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Something tells me that
If you knew I was there
You wouldn't have done
All those amazing things
And if you knew just how
Amazing you really are
The world would cease moving
For just one second
You inspire more
Than you'd like to admit
And it scares you how
So many people are moved
By simple words than actions
Acknowldege your greatness
So the world will end
And begin anew
So I can see your words
For the first time
Rhyme yourself out of this one
It hurts, doesn't it?
"You're going to get poisoned that way." she warned half-heartedly as I chewed on the HB pencil in my hand.
"What kind of poisoning? Lead? Wood? It's all the same to me. Death is inevitable, so why not rush the trip?" I replied.
"What's your damage anyhow? You weren't like this before."
"I think you mean to say 'What's NOT my damage?', darling." I glanced over at her, standing over me. Her green sweater and plaid skirt blended well, almost camouflaging her as normal. I couldn't help but glance up at her chest and then back down to the paper in front of me.
"Skeletons." I muttered and jabbed at the sketch lightly.
"Skeletons, they're just skeletons until I make them something else."
"Sort of like us, eh?" she chuckled, and as she did, I noticed her eyes for the first time in a long while, a bright hazel. They were usually behind her glasses and I'd never cared to look at them as I always had my nose either in a book or over a picture I was drawing.
"What do you mean?"
Do You Ever Feel This Way?
He sat there in his chair, calm and in deep thought, clutching his instruments, tapping them on his teeth. The clicking echoed throughout the dankness.
"What to do with a pretty like you..." he said softly, almost mute.
She couldn't hear him, and even if she could, what good would it do her? She couldn't escape, she was his now, to do with as he pleased.
"I could cut you into little pieces." he murmured and smiled as the word 'pieces' exited, arousing him a bit, he breathed in the scent of the room, stale and a bit musty.
Her predecessors lay around, mangled, maimed, and in various states of decay. One lay in the corner, her spine bent in half and twisted out of shape. Another, drenched by the water dripping from the ceiling's pipes, most only had bits and pieces left behind, a testament to those who came after. A warning of sorts.
"I'm at a loss." he whispered, as he rubbed his temples slowly, trying to ease the pain behind his eyes. It stung and he just wanted it to go away, but he k
He woke up, blurry eyed and dry mouthed, like he was re-born. He scratched his dark brown hair, and glared blindly at the clock in front of him, it was half past seven in the evening.
"Dammit." he mumbled, his voice scratching his throat.
He reached down to the floor and pulled his cel phone from his pocket of his faded blue jeans. The antenna was caught, he furiously pulled and yanked until one of the two objects gave in. He checked his messages, and turned to look behind him. She was gone. She had either left during the early afternoon or late morning, at any rate, he didn't care. She was just another girl, another notch in his belt. The phone rang, vibrating in his hand, he took it and put it under his pillow, he felt like talking to nobody. He had spent the last of his paycheck on a bottle of rum and a pack of cigarettes, both of which, were almost empty.
"Fuck." he shouted, at the half of his lungs, as he searched for his missing sock, fumbling beneath his bed.
He heard cars pass
Harry Sanders was a quiet fellow of low regard. His socks were always mismatched. His tie always had stains of mustard and gravy on them. He made it a point to wear sneakers to office meetings, and on 'Casual Friday' he wore his pyjamas. His hair, a dull grey, was always greased back, making the creases on his forehead more noticable. His glasses were always slung around, what appeared to be, his neck. His nose, which was his most prominent feature, was always stuck behind either a handkerchief, a file, or a book. His beady, sunken, brown eyes never seemed to move from their forward position, except to catch a glimpse of the temporary secretary bending over to pick up arrant paperclips.
Harry was by no means a deviant, or by no means normal. He was just Harry.
One warm and quiet Sunday afternoon, Harry took his dog, Mortimer, to the park. It had been a very busy week at the office, and Harry had, not so much avoided, but forgot, about poor, old Mortimer. Mortimer was a daschund, ten ye
Elevator by -Senor-
James stood in the corner of the elevator, chewing on one of his many unsharpened pencils. He felt rather warm in his charcoal suit, and nearly strangled by the navy blue neck tie. His hair was gelled down to keep the rooster tail from flying up, and his chocolate brown eyes were focused on nothing. The HB rolled on his tongue, the lead seeping into his system, and the paint, chipping ever so slightly, managed to make it's presence known on his tongue. He had always ridden the elevator to calm his nerves after a service, especially since this one, would be his last.
