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The Hurt Within
12-18-2007, 03:07 AM
Writing of the Week/Writer of the Month Archives.

Writing of the Week

Current WotW: the love song of will navidson (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1245145)
Written by: NGD1313

Previous WotW: Winter In Me (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?p=22533326)
Written by: BrandyCross

theres nothing soft about the leaves that fall
and winters chill it takes them all
another night all alone
i guess thats why its broken

and i could almost feel
the softness of your skin
and wonder what it would be like
to hold you close and then.

the frost that sets in
as the day turns into night
wake up in the morning
and nothing makes it right
because its become apart of you
nothing left that you can do

and i could almost feel
the softness of your skin
and wonder what it would be like
to hold you close and then

this house is not my home
it merely holds me in
and love its not that close to me
to far away to ever be

sit and watch the leaves that fell a long time ago
autumn rain has turned into the cold of winter snow
a little shiver at the sight of ice on the tree
ill cover up and try to hide the winter here in me


Writer of the Month: Winners Archive:

May '04-Drummondo [Mike] (First Ever Writer Of The Month)
October '04-Phoebus [Jay] (First & Only to Win Same Month Registered)
November '04-The Hurt Within [Steve]
December '04-Falloutboy [Menry]
January '05-Init4thefashion [Jude]
February '05-Stellar_Legs [Randy]
March '05-Until_It_Sleeps [Jez]
April '05-Something_Vague [Matt]
May '05-Saam16 [Sammie]
June '05-ColdFrontAttack, lessthanthat, LOOKtheskyfell [Derek/Mikey/Ben]
July '05-Something_Vague [Matt] (First Second Time Winner)
August '05-CallMeASafeBet [Jess] (First Female WOTM)
September '05-ColdfrontAttack [Derek]
October '05-Scousertommy [Ronan]
November '05-Jallas [Alice]
December '05-HendrixEdge [Will]
January '06- Pixiesfanyo! [Jared]
Febuary '06- SilenceEvolves [Corey]
March '06- Thepickups [Glenn/Conner]
April '06- #1 Synth [Dylan]
May '06- Pooch01 [Antoine]
June '06- Something_Vague [Matt] (First Three Time Winner)
July '06- TrigFunction [Mike]
August '06- Jammydude44 [Jamie]
September '06- Carmel [Carmel]
October '06- less than that [Mike]
November '06- streetcarp19
[B]December '06- LOOKtheskyfell!
[B]January '07- SilenceEvolves [Corey]
February '07- Retribution [James]
March '07- Rushmore [Matthew]
April '07- Stellar_Legs, knife2agunfight [Randy/Jesse]
May '07- Carmel, NGD1313 [Carmel/Nick] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=608102&highlight=wotm)
June '07- The Hurt Within, Something Vague [Steve/Matt] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=628858&highlight=wotm)
July '07- Stellar_Legs [Randy]
August '07- Confusius [Kyrl] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=671380&highlight=wotm)
September '07- Phantom1 [Joris] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=694316)
October '07- Streetcarp19 (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?p=11641358&posted=1#post11641358)
[b]November '07- punchupatatigge [Teg] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=753062)
December '07- Skagitup [Alex] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=766081)
January '08 - we have sound [Chris] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=792360)
February '08 - Phantom1 [Joris] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=813533)
March '08 - ZanasCross [Zach] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=840072)
April '08 - freshtunes [Nick] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=858957)
May '08 - Ottoavist [Kent] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=894132)
June '08 - SomeoneYouKnew (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=908482)
July '08 - #1_synth [Dylan] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=932023)
August '08 - Billyjson [Jacob] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=959861)
September '08 - Dæmönika, pixiesfanyo [Mike/Jared] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=981195)
October '08 - The Hurt Within [Steve] (http://ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=999078)
November '08 - culex-knight [Cory] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1019940)
December '08 - rushmore [Matthew] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1047409)
January '09 - circular.parade [Mathieu] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1070987)
February '09 - ottoavist [Kent] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1088826)
March '09 - Carmel [Carmel] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1107704)
April '09 - jiminizzle [Jimmy] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?p=19976176)
May '09 - ZanasCross [Zach] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?p=20355218)
June '09 - we have sound [Chris] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1168631)
July '09 - SubwayToVenus [Ryan] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1189113)
August '09 - [/URL]
September '09 - [URL=http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1220101]Rushmore [Matthew] (]Laces Out Danny [)
October '09 - NGD1313 [Nick] (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1233389)

The Hurt Within
12-18-2007, 04:50 AM
Writing of the Week: Contents pt. 1

These should be in a rough order

So Young Yet So Childish (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=11920743&postcount=4) - Written by mmm... Ice
I am Painting and Annette is an Artist (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=11923728&postcount=5) - Written by ScarredFaith
Dead or Dreaming (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=11924229&postcount=6) - Written by LOOKtheskyfell!
Breath and Cigarettes (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=11924324&postcount=7) - Written by Ad*Astra
Marrow Ocean (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=11924441&postcount=8) - Written by rushmore
Trading Blows for Highway Crashes (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=11924519&postcount=9) - Written by We Have Sound
Wake (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?p=11924615#post11924615) - Written by Peeno
Feast of the Necromancer (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=11924696&postcount=11) - Written by Daemonika
My Name is Henry Thomas (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=11947881&postcount=12) - Written by SixTwentySeven
Muffled Snakes Coil Into Rocks (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=11947890&postcount=13) - Written by Nevermorepsalm
Stars (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=11947897&postcount=14) - Written by Alk 3 addict
I Hate Tourists (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=11947907&postcount=15) - Written by NGD1313
Walls (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=11947909&postcount=16) - Written by Jammydude44
Poem on the Back of Your Wallet Photograph (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=11947915&postcount=17) - Written by *truly ninja*
On California (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=11947918&postcount=18) - Written by pixiesfanyo
The Little Things Controlled by the Breeze (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=11947923&postcount=19) - Written by Trig Function
The Chiffarobe (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=11947933&postcount=20) - Written by Chak
Gehenna (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=11947943&postcount=21) - Written by The Hurt Within
Peripherals (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=11947945&postcount=22) - Written by Bassbeat77
The End (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=11947948&postcount=23) - Written by less than that
And I Drift Away (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=12035200&postcount=24) - Written by Alk 3 addict
I (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=12035209&postcount=25) - Written by #1 Synth
Awaiting Exile (Parting With This Auburn Sky) (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=12035213&postcount=26) - Written by Z_Cup_Boy
24 14 4+4+6 2 1 sonnet 1 2 6+4+4 14 24 (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=12036452&postcount=27) - Written by Gurgle!Argh!
Perilous Machine (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=12036465&postcount=28) - Written by We Have Sound
Foxy Foxy & Rory Have Their First Kiss (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=12036491&postcount=29) - Written by Something_Vague
Untitled (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=12036507&postcount=30) - Written by NGD1313
Gallows Humor (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=12036519&postcount=31) - Written by less than that
The Circle Re-Connects (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=12036530&postcount=32) - Written by BigFatSandwich
Mornings (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=12036544&postcount=33) - Written by Carmel
Waxman and the Museum of Wicks (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=12036555&postcount=34) - Written by Snowblind911
flutterby butterfly (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=12036644&postcount=35) - Written by Arthur Curry
Cynicism (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=12158475&postcount=36) - Written by Grovermans
Untitled (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=12159181&postcount=37) - Written by Jammydude44
"Christmas Western, 1917" (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=12278375&postcount=38) - Written by stellar_legs
The Inevitability (http://ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=12434172&postcount=39) - Written by Daemonika
Barcelona, Summer '07 (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=12572252&postcount=40) - Written by We Have Sound
audio? (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=12668740&postcount=41) - Written by Spike 8bkp
Trist (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=12765920&postcount=42) - Written by Leonheart
clair de lune (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=12860122&postcount=43) - Written by punchupatatigge
Cupid, the retarded archer (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=13093492&postcount=44) - Written by Bleed Away
I have a sister named Sestina and a brother named Vers Libre (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=13215830&postcount=45) - Written by Samoo
Excerpts from the book of wisdom (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=13310377&postcount=46) Removed
Frog, Mrs. Rabbit, And Pelican All Look For... (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=13431000&postcount=47) - Written by Something_Vague
Parallax (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=13552398&postcount=48) - Written by Snowblind 911
october, 1951 (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=13663133&postcount=49) - Written by Fugazirancid
I need a drink (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=13792619&postcount=50) - Written by cubs
J.W Fosdick and Emily Young (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=13892971&postcount=51) - Written by freshtunes
Alcoholism 101 (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=14002045&postcount=52) - Written by clichealias
Plastic Silverware (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=14105610&postcount=53) - Written by rushmore
Lottery (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=14211179&postcount=54) - Written by less than that
Advice For The Next Time You Get Writers Block; Must Read (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=14305261&postcount=55) - Written by Auals
Woman (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=14417382&postcount=56) - Written by we_have_sound
Smother (http://ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=14537824&postcount=57) - Written by DorkusMalorkus
"Brother, I've never been much of a pacifist" (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=14658168&postcount=58) - Written by Bleed Away
How Many Licks does it Take to Get to the Center of a Gigawatt? (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=14767952&postcount=59) - Written by BigBirdFan
Crucifix Blues (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=14885167&postcount=60) - Written by themarsvolta
Call It "Unrequited" (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=15007081&postcount=61) - Written by My Name is Pete
Liquid Genes (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=15121292&postcount=62) - Written by AngryGoldfish
Ms. Apt Diagnosis (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=15241666&postcount=63) - Written by Androgyne
Sierpinski Triangle (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=15363339&postcount=64) - Written by burnobus7337
Anosmic (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=15480420&postcount=65) - Written by Carmel
July Predator (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=15596544&postcount=66) - Written by Bleed_Away
Woof Woof, Bang Bang (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=15720967&postcount=67) - Written by #1 synth
Mindy, would you still love me if I shot you and took your money? (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=15838917&postcount=68) - Written by Thomasoman
sky soul such sad (http://ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=15961939) - Written by skagitup

Please continue to next post.

