"Well then," he began softly, lifting her chin so their eyes met. "I shall endeavor to expect very little of you, and make no attempts to conceal my wholehearted delight when your every word.. expression.. and deed... quite unexpectedly pleases me."
She warbled a gentle laugh through her teary eyes and returned his smile; though she felt perhaps mirrored was the truer way of saying it. For it seemed that ever since the day she'd first met him her every expression of joy was merely a reflection of the kindness he so frequently bestowed upon her. How could anyone help but respond to him with anything save the greatest respect... gratitude... and love that insuppressibly rose up within the hearts of all those presence he graced?
"My child.." he spoke, breaking her reverie. "You seem... rather distracted lately. Is anything the matter?"
the sky is their pet
and the gods lose change
as the powers that be fall
like the weather to loose change
doesn’t occur unless hell rains
down from the depths of heaven.
which is why we’re run by angels
betraying the kingdom
and there is honor amongst crooks,
loyalty amongst the reign.
precipitation sweating out clouds
like alleged truths under a heat lamp.
the sun is burning like the judaean desert,
transverse among slithering serpents
horny and horned, suck and stab,
this is oral and penetrative.
word of mouth stabbing your ears,
like above and static thought
with the light bulb playing a crown.
temptations now on repeat like a chorus,
sung like the gospel,
and the hymns to the ears of most
sound like good music
and they rock a fella now.
rock the bass like stones
to the base of your neck
and let mortal monarchies
pelt propaganda portraits
like picasso brush strokes.
i wonder what the beyond say
to a swift and fear
How could we cope when it spins in reverse?
Even if our rotting trees just want to face the ground,
Red leaves could see green after the curse.
If stolen seeds can arise from the dirt,
You can see the sun even at your worst.
So move your head higher, see the passing town
Because up above is where you'll find your crown.
testing radio transmitters,
conductors of magnetism
is what it endeavors.
aerial pursuits of granite pleats
are the antennas picking up waves
that elements lay keen.
penetrating stimulation into cortical bones
is the IV that drips into their corrugation,
like the rolls in ridged metal.
frigid fervor is what the wire tries to balance
as it is connected to chromium skulls
and the ethereal.
it caters to seclusion
and evolves in your hard drive's files.
even though it is never physical,
it reaches immortality through manifestation
in the psyche.
and through that,
it survives permanent deletion
because the memory is retrievable
it lingers on and on like a phantom,
a message that never leaves the antenna.
feeding brains like oxygen,
it stays locked in slate shackles.
Her words rung out repeatedly inside his mind. How they angered him. He had become so enraged by her indignant speech that he had stood up from the breakfast table, grabbed his coat and hat and walked right out the front door without another word. Had he stayed he surely would've said something terribly ungentlemanly, and that would've hardly been a suitable way for a man to behave toward a lady... much less the lady who was his wife.
But why shouldn't I have said it?! He thought fuming, having stopped just long enough for a carriage to pass so he could make his way across the street. How could she speak to him like that?! He had done nothing wrong! He had had every right to fire that manservant. The only reason he had allowed him to be employed
auntie’s harp plucks my frame
like she’s picking perennials;
and through the year, her fingers
rail thin my skin into a string
as delicacy resonates
and rattles the soundboard
until she can no longer sing.
catgut clawed and shucked
until bare wire sparks loose.
my ligaments play children
of the corn but malnourished
losing this sect to the ma(i)ze.
(can no longer feed myself
with empty keynotes speaking
and preaching speeches
with empty calories and songs
into my broken ear drums.)
pedals harp on antiquity,
past (re)cycling like rolling hills,
never ending cycles
as my auntie’s lock
never unchains itself
it plucks my existence
like perennials, year after year,
until only mere kernels
are left after full bloom,
but the rest of the petals recycle
like (and back into) the earth again.
ears (of corn) fed (to her),
but that was it.
Words, words, words, words, these words
Only one can hope that we’ll never run out of these words,
Really, I’ll probably-- eventually run out of these words,
Despite the fact that there are millions of these words,
So…I ask….that you finish me when I finally run out of…these.....
Pairings: Heba X Atem, Yami x Yugi, Seth x Jono, Ryou x Bakura
Anzu & Vivian Bashing.
The slaves cart road smoothly over the sands of the desert, the path worn almost rocky by years of constant travel.
Heba woke as one such jolt bumped his head into the side of the wooden wagon. He sat up with a small gasp of pain, in the darkness he tried to figure out where he was. The closely packed bodies of the other slaves and the capturing grip of iron shackles around his wrists reminded him where he was.
