottle
Heat's symphony rains
It blows away the sand
Lifting it off the land
Forms it into yellow clouds in the air
Burned blisters on my feet
Now throb with my heart beat
I move on, my condition does impair
"Water ... "
Sand sticks on chapped lips
Not even sweat now drips
Down anymore, sand will be my last lair
The air does sing
while grains of sand swing
I feel the small and cold shards of a bottle
"Move on" says
Symphony of rains
Pick up the sword (Old Version)A drop of sweat rolls down, in the hot burning sunMore Like This
Today marks the day, the war has begun
I pick up my sword, and prepare for the war
See villains prepare, in the distance afar
The time has come, get into your gear
Fight as the warcry of battle appears
Pick up the sword, raise it high to the sky
Pick up the sword, strike and make their blood fly
Pick up the sword, torture, kill, make them cry
Pick up the sword, and in the end they shall die
They are drawing nearer, let's start off the fight
Show them no fear, clash with all your might
Strengthen your courage, strike like a thunderstorm
Enemy in range, surrounding like a swarm
Seems there is no escape, out of this mess
Fend them off now, and it'll end in success
Pick up the sword, raise it high to the sky
Pick up the sword, strike and make their blood fly
Pick up the sword, torture, kill, make them cry
Pick up the sword, and in the end they shall die
It's time for battle, now pick up your sword
Stand your ground, fight for what you're w
The Witch's Admirers Simple etiquetteMore Like This
and simple needs
for another space to be.
but fruit is costly
and bones are far from rot.
Why do you burn me,
for perils I have with fraught?
(~ frightened by the powers, that we have not ~)
pendulumthe worldMore Like This
by a thread -
clutching at the earth,
hands thrust deep
deep into the dirt,
I long to set this world aflame.I once dreamt of ashes and dragons,More Like This
as dark ravens loomed over my sleeping form,
planting cadaver kisses along my neck.
Stepping into a river of colors, I contemplated
smoke halos and the unlit cigarette between my teeth.
I asked myself if all of this was worth it-
gasoline rainbows painting landscapes along my thighs.
I'd never smoked a day in my life, but I liked to play with fire.
[Light a match and watch me burn. ]
Blood CrusadeBlood Crusade:More Like This
They rode upon the backs of thundering horses
for faith had unleashed a terrible beast
These men would offer their souls in service
to the dark unholy priests...
"To what end do we serve our Lord and Master
is justice not the ultimate form of faith?
Should we not stand and fight in his name
to cleanse the Earth of this heathen waste!"
It was these orators, chaplains of faith;
men of the cloth who bore a fire
They lit their brothers with impassioned speeches
fueled by their own desire...
They taught their followers that blood was faith
and devotion was found at the edge of a blade
"Blessed is the mind too small for doubt
for the faithful shall never be swayed..."
The men who accepted them, though pure at heart
would soon be eaten by Lust and Greed
For Wrath had become a norm of existence
and death became a Templar's creed...
But woe betide the man who slaughters
for his soul shall be forever stained
And no penance may ever remove this grief;
Teapot's boilingTeapot's boilingMore Like This
The night's silent
No birds are tweeting
My thoughts are violent
As I walk around
And can't be found
I am scared of myself
I am worried to death
I am so alone
In a restricted zone
Which I'd like to call my brain
I am trapped
I am mine
I am in a prison
And I am not fine
I want to leave this place
And be truly free
But I can't. I am caged
I don't have the key
Her Side of the StoryShe was once a plain girl who dreamed of her own fairytaleMore Like This
A plain girl who smiles at everyone and laugh with gale
Soon enough her wish to be appreciated come true
The town loved her and treated her with value
It was her perfect ever after until the pretty girl came
The pretty girl's sweet smiles took everyone's heart aflame
Soon the girl was forgotten , left in shadowy gray
Hated for being not as pretty,she was casted far far away
Madden by hurt and betrayal, she avenge her broken heart
Consumed by darkness,she tore the whole town apart
After the town had fallen the girl realized her madness
Hidden herself in the forest and there mourn her sadness
The kingdom spread the news of the girl who committed a crime
It was written down on books and whispered to stories at bedtime
Soon the story grows and the girl was called a lot of names
Sometimes the wicked witch, the step sister,and the old evil dame
As bizarre were this legends told, it was the same story
i don't believe in jesusno one celebrates losing virginity like they celebrate losing teeth.More Like This
i don't get a dollar under my pillow for having sex with my boyfriend.