The Hurt Within
12-18-2007, 05:13 AM
Writing of the Week: Contents pt. 2

because bored narcissism beats tired contrition every time (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=16076970&postcount=70) - Written by hope's downfall
"Singing Loudon Wainwright III Songs At Kareoke With..." (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=16172519&postcount=71) - Written by Stellar_Legs
The Best I Can Give Is 2% (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=16278861&postcount=72) - Written by Fly, Marlowe
North and West (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=16368117&postcount=73) - Written by Spike_8bkp
Soundwave Erosions (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=16465284&postcount=74) - Written by themarsvolta
Pleurals (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=16571189&postcount=75) - Written by Dæmönika
The Thirteenth Step (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=16668777&postcount=76) - Written by culex-knight
Face down in the river... (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=16778094&postcount=77) - Written by NinjaMonkey767
Revolution (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=16884106&postcount=78) - Written by Carmel
(1/f)=(1/p)+(1/q) (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=16981417&postcount=79) - Written by ZanasCross
Stephanie (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=17090561&postcount=80) - Written by Bassbeat77
Relating (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=17194578&postcount=81) - Written by The Hurt Within
(i) mr. pensitivity and the wailing so and so's (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=17295108&postcount=82) - Written by Rushmore
New England Clam Chowder (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=17399667&postcount=83) - Written by haunted_engines
Eulogy for a Beach Bunny (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=17522655&postcount=84) - Written by NGD1313
For Those Who Live (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=17628080&postcount=85) - Written by sre9981
when all the oceans dry up a boat is still a boat (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=17740506&postcount=86) - Written by Snowblind 911
Woodchips and Playgrounds (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=17862163&postcount=87) - Written by Ebshabutiee
the mirage suite. (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=17997870&postcount=88) - Written by NGD1313
the former years. (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=18100935&postcount=89) - Written by ottoavist
s.a.d (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=18223457&postcount=90) - Written by Jammydude44
Comma (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=18325859&postcount=91) - Written by rockergirl1122
a he and a she inside a city (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=18429648&postcount=92) - Written by skagitup
tiny planes (piece removed by author) - Written by phantom1
Seasonal, Seasonal (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=18529421&postcount=93) - Written by Jammydude44
Andrew and Angela are laid on his bed. (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=18760572&postcount=94) - Written by seventh_angel
good morning, GOOD MORNING (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=18855833&postcount=95) - Written by cubs
January 14th, 2009 (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=19048404&postcount=96) - Written by ColdFrontAttack
a dream. (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=19142120&postcount=97) - Written by Something_Vague
A Harmonic Pinch (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=19231551&postcount=98) - Written by streetcarp19
aluminum bitten roof. (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=19320537&postcount=99) - Written by freshtunes
Lady. (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=19444666&postcount=100) - Written by Carmel
The Run (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=19551085&postcount=101) - Written by Phoebus
orchestral maneuvers in the dark (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=19624683&postcount=102) - Written by Arthur Curry
floodplains and coffee. (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=19733751&postcount=103) - Written by Ebshabutiee
the cotton to weave (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=19828597&postcount=104) - Written by spike_8bkp
the sarcophagus. (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=19921388&postcount=105) - Written by #1_synth
abattoir full of retarded children (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=20000860&postcount=106) - Written by Something_Vague
Sir Thomas the Quiet (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=20113793&postcount=107) - Written by ZanasCross
Hard of Fearing (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=20209194&postcount=108) - Written by Dæmönika
Funeral (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=20311532&postcount=109) - Written by FunkasPuck
The Scarf (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=20397506&postcount=110) - Written by ndakasimba
Good Ol' Suburbia (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=20504694&postcount=111) - Written by bluesybilly
table manners. (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=20611057&postcount=112) - Written by Carmel
black balsam. (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=20701690&postcount=113) - Written by we have sound
baptism.rebirth.uglybluebird. (a roadtrip) (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=20803555&postcount=114) - Written by NGD1313
blackness, part two (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=20924452&postcount=115) - Written by DigUpHerBones
eleven:eleven (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=21020151&postcount=116) - Written by ottoavist
sweet eveningtime. (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=21128906&postcount=117) - Written by we have sound
Freddie Freeloader (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=21232853&postcount=118) - Written by SubwayToVenus
Rose and Whoever the Groom Is (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=21328722&postcount=119) - Written by Hesh
Antarcticism (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=21328780&postcount=120) - Written by SubwayToVenus
The Writing Room (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=21600622&postcount=121) - Written by circular.parade
Mrs. Pipe (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=21600979&postcount=122) - Written by Something_Vague
wool hat (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=21692024&postcount=123) - Written by rushmore
to live and die in verona (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=21776123&postcount=124) - Written by NGD1313
Gasoline Fumes and Tea Parties aka 18 Reasons to Just Keep Driving (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=21854214&postcount=125) - Written by Jimmy388
I just need a minute (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=21923531&postcount=126) - Written by Ebshabutiee
Implications (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=22018316&postcount=127) - Written by hippieboy444
warbonds (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=22090904&postcount=128) - Written by NGD1313
Cigarettequette Lessons at the Adair County Mansion (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=22167562&postcount=129) - Written by stellar_legs
Africa (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=22239508&postcount=130) - Written by Bleed Away
distance (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=22305003&postcount=131) - Written by ottoavist
Watching Clocks (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=22369253&postcount=132) - Written by Jammydude44
the pains of being pure at heart (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=22440042&postcount=133) - Written by jiminizzle
god bless the outlaws (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=22510667&postcount=134) - Written by SilenceEvolves
Out of State License Plates (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showpost.php?p=22590361&postcount=135) - Written by D&DLover

The Hurt Within
12-18-2007, 05:19 AM
So Young Yet So Childish
Written by: mmm... ice

And as we walked she said
Dear we reek of sex and caviar
As I replied we were soaked by chamapgne rain
I only managed to mutter well we should be caged

Don't say you care because only I do
Don't remember me i'm easily forgetable
I'm a poet who is deaf, dumb and blind
I was left standing for a while so I turned and decided to melt

And if you would like to know
I was surprised at the calmness of this broken man
It shocked me more then killed me
But I still can't blink and breathe

But believe me I did it because you shouldn't know
But I still like you just not as much as anyother
I find it funny that you walked out like that
You didn't need to I would have held the door

And honey dear tell my friend to come on up
Ignore us we'll be swell, dandy and fine
You have to go out give me my independence
It's just you can't see us together

The Hurt Within
12-18-2007, 01:48 PM
I am Painting and Annette is an Artist
Written by: ScarredFaith

There's a place between the hostess stand
And table three
Where I used to hold Annette's hand
The consequences be damned
And it is true
That I was bold, once
When she was cold I would hand her my coat
And suffer in the winter air
And if I ever shivered it was because of her
Well, I saw Annette yesterday
She came into work to talk to a friend of hers
But I am not a friend
I am a mural of a memory of what it was like to be cold
And have someone care enough
To shiver for you

The Hurt Within
12-18-2007, 02:35 PM
Dead or Dreaming
Written by: LOOKtheskyfell!

Every night when I lay my head these silhouettes won?t let me rest
They toss and turn into my dreams they make me see they?re good enough for me
They catch themselves within the brook that handles my hair and cuddles my books
With words and phrases that I don?t mean and imperfect conceptions of the birds and the bees

And every night in my dreams these little vermin run around
Making sounds and going down in history as one of the scariest sights in town

Then every day when I wake up, I smell the scent of love
Because when you?re dead or dreaming, there?s no one you can trust

Every room across the earth is colored the same shade of s.hit
And all the children from Juno to Perth are convinced that ghosts don?t exist
Well you try falling for a moving target, a girl who dates in the grocery market
A derailed train insane in the brain with a passionate kiss to make a couch a tryst
And then you?ll see that ghosts are real and monsters too can make you feel
Sometimes and somewhere, somehow and someway
These little thoughts will escape on a subway
And jump aboard a suicide car soon to enter your head and exit my heart
This is what was determined right from the start when I kissed her on the cheek and I kissed her hard

And every night in my dreams these fairies wave their wands
Making fantasies out of wishes and skyscrapers out of swamps

Then every day when I wake up, I smell the scent of death
Because when you?re dead or dreaming, there?s only false living left

The Hurt Within
12-18-2007, 02:45 PM
Breath and Cigarettes
Written by: Ad*Astra

The most graceful thing I'd ever met,
slender, out of breath and cigarettes.
In the dark, whispering phantoms
from her cold and die cut silhouette,
she says, "I've got a few regrets
I wouldn't trade for the world."

The Hurt Within
12-18-2007, 02:58 PM
Marrow Ocean
Written by: rushmore

When the ship started sinking; we were there holding our
lunch boxes, skipping stones, talking about staying a float
and we didn't know why our tongue tied declarations came
out sounding like hot air balloons deflating, but someone
told us to stop shooting shit and get our bodies on deck.

So we commandeered the tugboat in the middle of a marrow
ocean anchored with empty bones tied to telephone poles
connecting the north and south dakotas but no one else in between.
Tin can telephones, wrinkled roots with no mouths just beaks
holding up the trees, steadfast and easy, you won't last trust me its freezing.
A petticoat dreams of stitched seams but all you've got is rags and
thread but no needles just limbs that you've forgotten how to use.
So you sit all day pretending life is a contest and that you're winning
but really you're just waiting
for someone to sweep you off your feet.

Duck your head before the drawbridge because we're drawing close
and the archers are shooting with bullets not arrows.
Hallelujah its easier said than done,
searching for salvation not seeking revenge is the best way to waste your life.
So come sit here with me and think about nothing before the
plane starts crashing or the
ship starts sinking or you waste anymore of your life alone.

The Hurt Within
12-18-2007, 03:07 PM
Trading Blows for Highway Crashes
Written by: We Have Sound

A cocaine explosion rocks the delicately structured back alleys,
and an epic battle ensues.
Flames lick the snow and tender toxic fumes spread wide.
Take a deep breath. Prepare for heaven.
But don't die yet.
Lay back under sweet sweet blankets of unconsciousness.
Watch the black sun and the black sky fight,
for control of the contrast.
For your focus. Give it. Raging demons crush the panorama,
and the stand off ends,
with neither side capturing colour.
Sea blue, see red, watch the flames lick. Lick.
This Mr. Hyde takes a bite of the steroid ridden love machine,
and ends up loving love itself, in a very violent attack.
Spin circles in dust with white fingers.
Try and fathom the place your mind lingers.

Can't work it out say **** **** where am I? Watch the orange.
Peel. Like, away, at the broken skin. Skeeeeen.
**** I said shiiit, gotta come up, gotta surface.

A submarine's ups and downs make you sick,
but you don't remember.
Sail the sea looking for a lost memory,
but its buried on the island not marked "X".
It shouldn't be hard to find.
It's the only one.

This angel wears his tuxedo like a cloak of light,
and fights evil all around the globe, all over sky.
He fights satan in an astral boxing ring
and wins round after round after round.
Thoughs of the afterlife. Oh my, we're in trouble now.
God throws junkies out of heaven like rats,
like rats.
So crawl around on all fours and beg for forgiveness,
while around you the city works,
its after-dark allure keeping many ill faithed citizens awake.
The scum walk the trade routes,
pass judgement on the product. This, now this,
this is what we would call a problem.
Hear the noises.
Bring her up, captain.

Pilot the craft with care, i said care, you know. I told you not to burn her out,
and now it hurts, man, **** it hurts. Things come back slowly,
like rising out of the dark pitch and **** all I know now is this hurts.
Sounds like cars drive into my ears and, damn, its loud.
But I don't wanna lose this now baby, don't wanna sink again.
I'm cold, cold like the concrete against my cheek. Eyes, check,
we have visual. This is dank. man, dank.

Gotta get up. Can't stay here, no no no. Got stuff to do, you know ?
Gotta get out, about, anywhere.

Gotta find the next hit, so I can sink all over again.

The Hurt Within
12-18-2007, 03:19 PM
Written by: Peeno

WordsLetters, symbols
fall apart in the wake of
the sun. Days gone undone
(suddenbreath), for some.

Hardened on the cold ground
by a Moon's wonderful love.
brought to Life by morninglight
:hopefull, bright.

Parchd to dust, figure retains
by ultraRed stars of noon.

Falling apart in the wake, again.

The Hurt Within
12-18-2007, 03:28 PM
Feast of the Necromancer
Written by: Daemonika

The Doorkeeper whispered a wise word in my ear
but the beating of the timpanis muffled them.
They became no more than an annoying haze
of forgotten days. Wellsmen bore holes in to
the ground, searching for the water they
hadn’t seen before. I lifted an eyebrow at their practices,
not because they were bad, but because they existed.

A bird flew from a blue bush, a burning bush, a dying bush.
Father, Son, Holy Spirit, said the priest, although
he was looking elsewhere. He had his gaze skyward,
expectant for a miracle. It never came; do they ever when they’re asked for?

The green sea sank below the horizon, hidden by mountains,
snowy and tall. The Masked Marauder on a red horse flew
with a flaming sword in its hilt. I could smell
his charring flesh as he went by. It was appetising.
From the cave, dark as night, the beast emerged, white fangs
dripped blood, thick, upon the rocky ground. The Masked Marauder
pulled out his sword and swung it at the neck of the beast, severing
its head from its body. The Doorkeeper whispered again,
and this time I heard what he said.
He said, The smartest men are the men who can play fools
and never be noticed; they are smart men.

The wishing well was overflowing and the Wellsmen celebrated,
drinking themselves to near-death. The deceased rose up
and jumped and sang. On top of the highest mountain
the Widowmaker sneered. ‘Twas a black smile,
and his snake-tongue licked the cold air.
His child had been felled by a fool on a red horse.
What greater warning for a God-fearing people than a dead priest
on the church steps?
The Widowmaker sat patiently, waiting, until the celebrations ceased
and the priest locked up the church.

The Hurt Within
12-20-2007, 04:36 AM
My Name is Henry Thomas
Written by: SixTwentySeven

He said
"Hey, man.
My name is Henry Thomas."

There was something
In the way he said,
"I'm not from around here"
that told me he was.
He said
"My car...
Broke down."
His eyes made
A perfect circle
Through the back of his mind

"I'm just looking
For a little something
To get me out of here."

I handed him less than a dollar in change, and thought
"You and me both."

Yeah, you and me both, Hank.

