The Love Hates BackSo yes, that was the only reason I kissed you; to see if tendresse would do what anger could not.More Like This
UntitledPlease take my hand and show me the way,More Like This
up until today I have been in the neverending darkness.
I have never touched the light until now.
Take me with you, let me stay in your grace.
Don't take away this feeling in my heart.
I need this tranquility, I need this final gift of hope.
Neurotic NostalgicOur neurotic nostalgic is sick with daydreams.More Like This
Forcing signifigance into every little thing.
Scanning memories of when he was happy.
Looking at the carving while his eyes swell,
"To know a Heaven, you must learn hell."
Blurred eyesEyes with the clarity of water color murals,More Like This
Slopped on towers poking ozone holes,
Scrutinize the trustful paramour
Pick at unraveling threads in an invisible cloak.
Slowly, surely, the finery turns to rags
Handfuls of shredded thread clump fills a fist
With these remnants of joy she wipes the tears,
Peers through lost devotion,
To see no one.
The Way We Built Bridges"You waste too much time on your words." You once told me.More Like This
"No," I replied "you don't waste enough time on words. Words are a tool to you, not a treat. A pragmatic means of communicating, bargaining, exchanging vital snippets of information. Calm down. Stop speaking so fast. We're not fighting a war (not us, not here). You don't prune and select your language. You've forgotten how to roll it around on your tongue, or try it on for size. Revel in rolling Rs, or the sweetness of a string of vowels and consonants, arranged in such a way to create more beauty than you ever thought possible.
Language can be a delicacy to contrast your paltry recital of data. You should try it."
a little bita little bit of red in your cheeksMore Like This
you'll never know how much you mean to me
a little bit of blonde in your hair
you'll never know how much i'd like to be there
a little bit of a skip in your walk
you'll never know how my heart flutters when you talk
a little bit of warmth in your voice
you'll never understand how loving you was less than a choice
a little bit of sun on our skin
you'll never know how i could never love again
a little bit of a smile when we kiss
you'll never remember how much we felt bliss
a little bit of affection in your eyes
you'll never know what its like to see you kiss other guys
a little bit of the night in your arms
you'll never understand that without you my world would be more than harmed
a little bit of the night on my own
you'll never know what i feel like alone
a little bit of stars in the sky
you'll never know that i'll miss you, until i die
The Society and The IndividualI was born independent and the biggest mistake I ever made was falling into the arms of society. Free will has become an option, and that is where we have all lost ourselves. You can either choose to live, or avoid the things you will never know by experiencing things at your own discretion.More Like This
We are the creator of our own lives.
The End That No One NoticedThe Universe blinks and humanity, in all its cruel glory, comes into existence.More Like This
It blinks again, and we are gone.
Throw Ourself Against The WallLet's run away.More Like This
Let's keep running and never stop.
Eventually, we won't be running to survive. We'll be running, because running is our life now.
The YouthMy youth was found in disgusting apartments and palest blue ribbon. Kissing girls that were years older than myself, lying about my age and passing out on the bathroom floor. I started smoking, I started lying, things were going great. I felt better than I ever had, line after line, bed after bed, I never did too much and was on top of my game, always one step ahead of even myself. But soon there would be nothing new to do. Everyone would know my name, my sins and who I slept with.More Like This
Oh the price of being young.
We Are Prostitutes And JunkiesThe ribbon binding our cervical ribs togetherMore Like This
is resolved fire and
quantum mechanics wrapped in beat-one-egg-until-fluffy.
Cut your teeth on my frightened way of life,
point fingers at the spiders in my closet,
I told you
together we could divide the universe by zero
and find the answer in the rubble.
But I was too delirious
to write down the name on my night-stand,
so I might have been wrong.
Forewarning was rolled off my shoulders
and picked up by the orphans
who wanted to have a life,
and yesterday I found
why I must listen.
are no more entrancing than my sighs, you said.
The sway of her fiending lusts
held no ground, you said.
But I told you poets never find
Strangers tell me I should eat more,
the world is not nearly as revolting as I write it;
I told you the sun would swallow us up one day
and you asked
what became of my opium laced assumptions.
100ThemesChallenge - LoveDespite what people may think, not all guys wants a stick thin barbie doll with a fake smile and dull eyes. I like girls who curve. Girls who when you put your arms around her, feel like they fit perfectly against your chest, not like you're hugging a stick. Homely girls. The ones that wear soft cotton shirts and sweaters, and have a warm smile and eyes you can get lost in. The ones that walk around with a smudge of flour or toothpaste or paint on their shirt all day because they haven't noticed or just don't care. The ones whose apple-vanilla smell you could recognise from across the room, but still never becomes mundane. The ones who, when you curl up with her, no matter where you may be, it feels like Home.More Like This
Something You Can't FixWe're in the woods, just the two of us. I have on my best trainers, the ones with rainbow laces and the place on the back that Max chewed through when he was just a puppy. Your steps are bigger than mine but it's a game I try to jump into the hole your shoes leave behind. I'm a frog; I'm a kangaroo; I'm magic.More Like This
"My legs hurt" I tell you
"It's just a bit further."
You sit and pull me down beside you, point through the undergrowth "Do you see it?"
I shake my head and you pull me up, pushing towards a tree until I climb. "The pond, do you see the pond?"
