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Happy birthdayJust as every year, the minutes
leading to midnight were pregnant
with disappointed expectations.
Expectations that carried within them
the knowledge that nothing was going to happen.
I knew those words were coming, but
they felt empty -
just like a lame "take care".
Her intention probably wasn't empty,
but words are like that sometimes.
My "Thank you" was worse,
like a vacuum sucking in the following words,
whatever genuine thing it could've been.
DawnYou sit forlorn, mist lining your faces
Your deplorable, despicable faces -
dull promise running through them
like an unobtrusive strand of hair.
The moon melts into an angelic face,
the stars come together to mend your heart.
Bolted to your seats, tired and dazed,
the perfect sunrise.
But who will mourn your loss?
How will you relinquish your pain?
There are no authors left to
write of such fatuity anymore,
for they're all drudging to pawn off their own pain,
weeping like children, carving into tree barks,
vomiting outside cheap bars, drunk,
penning away in the hope of respite.
So go home, and change that lightbulb.
There is no real dawn.
A poet's crimeI've committed a single crime, far too many times. I hid it in my pockets till it burnt my fingers. I held it inside me, like a mother protecting her child from evil. I nursed it within me till it grew, moulded it into its best form, carved it into my veins.
One morning when I woke, my head remained drenched in a darkness saturated with cries. To have held on to a poem until it finally died, escaping my veins, my pockets, my memory. That is a crime. And I have a history of crime hiding behind my ears.
PenpalYou always write, from
a country that's too far away.
You tell me of your sins,
your relationship with your brother,
your best traits in bed.
You send me coins; I picture you
a different face on each of them.
I hold one to my chest, smell it.
May be you smell like coins. Or
freshly laundered sheets.
You send me mix tapes; I listen in the bath.
I can't read or watch insects surround street lamps,
without you tip-toeing through my head.
Do you dream of unspeakable things?
Does the sound of velcrow somehow comfort you?
Do you also watch railway tracks
converge and diverge, struck by its beauty?
These are things I want to know.
With your every letter,
my fingertips beg to find your face.
Another one, another timeThe stereo is vomiting our every song one by one.
But there is a silence, thick as custard
that tells a story of
two lovers and twenty thousand loves.
You are here with me, listening too.
Climbing on to my collar bone,
licking my earlobe and teasing my every sense,
before you settle, lodged between my ribs.
I think always, of how it would be
if we stayed close enough to touch
but not kiss,
to discover what we loved and hated
before we separated.
I wished that in the whiteness of your room,
I found a space next to you,
just by your side -
to see the world
the way you saw it.
Staring at the ceiling didn't
feel the same without you.
Still, I have no regrets.
I am more fragrant now that
I recognise myself as an entity separate from you.
I reek of my own mistakes,
and bloom alone on dew-kissed magenta mornings.
But one day, we will bloom together once again,
shaming sunflowers and shutting up glottis.
You are yours and I am mine.
One day, very soon,
I will have words to put out here,
Black and whiteMy hands are pressing piano keys,
black, white, white, black, white.
You are there, sitting at a distance.
Staring into the Earth, tall grass and shadows and all,
dirt waiting to get into your nails.
The sun here is always either rising or setting.
This is today and that, tomorrow.
We have no in betweens.
At the balconyCups of tea brimming with
fuse with smoke-rings that
leak from our mouths.
I watch them, as they escape into the
yellowness of artificially lit skies.
MuteI made love to you one night
and came back feeling as beaten
as the bus I sat in.
I held on to the frayed seat,
the weight of remorse
bearing down on me.
Staring out the window,
I felt my fingers numb.
Hidden away like a dreadful sin,
I still wait for you.
Come, suck the sweetness out of me.
Drink me, be sated.
Today, you celebrate your anniversary;
and my weakness.
CityCity of dreams
city of profligacy.
Tall buildings loom over me like
hungry vultures over a corpse
Salty waters surge at my feet,
trying to sway me, shake me, and lose my grip.
There is no poetry here.
Words that creep out of road-side flowers
and man-made fountains
shrivel up like raisins under the sun.