The Hurt Within
12-20-2007, 04:38 AM
Muffled Snakes Coil Into Rocks
Written by: NevermorePsalm

I once fell down and discovered the other side of the earth
But I only thought of it as a learning experience
As we only grow due to the scrapes on our knees
And we only learn to hum because of the bee's
Although I then thought of all the birds
And came to the conclusion I've never had that talk
So I sowed shut my mouth and died,
Just as we began to walk.

The Hurt Within
12-20-2007, 04:40 AM
Written by: Alk 3 addict

I climbed up a street lamp,
to sit on the top.
Reassuring myself with
"Hey, you're now fifteen feet
closer to the stars."
Stars that I could hardly see,
no one turns their lights out
in suburbia.

Maybe I don't want to be
an astronaut, anyways,
I'm just tired of the routines
and, well, this place.

I tie my shoes to the lamp
and promise that tomorrow,
I'll climb right back up,
but my memory's never been
too reliable. I'll probably just sleep,
that's all I'm capable of, now.

I guess I'd rather sit and dream,
than see the planets, first-hand.

The Hurt Within
12-20-2007, 04:43 AM
I Hate Tourists
Written by: NGD1313

So I spent this last week away from home
Someplace foreign, I guess
If you could call it that

The sun was unbearable
I don't know why people like it so much
All it ever does is kill you anyway

The people were even worse
Why is it so crazy that I didn't live there?
We can't all live in the same place

I suppose it's interesting when someone who's seen something you haven't shows up
I don't get it, but they did, you can bet they did
I hate tourists

I spent six hours on a plane
There wasn't any screaming babies or slutty stewardesses
I don't believe everything I see in movies anyway

When I got back, my whole family was waiting
This girl I'm sorta in love with was there, she was crying
She's pretty when she cries

I asked her what was wrong, she said she'd missed me
Can't imagine why she did though
It's not like I'm all that great

Everyone else had questions
"Was the weather ok?"
"Did you see any sights?"
"How was your flight?"
I didn't get what the big fuss was about
I suppose it's interesting when someone who's seen something you haven't shows up
But I didn't answer any of their questions
I hate tourists

The Hurt Within
12-20-2007, 04:44 AM
Written by: Jammydude44

We'd spent our time together,
with cement-covered hands
and trowels and mixers
building our wall, brick by brick.
We had taken down the
scaffolding poles and planks-
the wall was finished;
they held no use.

Into summer, when the sun
caresses the sky into
a warming smile, our wall
stood proudly amongst others.
They were just pretenders
compared to ours, we thought.

Predictably, the thunderstorms
came, blustering and pounding
upon the solid stature. Exploding
in the sky, cannoning, destroying
what we'd crafted together. The
aftermath left us open mouthed.

Neither of us moved to fix it.
I saw you stare, as I did, at the
large pile of rubble on the ground.
It remained like that for many months;
passers-by flashing a rue smile
at our obvious, poor workmanship.

I spoke first- let's rebuild.

So having learned from past mistakes
we built this wall with better bricks,
and many storms have blown and gone
but our wall stands, now tall and strong.

The Hurt Within
12-20-2007, 04:45 AM
Poem on the Back of Your Wallet Photograph
Written by: *Truly Ninja*

I am sure you would appreciate
That you hold my place in books.
After all, I always attempted to woo
You with the written word.

What I won't admit is this:
Every time you tumble from the pages
Onto my bedsheets, I softly pinch the
Corner and I lift you to my lips.

Your cautious smile overtook me
Once, and I did it without thinking.
I've always done it since--Tradition
Mingled with dying desire.

The Hurt Within
12-20-2007, 04:46 AM
On California
Written by: pixiesfanyo

tether awkward glances
above a satisfied reprise.
i cut my futures out of paper.
placed them into a river bed.
cast line into my prospects.
but my father keeps taking my hand,
his breath heavy with cheap beer
and saturated fats.
his fingers over mine
guiding that feeble line
i clutch with blushed palms.

switch to a crowded dinner table.
i itch in uncontrollable lonesome.
packaging letters in my mind.
the conversations around me
reek of politics and pop culture
but, i’m just counting days
until i see yr chicory frame.
would you write me back
and tell me what it is like to be in love?
because stale liquors and broken tabs
only seem to go so far.

i have my knees curled to my chest
with ease on the dock.
my hands ripe with labor
feeling faded in yet another summer’s
endless choke.
my eyes heavy with stray change
i sit making paper crowns
from torn fates with my feet
dipped in an endless pond
of my own construction.

wondering if my reel has been spent
like a boy, if i let that catch back to sea.
and with baited hooks
i trace every moon line
hoping to forget myself
in the amusement of tasks.
but every evening my rod lays in reflection.
laid in empty harbors
my own lace of self entrapment unravels
and i stare doe-eyed into my desolation.

The Hurt Within
12-20-2007, 04:49 AM
The Little Things Controlled by the Breeze
Written by: Trig Function

The smoke swayed with the bend of the waves
I felt stranger in the warmth of the days.
Hard to breathe, can't believe
I saw my eyes floating in the crest of the reeds.

But maybe, if i began to see
the little things controlled be the breeze
I'd know, willows can swirl
next to the hazy tides of the world.

And in deep, far beneath
I watched my body fall away with the sea.
Beat down, tossed around
I didn't feel pain until I'd already drowned.

The Hurt Within
12-20-2007, 04:51 AM
The Chiffarobe
Written by: Chak

He was haunted with an overbearing
commitment to make me feel worthless.
A joker amongst kings, their collars
studded with beryl and corundum. He
felt empowered, fueled with synthetic
freedom, but everything he touched
turned immediately to stone. More
gray then the mourning of the Sun,
but if its light warms my skin perhaps
I can retain a shred of hope.

I have yet to see this compromise
that holds me captive to uncertainty.
And I already held more guilt than
I could handle, struck with the chord
of fragrant restraint. His anger felt the
mark of scrutiny, townspeople fretted in
obligatory hunger for the truth. But loyalty
proves more powerful than honesty. A
pinprick mapping the base of my spine
sends signals for my hair to stand on end.

I was in awe. His shadow proved more
enchanting than my father’s unrequited
respect. He was the faith in which I granted
my cautious attention. Wanted in a world I did
not belong. He made me feel like the most
translucent of diamonds, felt patterns within
my soul and reflected them through starlight.
I felt breathless, invincible. Immersed in the
compliance of my naivety, which I overcame with
error in my ways. And I became a traitor that day.

Regret thudded hard against my ribcage.
Bruised. And I looked past my father to truth,
where my answer predictably fell short.
I condemned him to a life that was undeserved,
cast him into the shadow of shame. My failure
is refracted within the barrel of a gun, used to
destroy acceptance among people I could never
know. Strangers, not quite friends, in which
I trusted more than blood.

The Hurt Within
12-20-2007, 04:53 AM
Written by: The Hurt Within

I stood. A luminary.
Against a viscous tide of shallow breaths
smut rolls wonder from a tableau -
attentive eyes cater a silent pyre
in crest-fallen skies,
while cantering souls lead past a simoniac
gifting Ayin Ha'ra to spurious followers.

I knelt. In twilight.
Upon schema-conduits of barren soles,
Khamsin winds scour laden plains -
committed minds cater a boundless pyre
in downcast hearts,
while cantering souls present a sacrifice
- with extremis apt - to the edge of Hell's throat.

I leapt. A martyr.
Towards the uncharted depths of Earth's crux
Gehenna's limbs entwine my body -
destined fingers cater an infinite pyre
with expectant reach,
while cantering souls lift future offerings
above the smouldering sands, ready to let go.

The Hurt Within
12-20-2007, 04:54 AM
Written by: Bassbeat77

I'd been found in a flood once before,
but I came out herringbone dry.
With a flatter line than the Arctic horizon,
and a deeper soul than the faultline dividing,
I had felt like I could walk amongst
the sea snails forever.

Then Summer came as an infernal wave,
tipping and toe-ing and taking it's time,
blowing it's whistle to speed things along.
Spreading kisses like dried cement,
and too self-righteous for it's own good.

It lifted me out of my algal residency,
where salt and salty sentiments
were what I brought into my lungs.
Where longitude and latitude
were the only blueprints that I needed
to build castles out of sand bars
and not-so-hidden treasure.

Until finally I choked. And since then
every Summer has made me wish
that maybe my hindsight wasn't 20/20.

The Hurt Within
12-20-2007, 04:55 AM
The End
Written by: less than that

out of sight on my mind
duct taped over Check Engine light.
all the street signs in this town
say the same thing "Get Out"
not now, not now.

foolhardy fugue to visit you
feels like I have to sneeze when I don't want to.

back to the daily grinding my teeth.
chew a new hole through my tongue.
blood on the windshield; where did it come from?
the sun gets all spun around as I
try to take the guardrail down.

triple A, my mom, the police,
they'll all come and make the scene.
but for now I'm part of a peculiar peace
no broken glass or bones
what do you know? what do you know? what do you know?

wonder if what's wrong with us is contagious.
sit and listen to the radiator's rattlesnake hiss
then check to see how bad it is.

front of the car like the
end result of a trick cigar.
its contorted metal
gets me all pseudocidal.
something green drips into the street.
I stare for a while at the DieHard battery
then call you to say I'm not coming.
I know an omen when I see one.

glad it however hapless happened
the best bad idea I ever had.

the calm collapse of the anticlimax.

12-26-2007, 08:26 AM
and I drift away
Written by: Alk 3 addict

From this height, the ocean looked as a sheet, slightly ruffled. Reminding me that I hadn't had a restful night in ages. It is this hot air balloon, the color of a wilted rose, that carries me out over the abyss, they never said that adventure had to be carried out in style. Then I cut it from the clouds, a portrait of beauty and salvation, and wrapped myself in a dirty blanket. I figured that I would, at least for tonight, let life take me where it would. I shut my eyes, and drift towards the sounds of a west-bound breeze, like a voiceless choir and a faceless future. Dreams lost all shape, and became scribbles upon clouds, basking inches above my head. It was the fingerless man playing violin in front of a crowd of three thousand, the blind man finding freedom through surrender, the rubble of a city being juxtaposed into a makeshift miracle, the golden ring placed on the finger of a skeletal bride, yet I just could not grasp the plot of this story. Suddenly like the impact of a bullet it struck me, as my eyes jerked open just in time to watch the air around me ignite. I'm sure that from the shore I looked like a star, burning brightly, the most beautiful thing I could have ever imagined. A jet-stream of blue and white flame, and it is the end.

12-26-2007, 08:28 AM
Written by: #1 synth

I, capitalized, full
I, looking like a snowfall as I come crying,
Gazing at your feet,
I need a savior, someone strong, someone invisible,
I, groveling inside a neighborhood, licking my lips inside a city,
I, silent inside a man holding a megaphone outside of planned parenthood,
I, sinew, cells, and fate,
I, immaculate-- impossible to--
"Amazing the lightning is dont you think?"
I pour down as the thunder after wonderment,
Listen to me then, echoeing off the mountains, off the churches and fountains,
I smell like the day before a breakup, rich with mildew, cold and dirty.

My clothing is getting so heavy with mold that I'm finding it harder to fly.

I, underneath a state, an ocean, a lover panting hard (a dream),
I, underneath a bow, a bow, and a bow of a ship as it roars
Across the fairgrounds in tight circles,
I, the words needed to accurately describe--
I and a miraculous sunset, holding hands into the inevitable.

I, the opposite... of what? Life is to being forgotten.
Sunrise is to death and everything else is to a kiss.

I, that kiss, I, under your foot, yep, there we are.
I, the smile of knowing where we are, at the corner of 20th and stark,
Indefinite, lost in a thunderstorm.