From up here, I can. It is a fractured, jagged edge lying on the ground.
"When the world breaks apart, I can't fix it"
SNAPE'S CHAT ADVENTUREMore Like This
SEVERUS SNAPE AND THE ONLINE HOGWARTS TEACHERS' LOUNGE
Snape sat down in front of his faithful tangerine iMac with a mug of cocoa. He had just spent sixteen consecutive hours wiring the castle up for an internal network and was now testing out the interoffice chat option. No one knows why he wanted this installed or what good it would do for the school. Somewhere along the line, Dumbledore had turned to Lupin and said, "Dude...you're gettin' a Dell." And it all went downhill from there.
Snape logged into his account and called up the program.
Login name: $N4P3_RU13$
_**You are now signed into the Hogwarts Staff Online Lounge.**
MacGonagrrl: LOL! No way.
Dmbledork: yeah I saw it on the west wing last night it ruled
$N4P3_RU13$: hey wat's goin on
** M41F0Y_0wnZ_j00 has just entered the room.**
Damn Hogwarts Rules~~~ Things I Am Not Allowed To Do At Hogwarts ~~~More Like This
1. Any resemblence between Dementors and Bin Laden is coincidental.
2. It is a bad idea to slip Professor Snape a powerful love potion.
3. Growing marijuana or cannabis plants is not an extra credit project for Herbology.
4. I should refrain from putting on Death Eater robes, a Death Eater mask and suchlike and go up to Professor Snape, and say, "Dude! Voldemort wants to kill you, he's found out!"
5. I am not allowed to lock Gryffindors and Slytherins in the Room of Requirement and see who comes out alive and who looks like theyve had a right shag.
6. Professor Flitwick's first name is NOT Dobby, no matter how short he is!
7. "OMFG!" is not a spell.
8. I will not refer to Professor McGonagall as 'My Goggly Goo-Goo!" or "McGonalds! McGonalds!"
9. I will not arrange an Aurors meeting in Malfoy Manor OR Nettos!
10. I will not begin Care of Magical Creatures class by singing, 'Can you dance the hippogriff' by the Hobgoblins in a bold voice,
More Than a PassengerIf the world keeps on like this, then I'll refuse to inherit it.More Like This
100ThemesChallenge - Two gunsJust as you were taught with anger and pain, you teach with anger and pain. But I will not; I will teach with love and care.More Like This
I will kill your spiral.
Wallflower.Why do you pry your way through these crowdsMore Like This
with uncertain hands, scared eyes,
and smiles stretched too tight?
You seem so awkward there,
posing for that photo
just a millimetre too far
away from the friend you have your arm around,
like you're not sure you should be there at all;
like you need more of the world between you,
because you're not sure how you fit in,
or just how close is too close for comfort.
Are you trying too hard to fit in,
with that nervous grin and your hands clenched too tight,
because you don't know where to put them?
You nod your head and press your lips together
as if you're trying to hold back words,
or something that will show everyone
who you really are
behind the masks and the cages,
and the walls you hide behind.
But I can still see your criticising eyes
You need to see out
from behind that mask, after all
and I can see you, looking,
searching for something
that you're terrified you'll never find.
100ThemesChallenge - WantYou don't know what you want. You barely communicate. You say plenty, but most of it's just to fill the silence. I cannot blame you for this, because I know that deep down you don't realize what you're doing. I know that deep down you're scared and confused; you only want to be safe. To feel good about your choices. To have things righted. But you make some stupid fucking choices. You burn all your bridges, and then say it was an accident. You want a quick-fix solution to something that's been breaking for years. You told me that when you prayed, you never knew what to say. You said that you never knew how to level with God. Be honest to yourself, and maybe that'll help. When you aren't trying to lie to yourself, then you'll know what to tell God. And everyone else. Hell, you might even be able to write your book. But I don't have much faith in any of that.More Like This
Death and Resurrection Show.The mid-knightmare monster of war and carnage.More Like This
My parastichy staircase
winds down, down, down
deep into the dark heart of me.
sad cot and sad master to erase
the poor, unhappy clown
fades into my memory.
Laser eyes that burn, like cigarettes,
holes in the sky, and makes it cringe at the edges
like paper that could not withstand her fiery stare.
From thy forked tongue,
Untruths slip, slip, slip
To slide down your broken spine,
And with their stickiness bind
It with webs that you tangle and twist
Around my fragile mind
That your sharp words cut open.
In the smoky haze of burning bodies
and a blaze that smeared the sky with blood
setting it on
The Inked BladeJust as painters live for their artwork, poets live for theirs. But for a writer it is more so. For a writer, the writing will take on not only a life of their own, but a personality, a whole separate soul. A writer can converse with their pieces, argue with them... Feel jealous of them. Sometimes you might tell him his words are beautiful, and you'll see a shadow briefly cross his face before he responds with a 'thank you' and a smile, stretched too tight. Eventually, he'll become angry at his work. He'll stop writing; he'll tear up old notebooks in the hopes he can forget the words seemingly printed across the inside of his skull. He'll snap all his pens and pencils, so they can never damage someone's life as they have damaged his. He'll drink so the letters dance blurrily before his eyes, phrases drop off and lay forever incomplete in the dirt - so he never has to be the one to write them down.More Like This
All this, just because he knows he can never be as beautiful as the words he w