The thought had crossed his mind over the week leading up to his final eulogy. He found many similarities in the job he did and his eulogies. He constantly spoke of being in a better place, moving on, remembering fondly, and of course, that you'll never be forgotten. He always said that, and though you believed it, to him, it was just routine. The words had begun to lose meaning, like when he first said 'I love you.' But,
You Make Me
You Make Me
I wake up and think
Of all the things you've done for me
You've made the world a better place
For us to live in
And though your day
Might not have gone exactly like you planned
I'm tired of gettin' all the time
So I'll start givin'
It's time I told you
All the things you make me do
You make me
You make me feel like it's always spring
You make me
You make me wanna give up everything
Sure it may sound
Kind of cliche but honey
That's how you make me feel
And I ain't ever gonna stop
I feel like
The World's at my command
I've got you by my side and
We're standing up on top
You wanna know, just what you can do
Bring a man down, make him worship you
You make me
You make me think of you all day long
You make me write stupid love songs
Although I really can't complain
You've got my heart, my soul, my brain
You make me wanna run around the world
You make me wanna make you my girl
You make me feel like I'm on cloud nine
You make me f
for Nyssi by Senor
So I may not be there
But I am in a way
I'm there in your heart
And it's there that I'll stay
The memories of you two
Though the thought of it all
Causes you so much pain
I want to help you
Get rid of the hurt
Pick the shards up
From the love stained dirt
Glue it together,
It will feel all anew
But a piece is still missing
It was taken from you
Though it can't be put back
You can try, fill the space
You'll not feel the same
With that piece out of place
I'll help fill it,
So will others too
Your friends and family
Here, to love you
Though you heart may be broken,
And life seems like a bitch
You'll never be poor
All your friends, make you rich
They Arent The Same
I'd only known you a few days
But it's felt like an eternity
And it shocks me that someone would care
Especially you, of all people
But you said 'Hello.' You started it.
Ever since that day, that time I said it.
'I Love You.'
Well, maybe I didn't say those exact words,
But what I said was close, and that's all
It's been said, and now, I feel better.
Life is grand, I can't stop smiling
You've done this to me, and I can't complain
Because this feeling I have, I've never felt
So it must be love, or misguided lust.
At any rate, I love you, and you know.
But, you told me you don't feel the same
You hurt inside, you don't want to love
So, it's not me, but still, I feel it's my fault
I don't regret saying it, but you...
I've never said it to anyone else before.
No words so pure were uttered, so innocent
My love for you is still alive, but it's changed
I still love you, but as a friend, and I'll take that
I'd rather you a friend, than never entering my life
But now, the words don't mean the sa
The Boy Who Wouldnt EatIf you can flutter
I have failed you,
for you were not forged
to be so insubstantial as that
You were writ
to be an epic fable
of endings ignored,
of outlasting your body
through the sheer will
of a writers starving heart
through a broken, bowed
but bravely abiding body
that fights the soul
to comprehend Beauty.
BeautyI'd rather wear flowers in my hair,
forming a delicate chain
Than diamonds around my neck,
covering my tender blue veins
For with every precious petal
and every lucent leaf
I'm a living lesson
teaching beauty can not be bought
But rather it grows and flourishes
with every living thought
Expensive LiesI sit and stare at the toilet bowl.
A guy I know is bulimic.
When we compliment him
I see the twist of agony in his eyes
as his brain reprograms it
to sound like an expensive lie
that costs him another tear
in his tattered dignity.
Friends hurry to him,
to reassure him, to love him.
They tell him how beautiful he is.
We didn't know him before,
but he's definitely not fat now.
We whisper things in concern like;
body dysmorphic disorder.
'I know you'll never believe me
but you are so gorgeous -
not just on the inside.' Not just.
And they're right, I join in,
because they are right to say it
because it happens to be true -
he is stunning. Not just on the outside.
