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#24.Confessions of a Hopeless Romantic
why we're into
what we do when we're
if we've shared a straw
if we've made out
if we've slept together
if we've held hands
while walking at night
if you always think of me
if you check my blog every once in a while
if you stalk my Facebook profile
if we talk about our future together
if we look into each other's eyes
if we have confessed to the other
not even me.
#23.Boys and Babies
Boys are dirty
Boys are bad
Boys are horny
They make me so mad
They'll tell you they love you
They'll tell you they care
Most of it isn't true
They just want to stare
But I do love babies
is the scalding breath of winter.
the piss-thin streaks of dandruff snow,
is a kid afraid to be standing
in that corner because of that madman
with that coarse, red face and
but now he's sleeping
under a ragged coat,
so it might be safe? no, no,
this is the wrong memory,
this is not
how he would like
to have him etched...
standing alert and smoking
brand of cigarettes
and twirling that sad stub with
long frost-tinged fingers
back when he would respond
to his feeble
"what are you waiting for?.."
for a bark.
nothing else to wait for!.."
"the steel ship."
a pocket full of posies;
we all fall down...
what exactly awaits us
when our mind and body
simply shut down forever?
will we be remembered by
the things we did or the
people whose hearts we
that's part of life,
all things eventually wilt,
death - an inevitable event.
a girl bullied for who she is
was found (almost) dead in her
own room, her life
hanging on by a thread
while her body
hung on a noose
that was tightly knotted
with hate and self-pity;
why must the bullying continue
after all this time?
she liked girls,
death crawls up walls,
waiting at every turn.
death sings a taunting
lullaby, hoping to lure
its victims into a pit.
death doesn't care
whether your pain was
self-inflicted or caused
death craves your soul,
not your body.
life gives you one chance
use it wisely.
always remember that
everyone has a different
story than you;
your diet coke will only make you hungrier(just some wolf with big blue eyes)
I don't know when I stopped using capitals in my writing
Or when I stopped talking as much
I dyed my hair because I was trying to show you
That I didn't have to show you anything
I told myself to stop writing poems about you
As if the days I spend locked in your ice cold glare
Was something I could escape
My mother still screams at night
She has the worst nightmares I've ever heard
And I think I might be going down the same route
I keep telling myself to breathe
That it is okay, and I will be okay
We were never okay
and despite myself, i've noticed it
you don't look at me anymore
Moriah JeanShe was soft and warm.
She was stone-cold.
I watched her, the strength in her
spine, the height in her shoulders,
the wave of ebony silk cascading over her
back - there was an unmistakable air.
But that skin, tight and smooth,
pulled over round hips, curved along
the concave of her stomach, crested
over her breast- a desert landscape.
She was sharp and round in all the
Formed from lightning and sand-
a burst of energy, a birth of
Untouchable, but for that treasured
moment of welcome, that break in
tension, that upturning of lips, pink
The knowing glance, the wanting look,
the low eyes, so dark, framed by sharp
lines and light- they placed her on a
pedestal, but she bent down with out-
She was not a goddess. She was polished
and coy, she was music - a symphony,
and sometimes, the cymbals crashed;
But she knew she was beautiful, and
she knew her strength was in the way
she let the music
remember melightning steps
haunt the cargo hold
where they let them
doze off... drunken bastards...
lightning steps -
sharpshooter stab marks (neck,)
a stern mother
the glare... bewitched
to the portholes. memento mei,
as written on the daughter's amulet;
she clutches it unknowingly in her sleep.
(will she burn too?) the night is
young but she isn't
anymore; she doesn't
know it yet.
Someone ElseWhat's the point of talking if no one will listen?
Of walking if there's no where to go?
Of singing to an empty room?
Of dancing alone?
Of writing what no one will read?
Of having feelings no one will care about?
You have the hope, that one day, one person might
Listen to you
Walk with you
Hear your soul
Dance with you
Read what is important to you
Care about the feelings you do have
And one day I hope
To do the same
For someone else
A Sirens Song.A slight breeze ruffled plumes attached onto an appendage.
