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Friday nightI'm not here at all.
Late Friday afternoon when the hum of a major world city exhales into a weekend somewhere outside my door, down the hill, and into the exhausting pulse of traffic and rage and fumes and streaks of red tail lights blur into one line, exodus. End of the week. Freaking Hallelujah. Time for a drink. Time for medication. Time to numb, numb, numb, the pointy little heads that float on sticks called bodies with bulging eyes for viewing computer screens lit green like alien ooze sucking out reason and thinking and feeling from their ears until they really don't have much left to give.
I'm not you.
I'm at home, hearing the trees sigh, watching the dusk come, hushed, over the woods outside my window, wishing I were strong enough to partake of humanity's toil which requires wearing mascara and clean socks and bracelets and confidence. Which requires thoughts that are expressed with vocal chords not keyboards and brings me into the symphony of the world's thrumming worki
I'm locked in.
Maybe a mummy.
Maybe a blowfish.
Maybe a zombie.
TakenTake a heart and wring out every drop of blood from it.
Take a brain and singe it until all reason is gone.
Take a chest and flatten it until no air can hold, no breath taken.
Take a soul and sear it with pain unmentionable.
Take a father who has lost his daughter.
And you will find two beautiful lives lost.
Take the daughter and cling with sorrow.
Take her memories and scream to the sky.
Take her laugh, her smile, her voice.
Take her beauty and hold it close.
Take her love, her pain, her tears.
And you will have so little of her eternal self.
Take this life and fight it completely.
Take this life and question its meaning.
Take this life and push open the door.
Take this life and see its brevity.
Take this life and disbelieve its importance.
And you will have a glimpse into heaven.
Take what your soul whispers when you are totally forsaken.
Take what you know, when you cry like a child.
Take what you feel is the only thing possible.
Take what the sunset and the forest and the ocean all
What I'm made ofYou want to know? I'll tell you.
I'm made of:
Rubies, red as blood that spilled on my sheets, and filled my brain and pounded and pounded without ceasing in a song of sorrow
Emeralds, as green as the jealousy I endured, that whipped like silent sheets of nails, across my face
Sapphires, blue as my mother's eyes when they were scary and utterly crazy
Silver, as shiny as the razor of hatred I learned to live with
Amethyst, as purple as the darkest of night, when arms came, real and imagined, and strangled my sense of security
Diamonds, with more edges and more prisms of sparkling light than could ever be imagined, compressed by millions and millions of years of pain in one lifetime.
Gold, as soft as my soul, when I curled with a book and read under the covers, dazzled by fantasy as big as the universe
Pearl, as beautiful as the exquisite hope I hold in my heart, that was created by years and years of sand abrading my core, that can now be harvested from an oyster the size of t
TendrilsThe smoky tendrils of the past
stretch like long arms
with groping angry
They really have no way
of touching you.
They curl and stretch
and come so close,
but they evaporate
before they reach
where you stand.
An invisible wall divides you
from all of the past
(and even all the future)
and anything that is here
is only an echo
or sometimes an echo of an echo of an echo;
less than a ghost.
If the echo is bad enough,
it seems to fill your present completely.
It is only an echo.
The present has no place
of its own.
it is rewritten every single second of
every single day.
on its own
a beautiful blank page
to be drawn and redrawn,
created and recreated
over and over
The echos span the generations
but nothing can take away
that you stand
alone and proud
in your own present,
your own reality.
You call meYou call me a freak
I say I'm unique
You call me crazy
I say sanity is overrated
You call me a sissy
I say I'm sensitive
And proud of it
You call me depressed
I say it's true
But I'm not ashamed of it
Five AMPre-dawn darkness again, seething, quiet
A monster hugging the city
How heavy, how suffocating it is
The clock has run down on time for dreaming
A void between night and morning
Ready to swallow everything up
A time for old men's reflections
On love, and loss, and sorrow
Oppressive black sky, you eat everything
But the all-night diner
Where lonely old men sit
Drinking coffee at five AM
QuicksandYou trapped me
Dragged me below the surface
And held me there
You chained me
Put brass around my ankles
And left me struggling
You broke me
Beat me with whips made of hate
And hurt me more
You changed me
Made me who you wanted
And killed me inside
You hid me
Stole me away from the light
And made me blind
You crushed me
Blew my dust in the wind
And danced on my grave
surrounding my body
And now I'm twenty feet under
With no chance of being saved
From Your 'Secret' AdmirerHeaven,
this is not a love letter
I will swear to God,
with a halo on my head
and a hole in my heart.
