TheBandBrony

Eb6 "When nuclear bombs are falling on top of your head, is your first thought to save your records? B7 No. Of course it’s not. It’s nopony’s first thought. It’s not the second thought or the third thought. Usually those are stupid worthless thoughts about how the sun must be reflecting off a street sign, or how--golly gee, that breeze sure is strong today!, or perhaps an interrogative as to whether or not Princess Celestia tripped on her royal bathroom rug and dropped the sun, if she could really drop such a thing like you would a coffee mug or a warhead. It’s not the fourth or fifth or sixth (those are reserve

And on occasion the silhouettes start to blur-- Like an echo in a large lightless room--coming back in the shape of her Bent upwards sickle shaped no good spineless fat the jelly in your roll the whiskey in your bowl-- Playing the blues Won’t someone notice me? Me--of all people A side show alternate attraction rain check let’s hang out with sickle shaped no good spineless fat--me--but only because I’m bored and all my other friends are out performing what you didn’t know they’re the main event drinking and smoking and fucking that’s what’s fun that’s what I want to do but instead I’

A momentary sunrise; A car with its brights on cresting the hill. Fog lifted from the grass scatters the light in all different directions. Between us, a flinch and a nod-- Me, speeding one way. He, the other. One tired passenger to the other, nodding to keep from nodding off-- Captured, for a brief moment By the yellow eyes of another.

صديقي There is a certain universal look of polished horror on a soldier’s face when he encounters a suicide bomber. The Sergeant could see it now on many of their faces. But these looks came mixed with something else, not quite the cold, analytical stares he was used to seeing. These kinds of calls came with conviction, with gusto. A real soldier’s call for help. Here was one of the few chances they got to fight an undisputed bad guy. The bad guy was the one with the bomb on his back, screaming and foaming at the mouth and ravenous and crazy and above all else bad. The bad guy was not a chubby, well

"Goodnight, my dear." "You think so?" "With you it is." "But what do you know?" The moon was out as I walked down her driveway. It shrugged off the clouds so I could see the crack in between the sidewalk and the street. My hands uncurled in my pockets, and I glided through the humid air, my suit coat billowing like a sail the same color as the clouds closest to the moon. I had kissed her the moment before. She laughed, and shrugged me off. I had to get home anyway. Curfew and all. Time seemed to distort around her, speeding up as it neared her and then slowing down as it flew away. Part of her charm was its temporarity. Here and then gon

jeremy what are you doing The needle shook in his hand. It didn’t normally do that. Blinking back the horrible sun, he squinted through the grimy windshield of his car towards the intersection a few meters away. Five impossibly bright lights,four made of pulsing strobes and one in the center made of dirt, burned his conscience into quietness. No matter where he went, the outside world would follow him. Taint his quiet reality with light and noise--oh god, the noise--until he had to find something with which to combat it. Outside, he was sure there was noise. His doors were shut and his windows down and his needle at the ready, and st

I'd buy a fancy typewriter That chimes at every line-- Spend hours hunched behind its keys A channel for my mind. And then, when I have had my fill I'll toss it to the curb, Pick up a pen and curl my words The lessons I have learned. To write, to write!, in metered verse-- I'd lose the will to talk. The only thing you'd hear from me D'be ink and lead and chalk. It's just one thing to learn to type-- To write's organic., pure, To displace real-life molecules, That's what I want to learn.

The scars and honest scratches That sit upon your skin, Are little insects, caterpillars, Millipedes of sin. They draw the stares of children And ill-concerned adults, The lines read from a distance; A comic of your faults. But all those little insects Won’t bite you any more, Your skin is tougher, thicker Than it was a year before. They used to hurt like crazy But now you wish them gone. The pain that once was there It didn’t settle there for long. And when it went away you felt Some misery and shame. It’s easiest to hate those Who’re willing to take the blame. Too bad that got you nowhere, Left you back where yo

Most days 5 a.m. is when I’m asleep And you’re awake. Later I’m awake And you’re asleep. Some times 5 a.m. is “your 10 p.m.”. When I wake up and it’s night. It’s when there’s no work And I’m awake till the morning light. Some day 5 a.m. is when we meet. On the street, by your door. We forget all those screens And it’s like never before.