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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.
TG Bride Possession 2 (CapTrade)
After trying and trying to get his buddy Dave out of marrying her, Seb was unsuccessful. For months now, Dave had been dating a woman named Anna who he was unaware was only a goldigger after finding out she was gonna divorce him and end up taking most of his families fortune in the end. Seb could not let that happen. But it was no easy task however, Dave was indeed blind to the idea she would do this to him. Pursion after pursion was enough as this hard act was the moment when Dave broke all ties with Seb as his best friend and bared him from the wedding. There was nothing more he could do, Dave was gonna marry Anna and it was gonna end badly for him.
The day of the wedding finally came and everyone was gathering into the church. Seb arrived as well only he had other plans in mind. Instead of going through the front door with everyone, he decided possibly to sneak in the back. Going around the back of the church, he was a lil confused at how there was no door, but a small window
To my dearest Minions. To my dearest Minions,
My name is Laertes, king of the Universe.
Or, soon to be. It is a slow and painful process, but I know that it shall be worth all the while.
Would you like to know more about my personality? Sure you do.
People tell me that I am very vain and narcissistic. I am not. I simply want to share my glorious-ness with the entire world, and force my minions to worship me. To be a faithful Minion, you must depict me in art forms of all types.
People ask me whether or not I have a favorite Minion. I do. My favorite Minion is the one who loves me the most. You know who you are.
My fan group, I love you , but not as much as you love me. I am far above that. I shall love you more in due time.
Thank you for listening to me today, and remember to be a faithful minion.
Your King and Overlord of All ,
PS. Remember my creator, :iconVanillasaurusRex: , and Remember my friend :iconTardar-Sauce: , who is typing for me because I do not have fingers.
It can't be so it must beSometimes i say it can't be
because it can't
but sometimes i say it must be
because it must
I must be
Therefore I can't be
Do you ever wonder if the cup you're drinking from has a bottom?
You see it has a pit - rather, a stomach - and how it ends to fit in your palm, but do you ever wonder if you're seeing everything?
It makes sense, to assume it has a bottom and to assume it must be able to be filled and emptied.
But what about the ones that sprung leaks? What about the ones who broke in all the wrong places?
You know what's going to happen to them. Cracking. Trashing. It's a death sentence, for something that cannot experience death. You must do something about it.
You pitch the worthless cup.
Have you ever wondered what it's like to be be the worthless cup?
Do you think about it daily? Does asking the question, "Am I a worthless cup?" haunt you?
Do you live in fear of that question? Do you live in fear over what you could be? What you can't be? What you must be? Are you ever c
MirrorsThe corner of my mouth is throbbing and I really, really just want to rip that entire part of my face off right now... seriously I just want to burry my nails in my face and yank them down as fast and hard as I can, I want to hurt myself. I want to look into this mirror and see my blood. I want to hurt myself. And for some reason this storm is making the urge a thousand times stronger then what it usually is... How did I get to this point? how did I become this disgusting shell of a human. Am I still human? do I qualify? no.. I don't. how did this happen to me... why am I standing here staring into the eyes of this thing. These eyes.. the corners torn... bloodshot... how can the still see? My eyes. The mouth... dry and cracked... a cut curving downwards from the right... is that what so annoyingly hurts? yes, I believe it is. that hand slowing being raised to my face, it's mine, isn't it? Nails jagged and caked in dirt. fingers trembling, wrist covered in scars. yeah.. that's mine. I r
I had this saved.Verse: Original fiction.
Full Name: Isaac Simmons
Pronunciation: Eye-Sack Simm-ons
Nickname/Alias: I, Isaac.
Origin: It fit the character very well.
Pet Name: Izzy (long story XD)
Signature: (What is their handwriting like?) God awful XD
Gender Role: Acts more feminine.
Real Age: 16-18
Age Appearance: 14
Birthday: 2nd June
Birthplace: Wordsley Hospital
Immediate Family: Father (Derrick) Sister (Isabella)
Distant Family:Mother (unnamed)
Parenting: Very strict, Derrick didn’t want to make the same mistakes his parents did.
Upbringing: No real morals taught, he came up with his own at a young age.
Infancy: Dropped like a hot stone by Mother. Father kept him and his twin sister very much a secret.
Childhood: His childhood consisted largely of worry, constantly being afraid of being taken by the police whenever Derrick went out.
Adolescence: At age 14
Blue dragonIt's been 2 days since I had dreams about being a blue dragon.
The first dream was just me playing GO with my friend as a orange dragon and there's nothing else I can remember. One question, Why GO?! = ="
Another dream was weirder than the first. There was a news about the missing people in a town.
I and my mom went to a zoo in that town. During the time that my mom wanted to watch an elephant show, I went outside of the zoo to do something to wait for her because I was bored.
When I was walking along a bridge, there were a women and a girl walking pass me and I heard them talking.
"It's too hot here!", the child said.
"I told you it's not worth to come here.", her mom replied.
I didn't pay attention to them much but it seemed that they knew I was listening to them.
I started walk fast to be apart from them as fast as possible.
At that time the traffic was heavy and most cars stopped at a nearby junction.
I crossed the road and passed some stopped cars, then I started running si
Twiddling My ThumbsSometimes just sitting and people watching can be a source of some of the greatest entertainment. I always find my eyes and ears wandering when I'm in public, waiting for some interesting tidbit to float over to me. Most of the time it is just nothing nonsense. But...occasionally someone lets something big slip in the public eye. This is particularly true of restaurants and grocery stores.
I was meandering around at my favorite fast food place, Braum's (There are two Braum's in my town, this particular event occurred at my favorite of the two, the one my friend, Brandon, manages. I really can't stand the other one.), when I happened upon a conversation of two young lovers. They were chatting about where to go next. See, apparently they fled home because neither of their parents wanted them to be dating each other and probably for good reason. Regardless, they had come quite a ways. somewhere in the range of 300 miles in an old beater, working odd jobs along the way to supply the car wi
Hundred Memories #3: FootstepsJuly 15, 2014; 11:30 PM
I couldn’t help but laugh as I read the lines of text appearing on the screen, clutching at my sides out of habit. It wasn’t that the message itself was amusing in any way, but that the scenario in itself was. Quickly typing out a response and wrapping my sweatshirt tighter around myself, I couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps smile isn’t quite the correct description – it was more an upward quirk of the lips. The laughter, the smile. It wasn’t that it was funny. Just that I didn’t know how else to react.
In moments like that, I always tended to reflect on what, exactly, ‘normal’ is. Surely it isn’t anything within the confines of that concept, two fourteen-year-olds discussing death? Rationally discussing the idea of death, of dying, of – of being alright with our own deaths? Again a chuckle slipped past my lips, met with only the darkened silence of my bedro
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.
Nine TimesI saw him nine times.
The first time we were both sitting in the room together, getting ready to take the math test that would determine our placement. I was scatterbrained and throwing things around, trying to find the pencils that I had known I would need but had still just tossed in my purse. He was lounging backwards in his chair, looking for all the world as though he didn’t have a single care in the world, including the upcoming test. It annoyed me, that I was frantic and ready to scream, while someone else could be that relaxed.
I tested out of the class.
I don’t know if he did.
The second time I saw him, it was a few months after I arrived on campus. He was the one rushing and frantic this time, running across the square. He was probably late for class, though I had no way of knowing for sure. I was already lost in my own thoughts and ideas, deciding on my major and convincing people that yes, this is what I really want to do with my life. If they weren
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