Rhyme that drifts in ethereal melodies
falls flat to the ground like
birds shot dead.
People walk about like
weary robots in spurious contentment.
Sweat and grease traded with
There is no poetry here.
The days stretch on like
an ocean of waste,
too vain to be salvaged.
City of dreams,
City of make-believe,
I wish I could leave.
Encyclopedia of Internet IdiotsEver since the Internet was popularized in the 90's, the human race has been united through a cybernetwork of fiber optics and electric pulses. The internet allows for interaction and actions that formerly took days, months, or even years to take place. The internet is also a database of all known human information and knowledge. Since the mid 2000's, the Internet has become its own society with it's own culture and social structure, composed of many different human cultures, beliefs, thoughts, and ideas. But in a place where everyone is connected, you are bound to come across idiots. I have put together a list of the different categories of said idiots, it will give you a brief description and subtypes of said idiot. This list will be expanded based on your suggestions, but for now, enjoy the lulz
Fail Troll: A person who attempts to troll people or groups of people to get a rise out of them. They are not clever or sneaky like the professional trolls, and they are rather
Old Spice-Different Nations and CitiesBonjour Ladies , Look at Your man. Now Back at me. Now back at your man. Now back at me again. Sadly he is not me. But if he stopped eating hamburgers and benched pressed moose like me , he could attempt to be MANLY like me. Look down. Back up! Where are we? We're on an iceberg in the arctic. What have I got? It's a baby seal. Look again! The seal is now maple syrup.ablicon Anything is possible when your canadian , I'm on a bear.
'ello Ladies Look at Your man. Now Back at me. Now back at your man. Now back at me again. Sadly he is not me. But if he started using magic, stop being a frog face and drank tea like me he could attempt to be MANLY like me. Look down. Back up! Where are we? We're on candy mountain. What have I got? It's a baby fairy . Look again! The fairy is now pixie dust. Anything is possible when your british , I'm on a Unicorn.
Konichiwa radies rook at Your man. Now Back at me. Now back at your man. Now back at me again. Sadly he is not me. But if he stopped singing gang
England X O.C. I Do Believe in faeries chapter 1
England x O.C.
The sun shone bright and a light breeze tousled a handsome young blonde mans hair. His eyes were a vibrant green but clearly showed the true age of the seemingly ageless young man. He sighed happily the sun shining bright through a break in the english clouds. It wasn’t to often that he got a moment to himself like this. Usually he had to deal with his younger brothers squabbling over nothing or his older brothers banging on his door declaring their displeasure with him. So when he had a moment to himself he took advantage of it and went out for walk in the park. The day was almost perfect save for this high pitched wail behind him.
The young man stood from the park bench that he had been resting on and followed the sound of the wailing to a brown satchel that hung precariousl
Infatuation . . .
What is this . . . feeling that I couldn't shake myself free from?
I honestly don't know, despite that I felt this way in some points of my life that led up until now . . . Okay, I'll admit that I have felt this way towards a few, selective guys in my classes—I mean . . .
You see, I've been having my heart's eyes on this guy for a little too long. Like, this isn't normal at all—not for me, that is. I'm somewhat of a . . . tough girl (if that's even a proper way to describe me briefly), you know? It's rare for me to head over heels for someone just from the sight of a boy that seems like my type. The main—er, one of the main—reasons for this has to do with my education. What I mean by that is getting exceptional grades as I pave my own little path to graduation at the end of my high school years.
The boy that my oh-so fluttering heart was spying on was honestly decent lookin
Prowl and Jazz's little once grown up brat. *Vent*For the past several days Ninjadash just starting to experience what humans called it a "Teenage Temper Tantrum problem". His sire Prowl and his carrier Jazz doesn't know that Ninjadash is having this problem. Ninjadash only aruges, fights and ignore his sire. When he is in the training room alone or in his room alone, he will be throwing things, punching and kicking everything in his path. Plus he will eb saying words like "Frag it!" or "Slag it!", but he sometimes be calling other bots "FRAG YOU!" or "SLAG YOU!"