Heba looked around half sad and half angry that this had happened. He tugged at his bindings yet again, wincing when the metal rubbed his sore wrists; he had tried to escape so many times. But even if he got loose … he couldn't leave.
A pale hand covered his wrist. Heba jumped slightly and looked at the hand's owner. Matching amethyst eyes looked back at him worriedly, sadly and with a hopeless resignation. "Heba, don't," the youth pleaded softly, le
i row in a fucked up gondola
with holes in the base of it
and dollars gone like there
were craters in my pocket
because i’m drowning
in the you boat,
in this regatta defeat.
burning the edge of bucks
like i was preparing venison steaks.
in a venetian lagoon the stakes
rising like adriatic sea
salt poured into your eye,
after they’ve been ripped
from their sockets.
saltwater kisses my cheeks
as if i’ve swam
in the strait of malacca.
stuck in waterlogged lockers
where the waves have bullied me
into submission, submerged
in this oceanic obituary.
Pairings: Heba x Atem, Yami x Yugi, Seth x Jono, Ryou x Bakura
Anzu & Vivian Bashing
The palace garden was lush with green, there were endless flowers and the trees offered welcomed shade. There were ponds full of fish and lilies and that was also an endless supply, no matter what the garden was green, and healthy.
In the palace garden, specifically the private garden, a teenage boy slept next to a tree. He had tri-colour hair, black at the base, red outline, and yellow lightening streaks with yellow bangs framing his face. He was lean, with some muscles and sharp features. He was pale skin unlike those around here, and behind his close eyes was amazing crimson. He turned onto his side and got comfortable again, he never noticed the two people behind the tree watching him nap.
"Okay Mana, do you have the bucket?" asked a teen who look exactly like the sleeping boy, but had tan skin instead.
The girl next to him nodded. She had tan skin like him, br
let me elaborate -- sure you get the ideas from your
and spin wordy sketches in between moments
but the community bathrooms and living
quarters that you share with another person
leave much to be desired
and i desire loneliness
because i have no excuse to be
alone (which they perceive to be disastrous
to our health), so i recede into myself
which is disastrous to my health
i like indie rap because it’s art
trapped under a stigma of astigmatism
which is probably why my favorite rappers
wear art frame glasses to see miss
and conception. or somethin’.
i like indie rap because i see myself
in the dudes who weren’t popular enough
to make it into the main’s ear,
soundwaves, or bloodstream
but those other weirdos
wearing sweater vests
with a gold cross linked round necks,
bow ties and nine fifty fitteds.
i like indie rap because i can whisper
broken assonance confused for direct rhymes
and snort lines and hide behind bars
and listen to prison songs
without ending up under the jail.
i like indie rap because i can repeat words
and look cool so words slice through eyes
like swords through irises
because i swore that i’d write
what sounds right and how i’d want
even if you don’t understand how i pen.
so even if my pupil can't pin
down these tones, rhythm, and space
we know tones sigh l
Eyes, so deep and thoughtful
Heart, so warm yet guarded
Hands, so gentle yet firm
Memories, so lovely yet painful
He thinks he's the only one
The only one who feels lost
Lost within the tides of emotion
Emotions that seek to drown me
Drown me in nostalgia
I think he knows
Knows my weakness
My weakness when it comes to him
Him, with his lips, eyes and hands
Hands that I miss against me
Truth, so relieving yet damning
Pain, so pure and too much
Too much to think about
Think about burying the thoughts
Thoughts that remind me of him
My one doesn't know
Doesn't know what I'm thinking
Thinking about these lost ones
Lost ones who gave me up
Or who I gave up
This distinction makes little difference to my heart
My treacherous heart that loves
Loves any who has held it no matter what
No matter how long its been since we said goodbye
Goodbye to him and I, to our love
Head, so full of thoughts and memories
Heart, so stuffed with those I've claimed
Skin, so eager for touc
Let this page to its renaissance!
On each prepared foot, place a shoe:
Change begins with imprints in the soot
By leaving fool's feet behind to go barefoot;
In doing so, let us say in unison, "Adieu!"
But not to the poets, not to the form,
Welcome them all back to the norm!
Wring out the lackadaisical minds of our time,
That velleity within the common sloucher;
Gouge out their eyeballs, they may voucher,
To clean their outlook, they're full of grime!
Wring out the careless 'I don't give a fuck,'
The yawns and stretches upon these lines,
Wake up! Wake the reader that reclines —
Look, it is not hard; do not be moonstruck!
Wring out the war and bleak sequel
Between the forms Literature and Art —
To Hell with ignorance, they play a part;
All shall see their beauty is equal!
Wring out the thoughtless cliché phrases,
The strength of a toad, they always croak,
Fix it! Fix the attention span it is b