12-26-2007, 08:29 AM
Awaiting Exile (Parting with This Auburn Sky) - Writing of the Week
Written by: Z_cup_boy

This silver blade speaks each dissonant phrase
In place of where we would intertwine as lovers
Limbs breathing the same leaves
Kissing the lips tinted of the reddest wine
Each tip serving as a spear
Each incision as a counting finger for time
The depth of all daylight mirrors a tainted slab of flesh
Pest ridden, discriminated against the cleanest carcass I could kill
Death did I intend?
I think not, for I have yet to cleans these hands
As I await exile, I have never felt so damned
Excreting the salt in my wound; I am an infant
Immersed into the beauty of this day after dusk
The darkness after twilight
As I await exile
To part with this auburn sky

12-26-2007, 11:57 AM
24 14 4+4+6 2 1 sonnet 1 2 6+4+4 14 24
Written by: Gurgle!Argh!

i tore through the fabric concealing this clock.
oh hands i forgot, oh quick marching step,
sixth harshad times met, a moment at rest,
that moment most blessed when hands interlock.

i pulled at its hands and hoped they might give,
that time does not live, but is bound to our pull,
that the beat may be null, that hands may be wrought,
thus 'gainst time i fought, to dissonance omit.

but iron once wrought will be wrought no more
and fabric once torn will always be scarred.
times unsleeping pull, it always pulls on,
with a force which endures, unmoved by our lore.
so i'll count out each moment across these fanned hands,
til hands may be one, now thru time's accord.

12-26-2007, 11:58 AM
Perilous Machine
Written by: we have sound

I can't hear a word you are saying
above the noise of this perilous machine
winging its way cross country.
What a travesty.
Agencies to the alliance, we engage in diplomacy with
"Let's stop and ****!" and
"Not yet baby, I'm ballin' this jack another hundred"
but we stop and **** anyway,
just to kill time.
But the loud pedal aches and the country is barren so
soon enough, we're back on the road again.
Not a piss stop, and not maritime baby this is a real motor,
and what a noise.
Straight and true, no swaying here,
just a gaping cavernous wonderful powerful grill,
eating up the miles.
I watch the white lines flash past for a while,
grab a beer from the back
and you give me that look - but it's hot and I'm thirsty
and what I say goes.
I juggle the can and wheel like an acrobat,
lob the empty, watch the scenery.
Heat haze like an angels halo around a cross
high up on the rocks. Trust the Spanish.
If a girl fell from those rocks and split her head,
I reckon you'd see soul.

12-26-2007, 12:02 PM
Foxy Foxy & Rory Have Their First Kiss
Written by: Something_Vague

He'll pack up and pack out, he's an
artist who spells his name "Are test."
He's a prince who spells his name
"Prints." Coughed up like folded
paper, he'll pay her with
origami swans, stories about
Tokyo streets and transparent
women who died in their sleep
and loved in his arms.

Rory's first kiss was in the third grade.
Ever since then he's been building
walls with his "ABC" blocks
and the only thing big enough
to look over is his own
sky high ego. All the while my grin
is so admirable the teeth from my
tiger cut falsies, are stained
pearly, pearly red. And the blemish
on my laugh is a gaping horizon,
swallowing every plane and bird
that he throws in the air.

Rory is thinking about the last time
he honestly loved someone. I know it from the
crystal glimmer in his silly stare. That
over-due whimper between the bite and
bone. Pay her with folded paper.
Foxy Foxy legs, and Foxy Foxy limbs,
Foxy Foxy climbs and Foxy Foxy lives.
Foxy Foxy teeths, and Foxy Foxy mouths
Foxy Foxy eats and
Foxy Foxy ****s out.

12-26-2007, 12:04 PM
Written by: NGD1313

I’ve bled the stone of prosperity in a lonely alleyway
And stained my hands red, painting a peaceful town.
Killed a Tokyo Rose because her sallow lips were bringing me down.
I stumbled down the courtyard calling my God’s name,
And kissed the Virgin Mary
Because her hallowed hips couldn’t bear my pain.
Drank Christ's blood for 40 days
And christened myself a God-damned saint.

12-26-2007, 12:05 PM
Gallows Humor
Written by: less than that

Shut up. Let me finish.

I hadn't had dinner yet;
Sucked down cigarettes instead
to the filters, warmth ate its way
down to my fingers:
Replacement addictions.

Shut up, I said.

My hate's so hard.
Rocks in my pockets,
stones in the souls of my shoes.
I heard the good news-
still I let my laugh crack,
cackle through the gallows.
Silence -- Impassible.

and your words come to me as wounded birds
sex smile. bedroom eyes. kissing my hands.
I know where I stand.

wounded birds
stupid and beautiful

Shut up, I said
Shut up shut up shut up.

12-26-2007, 12:06 PM
The Circle Re-Connects
Written by: BigFatSandwich

At first it all seemed heaven-sent,
But you haven't seen heaven since
He took your hand and mislead you down the aisle.
Blue eyed girl in the long white dress,
Your head's not right and your heart's a mess,
And it's been that way for such a long while.
You're always looking for love where love doesn't exist
In bars and beds under strangers' hips
And accepting all their lies as the truth.
Well, it's a false sense of security, but it's security, nonetheless...
So what is she supposed to do when insecurities get the best
Of her? She's only human, just like me and you,
So of course she broke down when she first got the news.
But I can't fault you, you did what you had to do.
You decided to keep it and keep him with you.

And those first few weeks were happiness
And no one can deny...
But he couldn't love you
He didn't have the time.

He's not what you need,
Just a figure of a father.
So you left him and then
Gave birth to your daughter.

And you'll raise her by yourself, you don't need him to love her
But oh my god, you've become your mother.
Your mother, your mother, you've become your mother,
Your mother, your mother, you're just like your mother.

12-26-2007, 12:07 PM
Written by: Carmel

At mornings, going past
the same eroded homeless man that
disagrees with this idea
of him; he has a bin to keep
his clothes in, and he fumbles
when by his bench, on the corner of the square,
there are students, or some other
section of society, demonstrating
over this or that.
And I’m passing by, on the way
to higher education, higher population;

And I drink out with my friends, listen
when they say, “You see too much.”
I laugh and then I stop. I say:
“Sometimes I wish I was
more blind.”
I wouldn’t mind not seeing
the homeless man,
crying for his clothes, after
the sanitation people came and took away
everything he owned,
when he was driven away,
away from his home,
by student asking for
better human rights.

12-26-2007, 12:08 PM
Waxman and the Museum of Wicks
Written by: Snowblind 911

the pretty waxmen
and their flawless, aching smiles.
picture perfect postures caricatured
on pin-up perceptions.

we place feathers under
candle kings like we place the
madcap over the face
of a newly crowned widow and
her faded red finger-painted dress.
even though the children
can’t fashion pieces so full of
unabashed emotion we’re happy
to force smiles and label them modern Picassos
anyway. and then we wonder why the
walls end up painted in blood.

chickens have feathers.

ironic? probably not.

12-26-2007, 12:18 PM
flutterby butterfly
Written by: Arthur Curry

your limbs, your skin, my water wings,
and do you know words were made to sing?
planetary dust makes a planetary ring.

a thousand cocoons make me nervous,
and you're my sunday morning service;
when the choir sings they tickle me and burst open.

they burst and they go,
circling my soul.
small explosions in me,
x-rays of a firework show.

now i see me in your eyes,
staring at you, staring at me;
stars are reachable and ripe.

i think this is what it feels like to die.
i mean i hope this is what it feels like to die.

01-02-2008, 06:08 PM
Written by: Grovermans

i think it was the unusual juxtaposition
of my relative sobriety, and the rest of the room's
inebriated stupor that caused me to realize
just how ****ed up this world can be, filled
to the neck with so much meaningless matter,
like a bottle of cheaply brewed,
but expensively sold beer.
and when i was finally able to pry the cap
from its factory-blown glass neck,
i could have sworn i heard something crack
after feebly attempting to hold its own.
my first thought was that it was simply the sound
of my clockwork shifting, but i didn't break routine;
routine broke me, and i'm not sure whether it's through
some sort of newly-acquired wisdom or clarity,
or if it's merely through my own overwhelming vanity
that i've deemed myself too modest to be put back together.
so i lie here contemplating human existence,
a broken bottle spilling all my addictions
and problems on the overpriced carpeting
that covers the earth like a layer of skin.

skin; we are simply skin surrounding
a decadent structure of muscle and bone.
we are the fabric that protects the earth's
delicate hardwood floor,
but we are nothing more than that;
we don't create, we only claim
nature's inventions as our own.
the wheel was never made by man,
yet we still declare it was
forged by our hand;
there's no such thing
as true human genius,
there only exists
the fools who believe in it.
the human race is merely matter,
and i've come to the conclusion that
matter doesn't really matter at all.

The Hurt Within
01-02-2008, 06:40 PM
Written by: Jammydude44

Curling toes between
taut socks
and hands blown
and rubbed together.
Crisp and sparse air,
dry to the touch and the tongue.
Green-white grass stands strong
in the wild winter wind.
Blue-green people fall

into foggy, misty conversation,
"it should be warmer tomorrow"
warmer but wetter we'll find.
Every ten degree turn is frozen
to the spot as the ice pane
closes in; nowhere to go,
nowhere to shuffle away to.

Outside seems a good option
than staying here, in bed,
robbed of my duvet.

01-09-2008, 02:48 PM
"Christmas Western, 1917"
Written by: stellar_legs

Texted you a picture of a miseltoe that I made with my fingers.
It read: "Happenin' party happenin' at my house right now!"
I donned my best Vittorio Ray jacket, shaved dollar signs into my
sideburns, put on a Frou Frou album and chilled the red wine.
"Jesus may have been sea-sectioned into existence tonight, but he
doesn't exist, so the gettin's all mine!"
A thick skinned Post-Post-Post Hardcore/Post Rock nerd chic band played from the
living room.
They were an optomotrist's dream.
The Pot Brigade even made an appearance.
Arts and crafts with Ted.
Pictionary with Dan K. Bud.
Shedded my skin, let my gaurd down, instilled disapointment in my best
female friends and penis envy in my best guy friends:
With my Vincent Price Egg Magic kit I coated the shaft of
my **** with yuletide colors.
Rob Sheffield himself would've came to this event if it weren't just me
forcing a millenia of religous influence into a Mason jar in the cabinet while
Dayton's future sat on my furniture,
Drank my alcohol,
Used the bedrooms,
Cried over seasonal suicides from seasonal depression,
and said not one word as Arnold and Sinbad fought over the last Turbo Man
doll (coming from MY television)
while I pranced about bull****ting myself, their intelligence
and three wisemen who shot their ****ing camel in the leg
to get out of coming.
How many green and red socks was I pulling before this was all mine?
How many jobs did I work before I settled for over the Rhine?
How long does it take for eight eggnogs to transcend space and time,
expose everything I know to be false, and slap me in my bed,
Merry and fine?

The Hurt Within
01-19-2008, 08:56 PM
The Inevitability
Written by: Daemonika

Warriors of words with their books as their weapons
wait with patience for the end. Others, with goals unfulfilled,
run around in panic, cutting circles into the mud and bones
of those they emulate. The patient ones will feel no pain.

The verisimilitude of the inevitability is what gets them the most,
with the world as yet unprepared for a man who can never pass,
forced to watch humanity waste away to nothing, until
he truly is the last man standing (cf. purgatory).

Yet, what no one can really see, we are in this together,
that the inevitability affects us all, will take us away
to somewhere full of darkness. Nyctophobes should be afraid,
but as it comes at any time, the Dorian Grays should rejoice.

There are many words for this process, yet they all inspire fear,
apart from the one mentioned twice, as it is much too vague
to be declared as solely a synonym for the word, the end.
But maybe we are yet to live, with the inevitability the beginning.

The Hurt Within
01-28-2008, 07:58 PM
Barcelona, Summer '07
Written by: We Have Sound

We rolled into the heart of the city,
road-mad and dirty down the wrong side of la Rambla.
And we found a bar on the beach,
sat in the sun and survived the heat,
only just.
We were free, and we drank till we cried,
with all the responsibilities of birds -
we knew we could fly if we wanted to.
But for then it was evening cocktails
still sat out by the rocks
that lead down to the water.
It was crystal clear and I
poured a little liquid in,
almost as an offering.
It swirled slowly downwards,
and radiated.