there are no doctors smiling at me when i tell them my cherry has been popped.
i am a whore for having premarital sex.
i am a tramp for loving someone enough to open my body to them.
no one celebrates losing virginity like they celebrate losing teeth -
but i slip mine under my pillow anyway, and in the morning when i wake,
there is a quarter and a tiny folded note:
"you are not a slut."
adulthoodwhen you interact with other grown-ups,More Like This
there are things you need to remember.
i am learning the fine art of Adult Small Talk-
banter for banter's sake and smiles and short, impersonal anecdotes
because you can't risk letting anyone in,
god forbid someone actually gets close.
you keep your friends in your stomach and swallow them at night to keep them close
and put your cheery face on for medical professionals even when your throat is too swollen
to drink down those friends.
those friends, you know they'll never let you down.
you see your human companions on lunch breaks and weekend days.
at night, young adults have sex and fall asleep together;
at night, older adults complain of headaches and sleep on opposite sides of the bed.
your human friends don't make you feel as good
as your other friends make you feel.
they ask about your life and how you're doing,
ask if you're still in therapy and if you're eating,
and god forbid you let them in.
they're your human friends but they don't get
Ain't nobody happyAin’t nobody happy if momma ain’t happy -More Like This
(nobody's happy if anybody's unhappy)
Happiness - made of delicate lace
woven by century-old spiders,
instantly unwinding with the first light breeze.
We must all carefully tend to our strand,
our gossamer thread, lost in the tapestry
single knuckle capable of destruction
with one twitch.
---You think about suicideMore Like This
and you smoke cigarettes, hoping
that they'll get the job done
so you don't have to.
patternsinhale forgiveness, exhale hypocrisy.More Like This
life is meaningless;
existence is a series of patterns.
and then spread
wings or legs.
cage yourself in - tousle your mane a bit,
then stand all too glorified
like you deserve.
give me one true word.
i silenced your whimpers and missed your roars.
old and time-weathered soul.Emily liked to imagine that she was from a different time.More Like This
She’d sit on her bed and smooth out the covers, fold the sheets with crisp lines and perfect, symmetrical shapes. She’d place the chipped tea cup on the bookshelf and push back the linen curtains. But she would never open her eyes. No, you see, because if she did, she would have to see the traffic that buzzed like summer bees below her and the water stain dripping down the side of her window. She’d have to admit that outside, reality was not what she wished, and, frankly, she wasn’t ready to stop pretending.
So, instead, she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. She imagined that beyond the four walls she called home, there were open moors and grass that swept against ankle and calf and then inner knee. She imagined that trees draped over the sides of a porch and that her Labrador was free to run amongst the unfenced wild yonder. She imagined gentle whickering coming from the n
The cheese songChiizu ha oishii daMore Like This
Ana ga takusan to totemo kusai
Onna no koto mitai
Limburger swiss cheese camembert PARMESAN
Muenster Manchego bleu cheese PARMESAN!!!!!!
Chiizu ha hitori de
Demo Cracker to issho ni
Totemo oishii desu
Cheese cheese cheese cheese cheese cheese CRACKERS
Cheese cheese cheese cheese cheese cheese CRACKERS!!!!!
America ni chiizu ga takusan
Furansu mo chiizu ga takusan
Demo nihon ni chiizu ga naaaaiiiiiiiiiiii
Sometimes - A ListMore Like This
A List of Beautiful Moments Numbers 1 to 100
1- Sometimes people surprise you.
2- Sometimes the sun shines with a glow that feels
strangely like love.
