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NotebookWrinkled cover, scratchy fringes
Worn out backing, crumpled pages
Loosened notes and ripped up drawings
Faded color, senseless scrawling.
Lovely songs with twisted meaning
Abandon notes for luck of cheating
Perfect lines like cold cell bars
Keep the words held where they are.
Paper thin and razor edged
Perfect weapon, word "alleged"
Evading pain, weave a lie
Words a tool for those most sly.
Blunt-force trauma, choose a secret
Like a brick to those who keep it
Or slit throats, slow and easy
Words of romance, flawless victory.
InstitutionalizedShe stands before the glass
waiting for the lies.
But they never come.
Because the darkened walls
have soaked them up
on a Sunday afternoon,
and he'll never understand
that this was all a test
The parallel parking section
that no one truly passes,
simply sliding by with a D+
But sobriety will be the culprit
for being too damn hard
for some to take with a grain of salt
As she likes to live.
A warm, charming smile
settles in the curves of her skin
waiting for the lies.
Bad Habits Die HardI wake up on the floor, broken. I didn't even open my eyes. I know what I've done. Me arm is so sore... I had done it again. Without even thinking. Without regrets.
I should tidy up before mother gets home. She works so hard, I would hate to make her clean. Caked blood comes off tile easily with a warm washcloth. My shirt, though, will need to be destroyed. Evidence.
RelapseShe spilled her soul down the bathtub drain
Hoping it would let her rest at ease a while,
But what she didn't know was that each time
It left closer to the darkness she feared.
This subtle message was a cry for help,
Not knowing she screamed in a foreign language.
The only one with the means to rescue her gave up
On trying for the girl who never stopped drowning.
Acceptance was the sword that pierced her heart
Worse than any chastisement could have scratched.
For the only words that could have saved her were
Lies like "I love you" and "Please don't, for me."
Beyond Repair Drip, drip, drip. What a pretty sound the rain made on the bay window. I love the rain in Olympia. It was like an entire orchestra was performing just for me. Nobody else understood my way of thinking. I enjoy the little things in life, like the rain and my cute beagle puppy Maggie. She's the only family I have aside from Mom and Dad. My parents were probably sitting in the living room watching the plasma T.V. bickering back and forth for the remote.
That remote. I can't say how many times that little square of plastic with all it's dazzling little rubber buttons has cost me precious memories with Daddy. Ever since Mom left us here in Utah for her Hollywood boyfriend, the poor man has been glued to the couch, leaving me to take care of my little brothers. They've been all kinds of upset ever since our pet cat Checkers was put down. None of us wanted him to go, but it was for the best. One helluva Christmas present
.the sun did not
kiss my skin
yesterday, he slept
face around noon
and then went back
to bed; the
midnight aches and inside strangersevery night
I wake up to strangers
(No, it's not what you think.
These aren't one-
or tequila lungs
They're the oaths
kept in the
depths of my
of the fears
the dearest dreams
slithering my spine]
these are the cups
in my sorrows
in the riverbed
of a throat
from the vine garden
they found a way
They are the ones
in my blood
shuddering my bones
There's no fright.
folded like a contortionist
in my chest
while the moon
my sky's pendant,
and just listens.
Winter WhiskImagine this: a world of writers
weaving words of utmost wonder,
witnessing fair wintry whirlwinds
that sputter through weary willows,
and wade among the windowsills -
not one whisper left obscured...
Even as the stars of woolly white
wither into an angel-winged flame,
welcoming wires of watery copper
that attract the wolves of wildflower,
and wrestle with thoughts of spring -
surely snowfall wins the poets' hands.
IciclesWarm, soft air,
Breath as a ghost on the breeze
condensing into a fine mist,
Dancing bitter pirouettes
and whispering silken omens,
as petals in the snow.
Cold, hard earth,
Crunching miniature cities
with a single, gentle footfall,
Loping, silent, singing
liquid silver racing,
Urgent, fateful missions
as glacial rivers flow.
Delicate, crystal bells,
Delightful, intricate daggers
deceiving battered flesh,
Garnished, bruised, marked
fantastic rainbow shades,
Radiating fractures leak
as veins of shattered pearl.
Harsh, rasping nails,
Driving blizzards shrieking
blue, murderous claws,
Acute fangs clenching
against blasphemous vows,
Fall to the depths
of ostracised perdition.