The Hurt Within
02-04-2008, 04:40 PM
Written by: Spike 8bkp

unruly time is duly amplified
I'm raising gain to match the tide
faders are pulled, attached to the sun
set, for only in the sky will I confide

the space to be, outer space to fly
into the first dimension, on the same plane
as galaxies reside, in rocks, on hills
in frames encompassed by

lego blocks that roll with the jazz socks
cool cats on brass [with]
black hats and sax [on]
darks stages [off]

hidden scorched pages
reveal chimney sweeps in plays
giving monologues on dreams, clear days
on the beds in which they'll never lay

In a smoke stacked house,
I'll speak of heated air,
there, Alaska's fair weather
beats out the cold city streets

made of steel and concrete
like hearts of students who never learn
that mystery is where truth exists
in the sounds of echoes

and where Socrates sits,
thinking of which way the world spins
towards Mars,
the origin of the pyramids

we'll send our kids eventually
to speak with those green men
and think about what it says
that we depict them undressed

from New Mexico to spaceships
they'll never share their secrets
with idiots and fidgeters
we're earthlings, they're fiddlers

and we're sitting while the sun sings

yes, I speak of the sun
more often than she speaks of me
I can be in her for hours
and never know that you've seen

miserable lines defined
by children's cries
and those hopeless echoes
ringing in ruler's eyes

so, quick! before the sound defines you,
please decide which side of sound you reside
so that I can stop saying "I"

02-11-2008, 03:32 AM
Written by: Leonheart
Oh, Odessa. Your thighs are milk.
I've been moving my fingers on wood to
s o u n d s
recorded in the wall grooves.
I smashed the jar of applesauce
against the counter.
The lid wouldn't open
it was the glass's fault.
I'm blind but I've always been more of a
s o u n d s

The Hurt Within
02-17-2008, 10:27 AM
clair de lune
Written by: punchupatatigge

her fingers tread softly

the first three notes
then, a rest
a rush of breathlessness

the keys begin to shift again;
these are the moments before movements,
movements like a first hello
or a first touch,
moments like those found in a french romance
with hints of musk and age and perfect

she and i are the soul of clair de lune
she moves coolly
like shades of moonlight
on an outdoor paris cafe
i am the second voice;
we exchange phrases
my hand beginning
where hers ends

and i dream of our hands
wrapped together,
kisses in harmony
breaths in rubato

she hasn't played piano in years
and i haven't finished learning
clair de lune
just yet

The Hurt Within
03-02-2008, 08:32 AM
Cupid, the retarded archer.
Written by: Bleed Away

You dare trade a Dove for a Crow,
a rose for a shrub, a gun for a sword.
"They're all items" i hear you say,
with your rubber bow eroded and stained;
on the night the lovers forgot your name.

With lips of vile feathers where my woes would flourish; the *****s. Are mute.

And you would come in at night like a thief,
told to hold beauty by the throat.
And... and that last breath you would give to the world;
on the age of the widows and the machines.

Arise the Goliath of Rome;
imperial march that destroyed my home.
Cupid's bow buried on the Province of Terni;
just make sure you're the one to throw the last stone.

03-09-2008, 11:57 PM
I have a sister named Sestina and a brother named Vers Libre.
Written by: Samoo

Lick a little; immerse your VIP in the sand.
We’ll sit on rooftops and slip into something uncomfortable.
“Uh, I really, really like you.”
“What about the sand? Let’s just, you know, shake our hands
with our understanding of the human race. What do you say?”
“I, uh, really like you.

There’s a lady with an umbrella and she doesn’t resemble you.
She’s taking off her clothes; does she mean to place them in the sand?
“Uh, I don’t mind. Let’s just do it me and you. That’s what I say.”
The alarm clock rings just like your head, we’re uncomfortable.
“Metaphor, metaphor, metaphor. Do we really need this?” Our hands
touch, for one moment they are the sun and the universe. I’m the sun. You,

“Well, you’re a good kisser. But I don’t love you.
You’re a **** thinker. And that’s why I think I’ll leave you.”
A suitcase. Into abyss. And everything we had; everything in our hands
streams and pleasures us into pain. It’s all sinking in the sinking sand.
And, before we know it, their understanding leaves us. And, so, we’re uncomfortable.
Because everything in life is hard to handle. Everything we do; everything we say,

“We’re left regretting the very next day. Let’s not do this. What do you say?”
You never do say much. Dumb, deaf, blind.
You’re parallel. You’re why I’m uncomfortable.
You revel in life. Life doesn’t revel in you.
If you conceded. I’d comprehend our beginnings, our ends, I’d lift us from the sand.
Our understanding. Our comfort. Our time. We’d have the whole world in our hands.

You’re dumb, you’re deaf, you’re blind.
You’re done, you’re dead, goodbye.
You’re so much more than me.

“Fin? Yeah, I’m fin.”

03-16-2008, 10:17 AM
Excerpts from the book of wisdom
Written by: phantom1

Author requested piece to be removed.

03-23-2008, 03:51 PM
Frog, Mrs. Rabbit, And Pelican All Look For Bunnies In Their Imaginary Forest
Written by: Something_Vague

I've had her taken
from my hands, and
the only thing I've got
left are strands. Pieces
of hair dangling limp
through fingers that
trace the creases in her
folded shirt.

The forest behind my house was illuminated with a drenched purple glow from the flowers that had grown in a sunlit patch. The trees were a bright, wet green and everything was soaked with a morning dampness. Everything was so high in contrast I thought, this doesn't look like real life. There was no one around and I sat quietly on a rock reading the only thing she'd ever given me. A copy of an unfinished short story she wrote in her senior year. It was about talking animals in an imaginary forest. I decided to finish it for her.

"There's nothing left, Mrs. Rabbit." Frog said as he was rummaging through the floor of the charred forest.
Mrs. Rabbit hopped over to Frog and asked politely. "Have you found anything yet?" Mrs. Rabbit asked.
"No, nothing yet."
"Please, if you find my nest underneath the foliage, let me know, my babies must be starving by now."
"Oh, certainly. Mrs. Rabbit."

Her eyes always left behind,
caught in wicker baskets
filled with smudged
bottles of liqueur. I've never
stood under the crushing
weight of her fake calm,
rushing blood from her
cuticle onto her fingernail
rusts into my palm.

As Mrs. Rabbit slowly woke from a dreary dream, she remembered when the forest caught fire. She quickly rushed to the side of her children and held them close, keeping them safe from the intense hunger of the heat. She recalled the story to Frog while he listened intently.
"I never knew you went through such hardships." Frog said to her.
"It's not a hardship if you decide to do it."
"That's true." Frog looked into the air and saw Pelican swoop down.
"I've found something! I've found something!" Pelican chortled out of his wide, wet mouth.

Maybe it's the stir of
words that have kept my
bitterness so far away, she
slept underneath a Raleigh
bridge, just west of an Atlantic
Bay. Ripped panties from boys
she saw so gold, yet from the
cast on the line to the bait
in her bonnet her kiss had gotten old.

Pelican picked up both Frog and Mrs. Rabbit in his mouth and flew quickly to a small clearing in the forest and let them down onto the soft, moist ground. Mrs. Rabbit scuttled quickly to an overturned rock and saw her three children huddled together for warm. She went to hug them but noticed they weren't breathing. She began to cry, and so did Mr. Pelican and Frog. Frog bounced over to her, "Please, please don't cry, Mrs. Rabbit." He gently wiped away the tears from under her eyes. "They are in a better place now." She began to smile slightly and put her head down. She looked up towards the sky, and then looked back at Frog.

"I'm sad Frog, but look closer, look in the middle." Frog walked over to Mrs. Rabbit's children and saw a small violet flower blooming in the middle of them. "I wouldn't have had this happen any other way." Mrs. Rabbit said softly.

We left such beautiful words
behind in a kind Autumn, I sat
on wooden steps shoved under
a bright moon, a pond beside me
listened politely as we said goodbye
far too soon. I told her about the
girl I'd fallen in love with, and she
told me about the boy she was moving
in with.

A pause.

She said she wouldn't have had
this happen any other way.

03-30-2008, 11:40 AM
Written by: Snowblind 911

We rode bicycles over a mountainside made of cheap street crack and wine.
‘Michelangelo,’ she said. ‘these walls ain’t even half as tall as what we thought they
were. Look, you can see all of the sky tonight. Oh, you can see all of the sky!’
She asked for a statue, and I etched her out a marble portrait of the moon.
‘Baby,’ she spoke. ‘the moon?’
‘Without the sun to light it up, it’s just another rock.’
‘Let’s go.’ She sung.
We found shovels in our empty garden bed, and dug until we hit water.
‘We’re stuck,’ I cried. ‘we’re really ****ing stuck.’
‘Close your eyes, we’re in a ship. Okay? And we’re sailing through a stream of
cement and bricks, and we’re not stuck, okay? Just close your eyes and paddle, like this.’
I cupped a hand against the sunlight. Her eyes were mirrors in a morning so bright.
There were birds dancing like kites strung up for a day parade,
And there were old trees and soft hills and low rolling meadows,
And for a moment the sun swung behind a cloud.
‘The moon never looked so alight.’
As she laughed I placed a frame around her neck and made her a masterpiece.

04-06-2008, 08:40 AM
october, 1951
Written by: Fugazirancid

sixth grade: ms. warwick’s study hall.
huddled underneath desks once a month
in case the cold war decided to warm up.

october's drill came early.
i glanced at you from across the room.
your face was set, determined,

i looked away.

principal on the intercom:
“thank you for your cooperation.”
everyone thanking god it was a drill.
i almost wished it wasn’t.

the next morning, waiting for the bus,
an eighth-grader punched me in the arm,
said i had looked like a pussy yesterday in study hall.
“who ya scared of? the pinkos?”

walking home from school that day,
shivering with the autumn leaves,
i cursed you for being strong enough to stand up to bombs.
and myself for being too fragile to look you in the eye.

when mom asked where i got the bruise,
i told her i got it saving sarah from the russians.
i excused myself early from dinner,
and tried my best not to cry in the shower.

04-14-2008, 04:19 AM
I need a drink
Written by: cubs

She's trapped between clouds and lakes,
sitting on an upside down set of stairs,
watching misguided cars drift by
all those pathetic, lonely stars.
Oh, how I wish she was here
so she could see how clean she looks.

She's sitting on a plane
waiting for a goodnight kiss
from this boy who lives
a few houses down the street.
And while she waits,
she slowly drinks her beer,
holding a sign that reads
"Poems for sale"

And just as she takes another sip
her dreams all reappear
with a blind face that screams
"Oh dear, what are you doing here?
Do you know what time it is?"
Then the sun falls,
then it rises again,
then I realize its friday
and I still dont know her name.

04-20-2008, 10:53 PM
J.W Fosdick and Emily Young
Written by: freshtunes

"I'd give you a rock, but flowers are much more pretty, even though they won't last as long"

"Rocks can wether as well" Emily quickly replied, blushing like a peach.

Whipping water through desert canyons.
Carved away at minerals and sediment.
Balls will chip away at the insides of cannons.

"I suppose" J.W Fosdick says.

"I'd give you a gift, but I have nothing to bare. An empty womb resides in the bottom of my body. I'm not sure it is something I could share."

The Hurt Within
04-28-2008, 08:20 AM
Alcoholism 101
Written by: clichealias

This dialogue never ends
Where I use words that aren’t mine
A poet who speaks
With much less eloquence
Than he reads
So I chock it up to arrogance
Some vague depiction of intelligence
I hope you can’t see my soul
Roll off my tongue and spit it in my face
Wishing I was blind to the mirror
The truth will set you free, they say
It’s a difficult task when the chains
Are attached to the root of a man
Entwined with each drop to my mangled brain
That rotten obsession with fairy tale future
The spotlight I shone on my shoulders
Standing alone with the scenery
Singing and screaming over everybody.
The worlds not a play if you’re the only actor
It’s a speech full of words that don’t line up
Filled with an audience that doesn’t care
Nearly as much as my ego insists

05-05-2008, 09:00 AM
Plastic Silverware
Written by: rushmore
emergency phone booth number 587,
i stopped to masturbate after i remembered
how my wife looked when she was much younger.
she was the prettiest of the cold war survivors,
always fu.cking unprotected,
all sorts of extensions and openings
that i was interested in.
knees touching knees,
elbows touching elbows.
we made love in the grass tunnel
and ate insects with plastic silverware.
she would laugh off the ants in
the cracks of my teeth and kiss me
but we aren't children anymore,
i don't think.
we watch dramatic films,
order chinese and
over tip.
we drink wine out of coffee mugs
toasting health insurance and
high credit scores.
we no longer waste words on sentiment,
i think she still loves me,
but in a contemptuous sense.