Blood MoonWe stood in the middle of the road in flip flops and winter jackets. Our silhouettes were outlined by the motion sensor lights on the porch, our heads tilted back searching the sky.
"Have we ever even looked for the moon out here before?"
She shrugs and sighs. "No, but we also have never been out at half past twelve."
"Yes we have. We just never looked at the sky." Maybe because we didn't care if it was their, as long as we had the porch light, we didn't need the moon. But i didn't say that.
I saw lights down the road but they weren't moving closer.
"Should we go up to the turn-around?"
The car sounded exceptionally loud leaving the driveway at this time. We pulled up on the mat of pine needles on the side of the road and stepped out of the car. We went to both sides of the road and strained our necks but we saw nothing.
"Should we go to the bottom of the hill?" It's a mountain. I know why she calls it the hill though. It's such a gradual slope you'd never guess you were a thousa
A mu keletkezesenek korulmenyei Nyár volt, vagy ha nem, hát május, ragyogó. Meleg. Az a fajta, ami koránkelésre buzdít meg cselekvésre. Arra a fajtára, amit magunk választunk ki magunknak.
A lány felkelt korán, hogy cselekedjen, tanfolyamra induljon. Megivott két csésze feketét, hacsak em éppen hármat, megetette a szürkét és a fehéret, azokat a bajszosokat, amik dorombolnak és nyávognak. Gyorsan átfutotta táskája tartalmát, tankönyv, füzet, szótár, tolltartó, rendben. Aztán olvasójegy, könyvtári könyv, vázlatfüzet rajzoknak, színes ceruza, jegyzetfüzet írásoknak, tökéletes. Minden a helyén, az is, ami kell és az is, ami kell. És persze a lakat. A lakat nagyon fontos. Kerékpárl
My evil puppet roommate - Sneaking out - part 1"Oh, come on, Slappy, it's just for a few hours!" begged Niky, joining her hands in plea
"Yeah" Rosechan approved "It won't take long! We'll be back so soon you won't even notice we've been out!"
"I said no, slaves!" said Slappy, in an harsh tone.
The girls wanted to hang out with their friends that evening, but Slappy didn't want to let them go. So, has he sat on his armchair, they knealed down in front of him and started to beg him persistently
"We did a great job this week, remember?" said Niky, hopefully "You said it too, Master! We fixed your armchair and pillows right, and cleaned the room properly, washed and dried your jacket perfectly... We even ironed your suit!"
"That's right!" nodded Rosechan "You said we did such a good job, we deserved a reward!"
"So... why don't you let us go out, just for tonight?" Niky asked "Then we'll be happy and no more bother you, Master, please-!"
"Enough!" Slappy shout made the girls fall on the carpet. He slipped down from the armchair, and sto
Notebook scribbles - 1My wandering mind rests in your eyes,
trying in vain to understand.
One brief second, and it goes insane.
The thoughts are lost in all its vastness.
They have no connection and make no sense, but
they are plenty.
Plenty enough to keep me going, through all this madness.
The portal between the mind and eyes
is now but a thin line, as vague as it is unseen.
The mind is unaware of what the eyes convey.
The eyes fail to convey the message in yours.
I wish to tell you that it's me and not you,
but my being fails to comprehend.
All that is said now is nothing.
I let it be, for there really is nothing to say.
A Week Of KissesA Week Of Kisses
The first day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your shoulder,
Well before I thought about your lips.
Because I don’t know what I am doing, firstly,
But more importantly,
It’s because I know things can spiral quickly,
If things start shifting
After we lay down the concrete.
So I kiss the foundation,
Before we reach the soil.
The second day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your elbow,
Because it holds together the touch
And the flex.
To exhibit it,
I must kiss the joint that bends
And combines us together.
The third day I told you I loved you,
I lay my lips to your temples,
As I learned about the temple of reform,
For the Youth in North America.
Kissing you there signifying I will protect you,
As well as your temple,
As we re-form, into something more.
The fourth day I told you I loved you,
I’d kiss you softly on your forehead.
Because that’s what holds your brillian
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More