And we want him to see himself
the way we see him, beautiful.
And I join in because
I've felt that strangle of pain
in my stomach, bowels and belly,
when someone used to tell me lies.
So I know how he feels.
Only, he is beautiful on the outside
and I'm not.
He's not seeing reality in the mirror
and I am.
And people rush to correc
Fearing MeI'm not afraid to cry
and I do it
a lot more than you would guess.
It isn't always sadness,
I just feel like I need to,
feel everything so strongly
that it's the only way
to let go for a moment
because if I hold on for too long,
if my grip gets too tight
I'll break myself,
I will break you like glass
and we will both
I am a good guy
who hasn't yet found a way
to show it,
I am a good guy
who still identifies with the villains,
hides everything important
anything to throw you
off of my trail....
and I don't know why,
but I am trying.
Maybe I think
that if you could see me,
the real me,
you wouldn't want to look anymore,
want to be anywhere near me,
and the idea
that I can't add up
to be enough for you,
to be enough for me,
is so fucking heart breaking
I can hardly fathom it.
I can't say that it doesn't hurt
because it does,
it hurts a whole hell of a lot,
I've come to depend on pain,
to befriend misery
you're just a question marki met you so long ago
but back then our bodies were made of metal
and nowadays they’re made of the blades of
grass and dirt settling
underneath my fingernails.
my fingers are having a hard time
reaching the keys and
my organs are shaking mostly because i haven’t
eaten in two days but also
because i’m worried about the things you're doing to yourself.
we didn’t meet very long ago at all but it feels like forever ago
and you say you don’t know me
that you don’t know anyone
but baby you're turning into a skeleton and i’m peeling back my skin
to try and reach my bones, just like you.
i hope you're happy,
i’m covering the hard wood floors now
the bits and pieces splattered.
they are calling it a suicide but i’m calling it
a way to see my brain and
just how dark it has become, and honestly
i don’t want you to try and see about your’s.
i’m mourning the loss of my heart and wish you weren’t either -
Black hole BulimicThe Composition:
I birth poems — not amaranths
in graveyards — not gardens.
sows seeds of doubt
into skeleton weeds.
A farmer plucks the bones
from Apollo's hyacinth; his
I binge on broken
cracked collectors of rocks,
of pebbles kidnapped
from barren beaches:
where crooked kings
buried in books whose
pages creak to crickets
in an abandoned abyss
of an attic—caskets on
an antiquated shelf. I
choke on the dust and
twitch in recoil.
The bickering sky
A cloud coughs—
The clock's scythe hand
swivels to the beckoning
twelve. Spastic ticking—
each bleak stroke
of a midnight heart.
The sundials do not work
now. The vampires know
I kill poems—
obligation steam machineas always
grinding the cankerous
of your cognition
until the lack of compassion
leaves you unlubricated
seized frozen bound stuck
only then the machine of
your fears will burst to steam
squealing to suckle
at the genius of my
the unsung soiled hero
of middle-class ferocity
savior of the undeserving
winding slowly deftly dying
martyr to the self-justified cause
Sound PoemIthrumden, ithrumden delsum
nith mul thruss elmrissull.
Eth rut mundelliss
Curmiette dessel renrin
irme trell ithrumden.
as love for summer fades.late morning-
there's the tease of
snow in the clouds,
in the air, and the trees
have finally lost their
the sunlight is damp.
alters the room
as it graces my skin,
and for once
i don't wake up right away.
instead i lay
between my memory bitten
sheets, and i think
about all the times he said
that he hated winter.
i don't remember
when i began to love it,
and i don't care.
nothing can shatter that.
I am a Dante in a world of Shannen Hamiltons
And though I'm not supposed to be here today
I'm trying to see a sailboat, blinded by chocolate pretzels
And I'm a tracer
I trace the past to make myself a future prophet
I am an ungifted muse
And the angels and demons play hockey with my heart on the roof
While the stench of shoe polish lingers like a dense fog
And I search
I search for a stolen monkey that's neither mine or hers
What to do? Where to go?
When did my Alyssa become a Caitlin Bree?
The topless psychic didn't tell me this would happen
What do you think Silent Bob?
And I thought "callow" was a good thing...
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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