05-12-2008, 06:57 AM
Written by: less than that

I forget your birth date
but I took a guess
and I've been playing those numbers
for three weeks.

I'm glad you return my letters, only
I wish they weren't just mine, unopened,
inside bigger envelopes that aren't
sprayed with perfume.

Wherever you are, roll up your sleeves.
Wear each bruise like a bracelet.

Last night
some guy pissed
in the corner of the store
by the ATM.
All I could think of was
your lower row of teeth
crooked and dazzling.

Someone won the lottery,
76,000 dollars! Only nobody's claiming it.
They keep playing it on the news, on the radio.
I know because they won't let us change the station.

I can't stop thinking about it.
Someone out there is a winner.

05-18-2008, 04:55 PM
Advice For The Next Time You Get Writers Block; Must Read
Written by: Auals

This winter I look forward to seeing the ocean
While locked inside a small room with microphones
And penning songs about little mentioned happenings
Based mostly on my life, and those of my friends

And the waves that crash will drive me on easily
Motivating me to believe in nothing but that sound
And the breakers as they break up these forces
That can mold mountains and cliffs given enough time

So Halcyon, if you decide to calm my creative hand again
To slow me down and incubate on myself for no real reason
I may be forced to find your roost and blow you into the ocean
Where not even your powers can calm it's thirst,

****ing bird...

05-25-2008, 04:33 PM
Written by: We Have Sound

strange to have someone so dependant
that i make her weather
a novelty.
a novelty that scratches and spits and ****s
that makes me sad when
bill withers starts singing
a novelty like that last line
you leave hanging
because none of the words you've ever heard
seem to fit
a novelty with a heart
all too easily broken
with nails
that sometimes have dirt underneath
with skin
that's sometimes all pale and white
and eyes that sometimes cry tears
that sometimes smear her makeup
down her face.

love -
you sly dog
panting at the roadside
begging pennies.
that's love.

in my mind she's not a woman,
she's a new poem in an old notebook
a clash
of souls.

06-01-2008, 03:58 PM
Written by: DorkusMalorkus

Bondage ain't so hot this time of year
They got the leash out again
And the leather burns my skin
Sticky, stuffy, and not at all attractive

Not a year goes by that I don't hear about some poor ****er who asphyxiates himself because he gets off on being left alone tied up, naked and pathetic

Drugs are hot **** this time of year
These kids are always high
And their world is so very tired
Alone, angsty, and unbelievably sordid

Not a day goes by that I see my peers sincere, true, or happy

I sympathize with the naked and pathetic
I try my hardest to be sincere

I want to be tied up and left alone
I want to smother myself
Hands free
But thanks for the help

The Hurt Within
06-08-2008, 07:29 PM
"Brother, I've never been much of a pacifist"
Written by: Bleed Away

Because I am not a sheep. Because I am not a goat;
welcome me to the wastelands and learn to love me
dear Mary. Meet me on the moors and bring with you
your great furnace for eyes
and your affectionate nails for arms.

The **** crows on midnight's gale,
to proclaim upon nations to prepare for war.
Pearls slewed and I trembled
at the reflection of the sky's suburban sea;
like a chariot from heaven’s foyer that assails-
why should I love those who’ve done this to me?

Because I chose not to speak of what I’ve seen,
I am a man and one man only. My voice
is an utmost whimper on the sinking planes,
I chose not to speak.

Infantry of dust,
lost content that can’t be tamed;
roams a shattered soul.

Death closes all. Death watches all.

Beneath the clear lakes on cotton vessels, I rust away.
As we sailed towards the river Hades the poets sang along
to the clatters of the uneven souls.

06-15-2008, 10:43 AM
How Many Licks does it Take to Get to the Center of a Gigawatt?
Written by: BigBirdFan

screams of systematic repetition
tuned to the key of C
rejuvenating the pulse
of the pulp on the floor

I found the time space continuum
on my back porch swing
stepping toward the screeching sirens
revealing the past screen by screen

Timing the sun in wrist-watch format
the liabilities not mine
the doormat said "welcome"

you catch my eyes glaring,
hastily waiting for your tears to run
your feet follow in suspended motion

Gunning for the hallway laundry chute
only to find the triggers on safety
the notion alone is enough

reseting the sun dials
with steady hands of anxiety
attacking the knobs at their fastens
My suddle brutality breaks

I wake on the kitchen floor
while the screeching of the sirens pull me in

The Hurt Within
06-22-2008, 08:27 AM
Crusifix Blues
Written by: themarsvolta

I want a woman who
Dresses like a carpenter
She wants to be like Jesus
But God wants to be like her

Her hands are wounded
Working a dead-end job
And she spends all she earns
On a thankless God

Now she's up on her cross
And there is no doubt
She likes the weather up there
And she's not coming down

I've got the crucifix blues
'Cause someone else is nailing you

Turned my snake into a staff
With your Levitikiss
Show me your burning bush
Don't show me no Exodus

It'll be a miracle
When I stop talking babel
And start speaking in tongues
That come down on her

But talking dirty
In these damn parables
Is the only way
That I know how to flirt

I've got the crucifix blues
'Cause someone else is nailing you

06-29-2008, 04:08 PM
Call It "Unrequited"
Written by: My Name is Pete

From nothing to acquaintance.
Just like that,
she's in my life.
Waving hello in the hallway.
Casual conversations,
wherever possible.
School seems exciting now.
Who would've thought?

From acquaintance to friend.
Somehow we've moved
from petty talks
to Starbucked sermons.
Each brain picked,
we're now tuned accordingly.
Our radio station:
within each other's bounds.

It would be true
if I said
that I loved her.

But she doesn't want that.

From friend to best.
Recognition on walls of shame.
Inside jokes, reserved;
Party of two.
The point where names
aren't exchanged.
We know each other.
We are each other.

She tells me her problems
With her current beau.
And I sit,

It would be true
if I said
that I loved her.

But she won't have it,
and I can't help that.

07-06-2008, 02:41 PM
Liquid Genes
Written by: AngryGoldfish

Spilling off the streets
and into the gutters,
the white dove flutters
but fails to perform;
his wings are clipped,
short and snipped.
And all as the cirrhotic crow
gathers, and starts to ascend.

I feel the liquid dreams
are exiled into my genes.
They're always on the shoulder
of love that grows colder.

Innate from infancy,
the blood passes down.
Forever lying in fate,
The drink works in wait.

Leave me the liquor,
I'll bathe in its flicker.

I feel the liquid dreams
are exiled to my genes.
They're perched in the cold,
in trails of genes in the soul.

I can't say I envied them,
but those I have adopted
are blisters flying free,
in the only place I “can't control”.

Choice can be ignorance...
And ignorance is never bliss...
Not in here anyway

07-13-2008, 05:45 AM
Ms. Apt Diagnosis
Written by: Androgyne
Let's lie in the field of feline flowers
where the blades pierce and the whiskers tickle—

There, can you be free?

where the air is too thick to breathe?
Your lungs will suck dry
and your tortured tongue will swell thousandfold,
but with no gasp to scrape your vocal chords
you can’t scream I’m fine!

The Doctors and Gawkers use your choking face
as a gingham bullseye and claim death,
though you haven’t even died.
Can’t they see your fingers
fishing for mine in the sea of festering stress?
It’s just natural.
But I can’t convince you to take that breath
for the doctors’ gloves are the same ones
that suffocate your speech.

How I’d love your lips to split apart—
for me to kiss and you to speak:
It’s just natural.

07-20-2008, 07:12 PM
Sierpinski Triangle
Written by: burnobus7337

Winter has exposed
my neurons, my nuisance,
my reminder why
Michigan holds her
on a brown couch
and has penciled in
my irises until they
could not be erased.

There was air that had
a shadow in a lung,
an atmosphere where
clocks faded into years.
numbers together that
would become prime
factors of open windows
on the city skyline.

Winter stayed on
the brown couch,
shadowed-air breathed
awake in the sunroom.
at daylight everything
froze, cracked, and
then resublimed as mirror-
images on the window.

And in the morning
the fractals of chaos
crawled into her globe
as the season’s first frost.
And in the morning
the similar triangles
fell out of my pockets
into Lake Michigan.

The Hurt Within
07-27-2008, 07:49 PM
Written by: Carmel

There are days that just smell slightly different;
you wake up and something's shifted in the air.
Though you know it’s not heat, nor the beat of your heart
or the sounds from the street down below,
you just know.
Clever boy, you can sense the intense tension in the wind,
the gentle changes in the angle of the rain coming down;
undeniably obvious and visible to all, it grows heavy and fast,
yet the last person to grasp it,
is her.

08-03-2008, 10:22 AM
July Predator
Written by: Bleed_Away

One day you will become a woman
unmistakable by design,
moulded within the pillars of divinity-
all forming but one. Secret of the secrets;
the sapphire pavements of the wine rooms
are motionless to some degree.
You are merely caged beneath the orchard’s dew
within morality and immortality. But
do you dare stare at the broken column,
can you trail without a murmur?
Clay? The colourless wheels of satiety
between being and nakedness,
scattered. And it stoned me.

08-10-2008, 11:25 AM
Woof Woof, Bang Bang
Written by: #1 synth

woof woof, bang bang
dripping pistol
pretty crystals
falling missiles
whispered whistle
her lips quiver
nine months later
no one kissed her
nine months later
she’s a drifter
between her head
and her kid’s lungs
nine months later
fallen pistol
bleached white ground
snow bound hounds
police man whisper
“note said we shouldn’t miss her”
police man kissed her
took her daughter
took the dogs back to the station
shook his head
hung up his jacket
threw her in a freezing trashcan
drifted off to sleep
morning ice
skittering mice
up and down the walls
between New York prison bars
a drunk man watches
pretty crystals
melting down
concrete gown
over the ground
falling missles
woof woof, bang bang
silent sound
heaven’s hounds
here to take them all

08-17-2008, 01:04 PM
Mindy, would you still love me if I shot you and took your money?
Written by: Thomasoman

"Hey Baby,"
It's been over a month since I last saw her.
"I just wanted to let you know,"
Or even bothered talking to her.
"That you're the cutest boy I've known,"
So today I decided I'd lose myself
"The smartest,"
In fantasy;
"The Sweetest,"
Free pornography.
"Most caring."
I searched the internet for a matter of minutes,
"I had a dream about you last night,"
And it didn't take me long to find her.
"We were out in some city,"
A trashy little black-haired girl.
"You were wearing that black shirt I bought you last year,"
She was so pretty.
"You were so handsome."
I fell in love for thirty minutes.
"I told you I loved you."
It wasn't until that evening that I went through my photographs,
"We looked into each other's eyes."
And saw you and I locking lips before a skyline.
"It was so perfect."
We ****ed that night.
"What we have is perfect,"
She moved like a pornstar.
"And I will never forget you."
She looked like a pornstar.
"I'll love you forever."
I fell in love for a night.

08-24-2008, 05:34 PM
sky soul such sad
Written by: skagitup

people are oceans as winter is was
shower together never because
people like whispers. people. perfume.
how sad it is to forget the moon.

people are stars as spring is a cigarette,
as the telephone rings like an orchestra
outside. an artless abstract never
(the strings of the ocean will whisper together)

sad. soul. such. sky.
the mountains are nothing
i am a plumber
people are oceans as winter is summer.

as the clock ticks kill honour we had.
sky. soul. such. sad.

08-31-2008, 10:22 PM
because bored narcissism beats tired contrition every time
Written by: hope's downfall

your t-shirt is fluttering with your silly racing heart
as i stare into your eyes.
i've mastered this look.
you know, that one that makes you
slide your hand up my skirt.
and there's hardly any mosquitoes out tonight,
nothing else to hear you belch out
involuntary truths.
visceral honesty.
i giggle.
i blush.
i'm so fucking good at this,
i should probably feel guilty.
but the alcohol's disappearing with the sun,
and i'm feeling better by the second.

orange sherbet clouds linger above you
as i kiss you the way that
makes you take off my shirt.
and this is where you get sentimental.
uncomfortable honesty.
this time you say i'm more beautiful
than i ever could believe.
i don't want to, but i smile.
it's just so cute how you think you've seduced me.

now the stars are shining brighter,
you're breathing harder,
i'm getting drunker.
just a few more swigs, and we'll be done here.
but before passing out, you'll ask me yet again:
how could you not be in love?
and you'll force me into redundancy;
ever-foolish honesty.
because if we're telling the truth,
we've both faked it before.
i'm just better at it than you.

in fact, i'm so good, it hurts.