We have searched so far...
Irritation could be seen within smiles.
For so long…
Six eyes watched as the flare from the Sun snuffed itself,
Cursed with feathers…
beyond the horizon.
Adorned to bone…
A breath of lethargy was passed through the group.
Our bodies grow tired…
Heaviness hung in the air.
Too weary to fly…
Darkness was descending.
Enduring days upon rocks…
Anticipation was setting in.
On a tiny isle…
There, within the distance, a slight dot.
A distinct vessel, traveling at a fast speed.
The winds carried to them the shouts of some...
Licking lips in excitement of the approaching storm.
Liners catch reefs, steering it towards their archipelago…
Three heads look towards the sky.
Lives are lo
The Ramblings of a Frozen SoulIt is cold
My fingertips are the most repulsive shade of blue
And my feet linger within the vile chambers of my stomach
Desperation led to this
Fueled by madness
I would be walking out of the cave...
...Had I had the limbs to carry me there
It is cold
Too cold to even scream
But you know...
I do still miss her
The girl who used to be the thing known as my love
Or at least I miss the part of her that was... "alive"
She's still with me
I talk to her frequently
I remember just recently I asked if she'd marry me
She's still thinking about it
Within the chamber that she is suspended in
Sometimes, I wonder if maybe she can't see me
Sometimes I wonder if,
Even though her eyes are open,
She can't see through what's supposed to be a two-way window
Sometimes I think I'm talking through a one-way window
...I really hope I'm not.
Even though she's encased behind the ice
Even though I've lost all feeling
I still "feel" warm when I'm with her
Damn you northern winds
I am everywhere
I am everything
I am your world
I am your voice
I speak in your blood
I sing in your tar
I am your lungs
I breathe your suffering
I contract your tears
I am your past
I recollect your misery
I predict your end
I am your friend
I embrace you with sickness
I deliver you from happiness
I am your everything
I am your only love
You. Need. Me
You. Can. Never. Escape. Me
they called 'im tiddly beadly diddley
but 'is real name was Ted O'Reilly -
dumbfounded, awestruck, dumb fuck;
he was my client and best friend
up until he met 'is 'orrifyingly
last I seen 'im was yesterday,
a brighter afternoon in May
when butterflies and sparrows
go all apeshit o'er the skies:
come to think of it, we had the
most awkward of goodbyes.
he was going on and on about
spiked wheels and a flying trout
or was it a swimming eagle?
bottom line is, he was twitching
all the time and he never does;
he was never seen smiling.
He bought a round for the house
said something about 'is vows
and all I could think of
was who this man was -
whoever he was, he wasn't Ted -
'cause I never heard him cuss.
so I tailed 'im, out of the bar
and into the street to his car
and you know what I saw?
I saw a van pull up close
to where he was and they gunned
'im down before throwing 'im a rose.
no, I didn't see who shot 'im
it was dark, no place wasn't dim
I did hear something, though,
Un roti de Cupidon"Patron.. je suis pas sûr que ça soit une si bonne idée..."
Un bruissement d'ailes presque froufroutant sur sa gauche le fit se retourner d'un bond, mais il ne put percevoir qu'un bref mouvement du coin de l'oeil. Ils étaient rapides, bien trop rapides. Jamais le vieux ne réussirait. De nouveau ce bruit soyeux, semblable à des ailes de tourterelles, mais bien plus proche. Dans son esprit il pouvait les voir, tournant au dessus de sa tête comme autant de vautours prêts à la curée.
Le bruit assourdi des détonations résonna et tout autour d'Emmanuel une pluie de plumes commença à virevolter tandis que cinq bruits sourds accompagnaient la chute d'autant de corps autour de lui.
"Ramasse les, petit. On a encore du boulot."
Avec une grimace mi admirative, mi dégoûtée, le jeune homme se mit au travail, enfilant des lourds gants de cuir pour se protéger. Son sup
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