3- Sometimes people paint and draw with so much passion
that you have to close your eyes and take a deep breath
just to draw it all in.
4- Sometimes people sing.
5- Sometimes the trees blow just right in the wind, and
you can hear them singing.
6- Sometimes the air smells like bonfires and apples and
7- Sometimes the smell of flowers is all around you, but you
can\'t figure out where it\'s coming from.
8- Sometimes people care.
9- Sometimes a new day is an adventure that fills you with
10- Sometimes waking up is like being born again.
11- Sometimes music or words are so beautiful they give you
tingles all over your body, and you sparkle.
12- Sometimes strangers smile at you as you walk by, and it
makes you feel warm inside, so you pass the smile on.
13- Sometimes in autumn when the air is just cold enough so
FAGLE'S BAGLESThere once was a man named Fagles.More Like This
His name seemed to rhyme with bagles.
The day that he died
The people all cried
And thus was the end of poor Fagles.
SuicideMore Like This
I'm so sick of suicide
It's everywhere I look
Pictures, and in movies
In poetry and books
I'm so sick of suicide
It's pathetic and it's weak
Blah blah blah so awful
Outlook always bleak
This life's just not worth living
Could they be any more cliché'?
I know that I just can't go on
Isn't that what they say?
Do you live in China
Without freedom's basic choice?
Are you a woman in Afghanistan?
Forbidden to have a voice.
Are you starving now in Africa?
Surrounded by disease
Or under corrupt dictatorship
Forced upon your knees
These people rise to challenges
We cannot comprehend
They live their lives from day to day
And triumph in the end
But daddy won't buy me the car
He promised me last fall
Oh what now am I to do?
I'll have to end it all.
My girlfriend found another
She loves him more than me
I'll bleed until I'm empty
Then she'll finally see.
I'm so sick of suicide.
Not a PoemThe kangaroo of yesterday is dyedMore Like This
Orange, garish, plasticized.
Cast off in favor of a darker cloak
Made of dead things and thinks broke
Dead faces, dead thighs, fat waists, broken lies.
Im feeling blue on account of you
But without you Im still big and brokendead too.
Have you seen the way they are,
Never being too subtle or going too far?
Words and phrases they stole and now wear
As if theyre their own and they dont even care?
And their audience claps in all the right places,
But applaud as they might there are frowns on their faces,
And they leave feeling puzzled, debased and poor,
They pull at your skirts and they beg you for more,
More rice noodles, more tofu broth, more 1% milk and low-fat ice cream.
Can you get it for me? Im busy with the screen.
And I just got a migraine but I dont know which eye.
Lets all get fat, and then well all die.
No! Its not true!
True love doesnt exist, at least not for you . . .
AMNIZEA a fanfactin one day danial and alexandre was torturing some people when they had an amnizea.More Like This
"im havin an amnizea" daniel saids.
"shti" alexandre said "me to"
soon they had forgot everythin even the grosery list and the people they was torturing ran away. they had bene dressin up that day so alexandre was waring a pretty dress, for a lady. not a man dress at al
normaly they would kno that alexandre was doin it ironicly but they had amnizea so they didn't
"i dont kno wtf i am doin here" daniel saids slowle.
"ya me to"
"i like ur dress alexandre it si pritty adn pannk"
"why thank ya daniel"
they smild at each other and GOT A MEMORY BACK--
"alexandre i thikn yu must be my wif"
(it was a false memory but they didnt kno
earth inside methe earth inside of meMore Like This
is so large that it is crumbling
out of my body,
the dirt on my hands
is far from subtle
but I do not want to look clean--
to look like something
the surges in my blood
swell up like the vigor
of hand washing,
gentle til obsession
then there is blood,
it is licking at my eyes
(in the corners
where once there was darkness),
and still I am
not a day goes by
that I forget,
not one day
that you do not
that I am a sizable sea
at peace (with me)
and have no desire
(in growing waves)
to chew through my wrists,
that I have found
a way to stop you
in my mind;
I try to sleep,
I pray for sleep,
and then the clock reads
4:30pm and the guilt
over my head
til the next time
I go to bed
(my mattress, my bed,
my flower bed;
dirt rows tilled to my brim
because I am unclean
no matter the rain who tries
to dampen and dim
the grave I am in.)