The Hurt Within
09-07-2008, 12:54 PM
"Singing Loudon Wainwright III Songs At Kareoke With Stolen Vocal Chords"
Written by: Stellar_Legs

Claire lay in bed with a down-comforter pulled over her head, a mound of a person wrapped in cotton and blankets in a way that teenagers stuff their beds with life-size decoys of themselves when sneaking out of the house. In Paris they make beds the way a bed should feel. She lay on the left side to preserve the small crease that her sister Hannah had left behind on the right. "I think I've earned this," she said out loud. She poked an arm out from under the covers to grab a pack of Delium cigarettes on the nightstand, knocking over a glass. She waited to light up and eventually fell back asleep. The concierge awoke her from her sleep.
"Ms. Claire, you have a phone call."
"No calls, Dante, let me sleep. And find my cigarettes."
"They're lying right beside you, Ms. Claire."
He walked into the back room where the phone sat off the hook.
"I'm sorry Ms. Iva, but Ms. Claire isn't able to talk at the moment."
"Dante, you give her the phone, even if you have to tape it around that thick head of hers."
Dante returned to the bedroom, phone in hand, stretching the cord all the way.
"Ms. Claire, it's your sister. She insists you answer her."
Dante placed the phone by her head.
"Claire, I'm standing outside the building. Let me in."
"I'll have Dante fill out the correspondance and then you can -"
"Claire, have him buzz me in, goddamnit."

Iva walked down the hallway in a fevered hurry, begast to a conversation that would stretch on for hours and required not an ounce of haste to marathon herself down the hallway like a police officer. The doors of the Bellvue Apartment complex were faded baige decorated in nothing more than room numbers and peep-holes. Except for the one at the end - The door had been hand-painted lavender some years ago and laminated on the front was a Gregor Namsoinski line - "Liking people and liking life. Riverbends lit up by light. Dancing flurry, laughing sigh. Let's be humans for awhile."
Iva let herself in.
Claire was upright in bed smoking her black Delium as Dante cleaned up the wine stain on the side of the bed.
"There was a lost passage in the New Testament," said Iva. "Archeologists discovered it."
"And what did it say?"
"The Lord said unto thee 'Black chemically enhanced clove cigarettes are not thy work of my father thy Lord, bur rather the work of Paris, it's ne'er do-wells and faded, crusty hipsters."
"Spare me this please."
Claire hopped out of bed and paced to the bathroom completely nude.
Dante nervously coughed and averted his eyes.
"I've come to tell you that it's incredibly unhealthy that you've been living in Hannah's room for the last two months, wearing her clothes, using her bathtub. Mom has sent me as dispatch to bring you back to Manhattan."
"Stuffy old Manhattan. You can't climb trees in Manhattan. Here I can pick any old tree from my balcony window and say 'I'll climb you today, fellow.' And I do it. Often."
Iva took a seat on the bed, careful to avoid Hannah's imprint.
"How do you see trees from 34 stories up?"
"It's a special telepathy. Me and the trees. Great minds think alike."
Claire returned from the bathroom wearing a pink low-rise spaghetti strapped dress that had come right out of a Lotus Vintage catalog.
"I like Paris, Iva."
"Are you still in mourning?"
Claire sat next to Iva and passed her a cigarette.
"Poor Hannah."
"Poor Hannah..."
"How many guys did you **** in High School, you think?" asked Claire.
"You're devious...Not as many as Hannah."
"Poor Hannah...she got the worst end of it I do believe, wouldn't you say? Raped by the Science Club."
"And by that loathsome Phys. Ed. teacher."
"Snnnagggle Toooooth Smile."
The girl burst into uproarious laughter, falling over each other and the floor.
Dante poked his head around the corner with a grin.
Iva was rolling around on the floor holding her stomach.
"Jesus shit."
She stood up and walked to Claire, brushing the brown hair out of her face and pulling her straps back around her shoulders. Iva walked to the balcony window. In the right hand corner on the glass was another Namsoinski line - "Dilly dally, shilly shally." Iva opened the sliding glass door and threw the cigarette butt over the railing from the inside carpet. She turned to Claire.
"Show me where she jumped."

The girls headed out onto the balcony. A small fenced area that could fit a chair, a small in-table and nothing else.
"She wrote out here, I believe."
Three feet above their heads was a cement ledge that protruded from the top of the door frame. An easy climb for someone nimble enough to climb even the dankiest tree. Iva pulled the in-table close enough and both girls climbed the ledge. They stood on top of it looking out across the city. Three inches of their shoes stuck out and keep a solid footing proved difficult.
"She was a true blue. I applaud her. In a sense, she overcame her fear of heights."
The girls leaned against the back of the wall.
"What were in her pockets again?"
"She was completely nude. I can't believe you failed to remember that. They say as she passed the floor windows, every tenant on every floor popped their head out to watch her fall, like a dominoe reaction almost."
The girls climbed back down to the balcony and Iva re-arranged the in-table back against the railing.
They headed inside and closed the glass door.

"This isn't healthy Claire, and it's not going to get any better."
Claire curled back up into bed and pulled the comforter to her chin. She placed her Delium pack back on the nightstand.
"Just give me one more week. Can you stay that long?"
"No, not here. Somewhere else. I can't stand for anyone to be here right now."
Iva slowly walked to the lavender Namsoinski riddled door and cracked it open.
She ran her hands up and down the frame.
"I won't tell you that you have a chance to save your marriage, because you don't. When you up and left, Shane disappeared. I can't say if he'll return."
"Shane can stay gone. Everything now is bigger than my relationship to him."
Iva walked out into the hallway.
"I'll see you tomorrow. One more week, okay?"
She shut the door.
Claire sat back up in bed and lit another clove cigarette. She got back up and headed towards the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. A Coudeux for a reason. Unopened for a reason. Centered to the left of the china cabinet for a reason. The apartment had been blueprinted on perfect reasoning and perfect occurances that matched Hannah's scheme of things. The telephone rang.
"Dante, could you please get that?"
Another ring.
Yet another.
Claire hurried to the living area and took the call herself, invigorated in some strange form of ghost control and haunted balconies.
Heavy breathing filled through the wiretaps and a woman's raspy voice came out the other end -
"You'll die alone up there if you're not careful."
The phone clicked.
Claire crawled back into bed with her glass, sat it on the table, threw the rest of her pack of Delium's in the waste basket by her bedside, pulled the comforter over her head and cried and cried and cried for the remainder of her last week in Paris ghosthunting.

The Hurt Within
09-14-2008, 06:49 PM
The Best I Can Give Is 2%
Written by: Fly, Marlowe

embraced each other like defeat,
in the wee hours, we
sunk bourbon down thirsty throats
burned the chill, swallowed the choke, and
swapped healthy for sane. We may
have flooded out our love, but at
least we drowned the pain.

don’t cry over

We ordered out and
ate with sticks.
I swallowed words
and a paper slip, that read
like an obituary.
You told a joke like a secret,
stretched a crooked smile,
and between blushing cheeks whispered:
We’re like books. When we’re opened,
We’re red.

That one just killed me.
Still showing teeth stained read,
you mop me up like
spilled milk.

09-21-2008, 09:20 AM
North and West
Written by: Spike_8bkp

when I wonder why,
I see my compass only
points me north and west.

Spinning on its axis
deriving light from cold
dizzy when I wake up
confusing the floor with snow

but maybe I'm not delusional,
and maybe she's not dancing
with escape but simply flying
without the aid of duct tape

Speaking in rotarian terms,
we're talking atmosphere in
earnest, beauty belayed
screaming slopes that force

you to cope with the wrath
of the earth and her solid
confines from which we
have been freed to see
her from her summits

without psychotic prophets
prone to moving stones and
handing out eternal life.
So, worry not, my friends in strife,

Any of your lords will do the trick.
And for those without, the sun will suffice.

Latchkey sheep are soaring, too,
at majestic altitudes of
forty two thousand, six hundred thirty
soon they may retreat

or begin to drop bombs.

Whatever their decision,
I hope it coincides
with your choice of gods.

Printing out redundancies
and posting them on walls
will attract the moths -
yes, those suicidal pests
worth so bloody much
to the Buy-a-knees

Liver, contraption heart killer
Arsonist sinner sitting in the corner
Bridges have been collapsing on his
back for so long, he cannot walk across them.

And yet he wishes to not be broken
Please hold while he recovers the
ashes; reconstructing begins.

grip tornadoes with the nerves it takes to move
drive percussive forces from the lips with which
she soothes

09-28-2008, 01:05 PM
Soundwave Erosions
Written by: themarsvolta

Climbed a lifeguard ladder,
God asked me “What’s the matter?”
Said “I’m spying on the world.”
He said “Son, you can’t lie
With that war paint in your eyes,
You’re hunting Goliath’s girl.”
I’m too passive-aggressive,
Not to give this a whirl.
Long walks on the beach
On the shores of Normandy,
Breaking gun shells for pearls.

Por que la sirena
No sabe nadar
En la agua bendita.

Then I sat all alone,
Skipping Rolling Stones
Outside your bedroom window.
An endless pitter patter
To make the ocean shatter
And drown your Romeo.
But canyon corrosions/
Soundwave erosions
Are as weak as Cupid’s bow.
So I sat in the middle
Of the waves and ripples,
Sinking like DiCaprio.

Por que la sirena
No sabe nadar
En la agua bendita.

The cigarette boats
With their cancerous smoke
Brought ‘Salem’s cargo tonight.
And the messiah king
Heard the siren sing,
So he flooded all his shrines.
But the harpoon hunters
With their crucifix lovers
Will be begging for their lives.
Through the Judgement clouds
I heard Goliath shout,
“Jesus, get away from my wife!”

Por que la sirena
No sabe nadar
En la agua bendita.

10-05-2008, 08:00 PM
Written by: Dæmönika

Hemispheres and latitudes turn on their heads
and embrace one another. An incision,
so precise it gains second glances,
splits the subject in two. A gasp then,
so faint it could be mistaken for a sigh
made by a lover in the deep still of the night,
echoes a softness; a pillow on a padded wall.

Inside, the prize. Innocence, in a sense,
takes the form of many figures and eights,
a pair of harmlessness. An indication with
a crimson-gloved finger shows the damage,
darkness where health should be. A bold suggestion
that the subject suffered terribly, and another
gasp, another made from a sigh.
The voice of Man; smoking kills.
The voice of Child; so does time,
we still like to keep it.