But the fact is I revere you
more than I have any right to.
After all, we are nothing except
who have awkward conversations.
So why is it that every time the line
falls silent I panic, worrying that your shadow
will make my efforts nothing but a distant memory,
when every word you speak strongly marks my mind?
Simple: I fear having something to lose
and losing the nothing I have. You are a
treasure to me, and this note becomes my confession.
Sincerely- I typed this, but I'm sure you'll recognize the handwriting.
give me a challenge, give me you.i have grown
the blood in my veins
have become more
than plasma, and i
am now trapped
within my own hollowed-out
this haze of
has to be transitory--
i can't let it be anything
Death, Judgment, RebirthLast Time in the ICU
Shadow rats, beady red eyes focused hungrily
Stay still too long and they’ll swarm
Sharp little teeth rending flesh
They know the sick and weak
They can wait
Tenth floor ICU, down with the disease again
He’s resting quietly, the nurse says
She looks like a huge black rat
Does she know what’s happening?
Closing the door
She walks away
Sweet childhood dreams are interrupted
Rats gnawing away at the edges
Toothy little kisses all over
Cleaning, cleansing scurry
Down to the bone
Sentenced to Live
Firelight, poker-faced patchwork man reading aloud
An old but vaguely familiar tome, his tone is somber
Was I one of the wicked? Weren’t we all?
Who can say that they were good?
Sentenced to live yet another life
I cry; I’ve had enough living
I want to sleep forever, leave my shell behind
To crumble to dust, useless, I won’t need it
Every door opens to the same world
Is this hell, then? The onl
are winter fire
that warms my body,
that stokes my heart.
is velvet gloss
through my hair,
under my shirt.
is silk screen
beneath my fingertips,
between my lips.
moves like ocean water,
washes over me,
floods every inch of me.
clinging to your cheeks,
puddling the pillow,
caught inside my kiss.
palm to palm with mine,
soft and breathy in my ear,
loud and gasping
against my mouth.
pressing against mine,
rising to meet me,
applauding in rhythm.
grasping at my shoulders,
sliding down my chest,
clinging to my skin.
squeezing me tightly.
arching up to me,
tilting back your chin,
pressing us so close.
undulating in excitement,
trembling in joy,
shivering with delight.
echoing inside my head,
calling out to the universe,
telling me everything.
tender and delicate,
~days eat days
like I eat potato chips
on a couch whose
springs have thrown out
their backs no longer able
to hold even the remote up.
it sinks between the seats like
I do every lonely saturday night
or every evening I can’t quite
make it to bed, cupped with
similar back problems,
a similar sag.
I’ve begun to
take after my furniture.
"the only unattractive curve,"
a girl once said to me with a few
desirable curves herself,
"is the one a person develops
in their back.”
we dated for a month and
she called me her
hunchback of notre dome
(it’s dame, babe.)
and I called her beautiful.
and nothing else.
but somehow her leaving did nothing
to straighten my bent back but
only managed to deepen
my parenthetical stance on
those who love me
(they don’t exist).
Little Miss It“Do you enjoy her company?”
That, Avadaci concluded, had been the extent of his grandfather’s kindness. Thank the stars he had broken his neck after a failed attempt to ascend the castle staircase. Not that many were privy to this information. The official listing on the cause of death involved something along the lines of falling in battle after slaying at least a dozen demons, although this was treated with quite a bit of skepticism by the general populace. Yet, interestingly enough, a decent portion of the locals believed a tale about the cannibals of Unkhtom devouring him whole.
Not that Avadaci really cared how his grandfather had died. He was just glad he was dead. And if he was glad his grandfather had died, Avadaci wondered, why did he have to attend his funeral? In fact, the whole kingdom was glad his grandfather had died. Why did they have to attend the funeral?
“Oh Avad,” proclaimed his mother, “obv
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More