Trying to HuntThere was a tear sometime into winter
It was deep onyx and browbeaten
Bleeding murk that grayed the snow,
In an unknown portion of the cedars;
Cold filled the sandwich up with slime.
“Time” said Rex, “the seer of all things
has found you out.” (Trudging went the boots)
Winter looked soft but wetly it chaffed, it made
One’s feet miserable; the gun kept slipping
And the jacket decided to forgo its warmth.
There was no grand effulgence amongst the Ether,
There was no “I” in the clouds; what was one hunting?
Geese they flew in an echelon that burned in white
Every year feeling it out, knowing better; ‘they must feel
Love? They bond for life;’ no “I” was in the cloud.
Horrible is a truth that one can find, reflected in
A swath of nature, there is no help in the hollows
Or the brooks, no solace when blood is in one’s ears
Consciousness buzzed along, and breath labored;
One listened to the heartbeat atop the clinkin
What if the sky had feelings
And it's clouds were its face
If it rained, it was sad
It it was clear, she was glad
If it was dark and stormy, she was mad
But I wait everyday
For it to one day just snow
Eventually it would snow on a grey sky
The sky was exceptionally sad today
It was winter and no one liked the cold
She felt lonely and empty
And kept her clouds just as grey almost everyday
Because no one seemed to care anymore like they used too
One day she thought maybe it was time to wake up
Maybe bring in something beautiful she recently created
It started snowing, scared that no one would think it was beautiful
It was just a light snowfall
She was wrong, the light ice crystals that fell from the sky pleased many
Finally, she felt welcomed by the fellow people
And her heart had felt warm and less alone
She smiled in the winter
Because she felt accepted
(In general I enjoy winter, yes it's quite lonely and well that's me xD but I think it's a beautiful season, don't judge it by
SeasonsH-hi my name is Spring..
people like call me Shy a lot..
im the most calm of all 4..
normally I hate to talk but,
ill bring in a little chat..
sometimes if im not making my drizzle entrance,
ill put up a kite in the breezy sky..
its very peaceful during my time,
maybe even putting some freshly new flowers
while wearing my green wispy dress.
even though me and autumn don't have a lot of time,
ill make sure nature will show who i really am by then..
Hello! The name's Summer!
people love to call me outgoing!
I'm the pretty radical season here guys.
haha yo im not afraid of others,
so I ain't worried of chatting with folks!
ill bring in my sizzling heat entrance (whoops!)
with a friendly atmosphere during my period!
eh ill just put on my Muse hat + sunglasses
along with my epic shirt n' pants
luckily me and winter last for a while
so hopefully the heat and fun will help shows me off!..
*Sigh* oh sorry, im Autumn
the complaining folks calle
Lovely WeatherWalking home is ecstasy when clouds decide to cry
To pout with their big puffy lips and spin the wind around
Creating a ballet too elegant to be seen by the eyes of man
It's simply too bad that more people aren't crazy enough
To reach up and ask the lonely clouds to dance.
The puddles create little portals, through which
The world is reflected back against itself more clearly
And on a rainy day the droplets hit these mirrors hard
Shattering the peace to reach back toward the sky
If only they could bounce high enough to return home.
Leaves cling to each other in the gutters or in yards
Hoping for a ray of sun to pierce the biting cold
Or a wandering child to kick up their close packed piles
And free them from their lovely clumps of color
So that they could once again freely fly.
Red Letter Day - Prologue
So here I am, writing.
I’m writing, I’m writing – just as you told me to.
I’m writing, I’m writing, I’m writing.
Have you ever noticed that when the sun goes down, this flat changes? It does. The walls are white during the day and lingering brown at night. During the day, I’m with you and the light from outside paints the walls that heavenly color. But when that sun goes down, the demons wake and I’m alone again, even though you’re just a room away.
Somehow it seems less threatening tonight, and I think it’s because you’ve given me an assignment to try and fight off the darkness. You gave me a stack of papers and a pen and told me to write everything that comes to mind.
It’s a strange feeling to have complete freedom. These empty pages are mine to do whatever I please – I could even wipe my ass with them – but they’re also terribly intimidating. The blank page has always been a nemesis of man. It&
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