KohoutekStudí mě na spánku,´More Like This
tíží mi ruce
Život na kahánku,
praská mi srdce
a už zase nespím
Až stisknu kohoutek,
na chvilku se zasním
a lack of language, in coloursyou tell me you miss meMore Like This
and that i am more beautiful
than any girl in georgia
or even barcelona.
everything is fitting like magic
between fingers when they
and i swear for the past three nights,
that's all i've dreamt.
give me acrylics
and i still can't make you see
the exact shade of warm
you are to me.
give me the ocean
and there are not enough waves
in its body
to show just the way i feel
when our own vessels move together.
seven months since we last said goodbye,
since we last said hello-
i could fill libraries
to love you.
what i really want to ask
is if you think you can
love me this time.
love, in shortit's somethingMore Like This
like an electrical fire
and my god,
it will hurt
and you will smile
because it hurt
and that means
it wasn't all a dream.
the difference between lonelyi feel it in my spine.More Like This
i feel it in my teeth.
i feel it in my bones, their very marrows
aching like something was once there
but is missing, like the ghost of it has gone missing,
like their maws are hanging from their teeth
in some sad sickness.
i want to throw my head back and scream.
i want to feel the tears stream upwards
instead of down, to take to the sky
and fall back to you as rain.
i can't stop feeling.
you are prismatic,
you are line and shadow,
you are the earth and moon and stars and you.
i want rivers to flood my body,
i want to drown in water too hot to feel,
i want to sleep in the snow
and pretend it's you next to me
as i turn blue.
reminds me of you
reminds me of you
reminds me of you.
i can't look at the trees
without imagining your birch forest,
i can't brush things off as a consequence of life
without hearing your voice rise, impassioned by upset.
i'm tired of feeling.
i'm tired of thinking of you
when you're not thinking of me.
i'm tired of lovi
Not Going by "The Book"Something was wrong definitely. He knew it from the very beginning. He always had those dreams, showing him future. He believed it was the only thing why he was left alive and helped him to get a high rank. The got used to it. But it was getting worse and worse. He started to hear voices just one, to be exact. He felt ashamed and told nobody, having worries about his sanity.More Like This
But, everything the voice told him was right. It made a sense. And people believed he was chosen by God, to lead them to the Promised Land. He wasn´t sure, if it was God, but the others did. And the belief was the only way, how to explain all the things the water turned into blood, their escape, water of the sea, dividing itself. Every time, he had doubts, he turned to that voice, with a question. And, every time, he was given an answer. Sometimes, the answer was strange. Many times, he didn´t know, what were the instructions, he was given, good for. The advice always saved their lives
Take My Blood InsteadEvery morning without failMore Like This
I wake up at 5 o'clock
My bones are aware of something
Of which my mind is not
They tell me to move forward
Propelling me from my bed
Don't drain me of ambition
Please take my blood instead
Every morning without fail
The sun shines on where I lay
Characters in place, stage is set
What'll fate offer me today
Mister mundane mumbles
From his melancholic head
Don't rob me of the sunlight
Please take my blood instead
Every morning without fail
You give me belief in fate
Before this pensive pillow
Is lowered to suffocate
Fake feathers smother my face
There will be no tears shed
Don't take their memories of me
Please take my blood instead
Thunderous silenceGod looks for love and finds boys in the grass.More Like This
The beauty of the moment does lie in her past.
The tombs of ancient hold air of the ages.
Life is magic in the eyes of the sages.
As the ashes of tomorrow have yet to be,
we most open our eyes in order to see.
Flashes of light, waves of death,
this is always our last breath.
A Letter to No OneThe clock ticked against silence,More Like This
Upon the cemetery of a room.
Deep sighs weave through the air,
Meager warmth in compressed despair.
Moths fall prey to a musty lampshade,
An opened window to Night’s gloom.
Thoughts dance like ripples on water,
And clouds on the hiding moon.
A lullaby plays from the gentle sound,
Made by scratching pen on paper.
One story told too many times,
Is voiced from words created.
Though this time revived from lies,
A phoenix forms the ugly truth.
The pen rolls from the wooden desk,
Having served its final use.
Old dusty dolls and teddy bears,
Watched helplessly through glassy eyes.
No star showed to twinkle hope,
Not one ray from the busy moon.
On the clock’s tick, a rope was hanging.
On the clock’s tock, a form was thrashing.
A tired, hoarse throat gasps for life,
Cut abruptly by the Reaper’s scythe.
Poems on the shelf with an unknown author.
Paintings on the wall left unsigned.
Just another heart trapped in horror,
An unfinished l
I DiveThe landscape of my mind is thus:More Like This
A panorama dense and lush.
A forest of my deepest dreams
Dappled light cast from hopeful beams
It's inhabitants are me and you,
A fantasy setting built for two.
At the cusp there lies a ledge
I often stand at the very edge.
And off this cliff, I dive;
"Oh all the powers great and mighty,
The amorous touch of Aphrodite
Please touch me and give pity;
This empty soul in this broken city."
Then it was as if my plea was heard
And my battered heart flew like a bird
Who would have thought a man like you
Could look at me the way you do?
This lonely place, this fantasy
Finally held both you and me.
At the cusp there was a ledge;
I proudly stood at the very edge.
And off this cliff, I dive;
Carried on wings of your embrace
Aloft with kisses on my face
Full of glee and simply giddy
To find love in this broken city
But all good things, they have an end
And my poor shattered heart did not mend
My cry was lost, gone, unheeded
No longer was my romance n
Darkest Evermore my LoveUpon thirst of shadows and scarlet streams,More Like This
her wanton eyes hunger like swollen pitch
Dark magick ebbs from the wounds of dreams,
for thou art my bride my darkest witch
~Arthur Crow © 2012
ScarsI’ve spent far too many yearsMore Like This
painting on my skin.
In shades of red and silver;
I can’t find where it begins.
My medium takes too long to dry
and the mistakes will never fade;
placed upon me in white lines
that can never be unmade.
It’s hard to leave pain behind
when it is written on your wrists—
art I could never understand,
and couldn’t quite resist.
A permanent reminder
of things that I have been;
Sorrow lasts forever
when it is cut into your skin.
FragilityWe hold up our heads and look so strong,More Like This
But I am certain we are not what we seem:
We are nothing but breakable bodies
And far too fragile dreams.
With frail paper skin soaked with ink,
And bones just made of glass;
Cracked with every single hope
That does not come to pass.
We Have News On Your DaughterIt's early DecemberMore Like This
We sit in our daughters room
Looking over her possessions
Praying she will be home soon
Just in time for Christmas
Her presents are under the tree
Ready to create some more
Of those beautiful memories
It's now mid December
Terror has frozen our tears
As our angels face is slowly
Beginning to disappear
Our lives are a landfill
For unimaginable pain
As her baby brother weeps
Wanting his sister back again
It's now late December
The festivities have past
As searches for our princess
Are slowly scaled back
A knock on the front door
The endless fall to the ground
"We have news on your daughter
A body has been found"
SinkingRecently I've been sinkingMore Like This
Like a stone into a pond
Having skimmed across the surface
Of life for far too long
Please may I have a new heart
Along with a new mind
I cannot reverse this feeling
No, I'm sorry, not this time
Recently I've been sinking
Into myself like quicksand
No one sees as it swallows me
Each grain a mislaid plan
Please may I crawl inside your love
Mingle hearts until the end
I cannot reverse this feeling
No, I'm sorry, not again
Recently I've been sinking
Such an overused metaphor
But one which is cathartic
When choosing to explore
That I could save you my love
And in time you could save me
As fear and loneliness will dissolve
Doused in our empathy