10-12-2008, 03:13 PM
The thirteenth step
Written by: culex-knight

i. deception

somewhere between early august and
auburn leaves you took that
softly swirling feeling, that
succubus whip-lash sting,
away from her,
away from me

ii. monsters

there are monsters;
the wolf ran you down,
little rabbit, as we were
running through the forest.
i followed blood trails and
pieces of fluff from your tail
to the shores of our
imaginations, now nightmares.

the full moon cackles madly at me.

iii. the countess

some saintly figure,
standing solemn in the forest,
soft light lighting the lectern
from which he reads from a
book entitled,

iv. air

i am near sighted.
they told me my night vision
was pretty shitty, but with these
lenses i would see better.

it’s still pretty ****ing dark.

v. perennial

death has forgotten me

vi. linen litter

i lay here, left
along a foxhole in
the love-laid laundry
you’re leaving.

vii. remembrance

“And with pursed lip sorcery
quell the maelstrom
inside your head.”

viii. orpheus

we laid like lions beneath the breeze,
shifting paws and purring yawns,
you listened to my love-lyre serenades

we soon became rabbits running from wolves;
in the furrows of the forest, i lost you,
you had sold yourself to the snakes

all of you will weep for me

i turned hell itself against death,
Hades himself wept for me.
listen to me now, love, it is time for you to come home

but it is here where i walk now,
that knowing i will not look back
for you cannot be there

Hades calls to me, she will not follow
why is it my Eurydice, why is it
that you have forsaken me?

ix. the gravel road


x. geis

we left, in full flight,
our chariots charging across the fields.
my foot was pierced--
what brooding this brooch would bring?
none for we knew all and nothing

my charioteer and i did see
along the road, the daughters three,
we didn’t know it then;
i ate the hound in me

i left this life later at the battle.
three pointed spears,
the king of charioteers,
lord of horses, and me

only when the raven’s perched
you will know i am gone

xi. silently/answers

the blankets were not enough..
all these sheep, and i have failed as a shepherd.

so i will sink back to the bitter weeds
from which i came;
we will leave the answers untamed.
no longer will you bathe in the dim light
of my pastel soul,
so i will sink back to the bitter weeds

i will forever be trapped in the doorway
the window sill,
the drafty house--

xii. prophecy

oh little prince,
happy birthday

xiii. the thirteenth step

-- Longing for you
no one else…

10-19-2008, 05:54 PM
Face down in the river...
Written by: NinjaMonkey767

don't be fooled
she was there to be taken
you're not as locked up as you play it out to be.
but Katie's getting older now.
She'll wander off to party and
explore her body,
how many drinks it takes to black out.
And like a loser, I'm throwing a football out on the street,
feeling visible, but
always cutting the vines
that try to conceal me-
make me one with the land-
one of them.
I never went to prom.
I never got that dance.
I never casually placed that kiss upon her cheek.
I'm 19 years old,
and the time of my youth,
and all it's would-be romance
is dead and gone.

She doesn't know how close I've been
to cutting my throat like a fish fillet.
Maybe if I do it on her porch, she'll notice.
Anything to not wake up again.
To be forced to suffer the dawn
that wakes me, as if to say
"you still haven't found a way
to break free."

10-26-2008, 10:22 PM
Written by: Carmel

An early fall breeze tickles the nostrils
of dark bays and cliffs on the shore.
Entering the cavities, the wounded
rock walls plagued with caves, it gushes
inside them, spills out from the gashes
and races upon the tide and onto the sea.

The breeze, now a wind,
taunts the waves, calls the water
to fight for its name; element to element,
body of liquid to body of nothing but movement –
a mating dance, a sacred ritual of an ancient battle
declaring war on the spray of the sea, its tears of anger.

Some may call it a storm, this gathering force
that troubles and wakens from slumber
all the gages, ecstatic, anything but static.
And the sea gazes, glazed over by the sweeping
sweet whispers of the warm western winds,
provoking, enraging, enticing the watery flames
of the waves, which stay enslaved to the sea,
bounded by atoms aspiring upwards, in love
with the wind that can only carry but a few drops
onto the land where it cries back to the ground
for its lover the sea, that can never come on the journey
without severing all bridges of nature.

And if it could –

It will be the revolution that revolves around
their rotating rebellious body parts of water and air
that quiver to vibrating electric charges, exploding
on a subatomic level all around us and crash
the unstable ground under our very feet
as it becomes a landslide in front of our very open eyes,
gasping in amazement at the beautiful destruction

when sea and wind become one.

The Hurt Within
11-02-2008, 06:10 PM
Written by: ZanasCross

It’s the hallway glances that will always mean the most to me. The half or quarter second where she and I or he and I share our lives. It’s non-verbal, but pungent and tangible. His grimace, her faked smile, his busy schedule and over checking his watch to make sure that he’s still on time from when he checked it two seconds ago, her cell phone conversation that isn’t going as planned. For milliseconds, I get to step out of my life; out of my broken relationship (that she’s trying to wrench back together), my fear of what’s to come (the future always looks good from far away, like fat chicks look skinny about a mile out), my piss-poor GPA, and just bleed through them. For as long as I can stare into passing eyes, I get to feel. God, it’s amazing. Feeling. Something I haven’t done for myself in twenty-one years. I remember being five and standing at my best friend’s casket, thinking about the flashcards at school that day and telling myself that Danny was bound to die eventually at least he did it fast enough that I wouldn’t have to beat him in flashcard races tomorrow. No tears. No emotion.

Oh, here comes one. Fishnets, black hoodie, short black skirt, black hair... brown eyes. She’s a *****. I can tell it, and she knows it. Her glance is still singing the praises of last nights random encounter. She liked that one, it made this morning good. He was handsome in a scary sort of way, and the way he pulled her close right before she came; oh the exhilaration. God, she lived for that. If she could feel like that…

The moment passes. She’s on to her next meeting and I’m still standing at the corner of the hallway, just looking. Pretending like I didn’t just get high off of her emotions. Trying to hide the fact that I just took a hit in public, and my mind is racing with all sorts of ideas that could have never been there without my drug, without being a wallflower with pacing eyes.

Another specimen. He’s a professor; my physics professor actually. Typically a jolly fellow, but today his face is dark. Brows are furled, lips taught and poised to jump out and bite anyone who dares wander too close. He thinks his wife is having an affair. I know, because I’ve been there. I’ve tightened my lips and taken it out on friends but for different reasons than him. He’s hurt… bloodshot eyes tell me he was up all night thinking about it; he’s betrayed. I was never that, I was perplexed; but that’s a different story. He pauses, bald head gleams in fluorescent lights, and he turns into a classroom; eyes never lifting from the floor below him; but I know. I know he wants to burn a hole through the door and punch through the cinder blocks beside it, but he never will; he doesn’t have the balls. I know how that feels too.

Cheerleader. You can always spot them. Their eyes have a fake gleam about them. Like they painted a reflective film on them… to make sure they're always sparkling, just like she painted her teeth white. It’s the cheeks that give her away, a missed make-up spot that shows tired lines and dying skin. It’s red and chapped and tired of being hidden underneath a fake beauty. Her cheek is singing BB King and she’s chanting the latest pop song. Her cheek sings prettier; I can feel it; it touches my soul, reminds me that I should give up living vicariously through strangers… that I’m hiding behind the emotional foliage of teenagers and old men that have seen too little or too much to be of any logical value.

“Ummmm, why do you always stand here and look at me as I walk to class?” Dear, if you could see what I just saw in your face, you’d kill to just stand here and gaze.

11-09-2008, 11:24 PM
Written by: Bassbeat77

I step outside for a second...
Won't need a coat,
just a light jacket.
It's been two weeks,
I can't wait to see her.
Step back in, stop
to take a quick look
in the mirror;
nothing too fancy,
(I don't want to seem desperate)
a red T over blue jeans,
her favorite pair because
she likes the way
they hug me.
I comb my hair,
brush my teeth,
feed the cat, now
it's time to leave.

She asked me to
meet her at the park.
The one downtown where
people always go to
walk their dogs.
During the 10 minute hike,
my excitement is peeked.
Almost there, almost...
there she is. I spot her
on a bench as soon as I
turn the corner,
other than her the
park is empty.

I jog over and take a seat.
She doesn't even look at me,
just drops an envelope
on my lap, with the word
"sorry" written in red ink.
I open it up to find
only one thing,
an engagement ring,
the one from me.

I can't think of a reason.
I close my eyes
long enough
to notice I've
stopped breathing.
I open my eyes, open my mouth
and turn to her to say...
nothing, she's already
up and on her way.

I realize just how empty
the park really is.
The quiet emphasizing
the subtle snap and crackle
of autumn's failing patience,
and with each step heard
I wonder under which leaf
she's hidden my backbone
and dignity.

11-16-2008, 07:45 PM
Written by: The Hurt Within

In 1985 my Grandfather celebrated
two birthdays, his own and mine.
A few years down the line
when I sat beside his chair
and heard him hauling in his
unsteady chain of breath, each link
another lump in the back of his throat,
words he wished he'd said.
"Stephen" he crowed, saying my name
like the demand "look at me,"
while placing his hand on top of mine,
displaying a scar across his knuckles -
a workmans' wound from the buses,
back when they were maintained.
"Never look back, I never did."

Both of us began to cry,
side-by-side in the Ercol chairs
I had placed outside for us,
facing out at the untended garden,
until a woman came and took his hand
from mine, escorting him back into the
past, leaving me to walk away freely
looking forward to living by way
of the future.

11-23-2008, 05:22 PM
(i) mr. pensitivity and the wailing so and so's
Written by: Rushmore

1988, i was kicking at my mothers womb with my combat boots and the ripe thoughts of revolution only a baby can possess. feed me popsicle sticks and toothpaste on birch tree limbs, our father of a few will love me like the other two.

i came out of her belly button with sketches of nuclear war heads and christmas lists for 89', 90', and 91'. i want a firetruck, handcuffs, a race track, and a suite in the hotel hilton where my love for everything can incubate and hatch into a love for nothing without two arms, two legs, and a crooked jaw.

2008 now and its all about the same, my distaste for women, my eternal hate of happiness. banging my head on a pleading park bench, begging for climate change, limousine courage, a staged petition to save the whales and to stop mr. pensitivity and the wailing so and so's from taking over.

downtown east parking garage, stuffing every god damn exhaust pipe of every god damn car with potatoes, still my thoughts of revolution flutter on.

11-30-2008, 01:36 PM
New England Clam Chowder
Written by: haunted_engines

signal ghosts with cigarette flares
in hazy alleys—between thorn twisted vines
and your jeans soaked with beer.
You’ve got extramarital intentions
I’ve got six dollars, a bus pass
and a garage door code.
Don’t worry, no one lives there anymore
but if you touch the front door
this will turn into a story
about a building collapsed
and an armed robbery
of bottled water and birth control.

Poets look like rock stars
they wear sunglasses and drive sexy
imported cars. They are the grandsons
and granddaughters of slaves and moonshiners
they shout through dormitory hallways
Obama is president, I can do whatever the **** I want,
and thank God, because my erection for Bush
turned flaccid and infected.

anyway I got robbed that night
but I didn’t care. Money makes you
feel like you shouldn’t spend it.
Now I would if I still had it.
I’d buy that ukulele with no strings
in the window at 1st Avenue,
and that makes me much happier.
I could join you and be wealthy
I could betray you and be penniless
and unzip illicit zippers and kneel in closets
hidden from a coyote killing madman husband
if he knew his wife called out my name
against the rotation of ceiling fan blades
he'd field dress me with Palin-like precision.
if he doesn’t catch me
if he doesn’t slit my throat
it’ll be a miracle

I trusted Jesus, I held onto that rosary until my palms were sweaty.

but I bailed because I thought I saw a UFO
in the desert in New Mexico.
Looking through a book of poetry
wondering what they did with all the fat, old
Viagra-abusing, moustache doting, clown-ass
mother****er descendents of war heroes.
So I stick my head between my shoulders
and I stare east, carry my gaze Virginia
because I went down on this girl
and it tasted like clam chowder.
New England, you shine like a deserter.

12-07-2008, 07:59 PM
Eulogy for a Beach Bunny
Written by: NGD1313

"eulogy for a beach bunny"
(fonzie jumps the shark pt. II)

ceiling of pale blue,
casting shallow light and slick hues.
everything shines for a little while.
it was as if the pockmarked postcard
had swallowed the whole world in its
tired little sigh of joy.
"see the way the shore is never short on waves?
that's god telling us, 'the tide will always be there
to wash our footprints away'. isn't that beautiful?"
i'd liked the steps the way they were,
the tentative stumbles of the unsteady child.
progress, leaves nothing to chance.
crawl, sit, stand, you'll still be alone on the cold, wet sand.
and everything you love will rest on the pale blue ceiling,
just above your hands. but the tide has washed certainty away,
so i will stand and fall, a dream-drenched giant, who still feels small.

12-14-2008, 01:08 PM
For Those Who Live
Written by: sre9981

Those who live, I salute you

You are the broken wrists,
Spilling out of bar-room brawls,
Pounding on the pavement
Of oil-slicked streets.

You are the empty Krylon cans
Littering back-alley murals,
Shading the line
Between vandalism and art

You are the fierce word-smiths
Syllables into steel sculptures
Assembled on the streets of the city

You are the turntable twisters
Spinning needles into grooves,
Weaving dancers like threads
Into a single tapestry of motion

You are fireworks
Screaming across the night sky
Towards inevitable destruction
In one remarkable flash

You are the ones who live
For the rest of us
As we spend Friday nights alone,
Afraid of what would happen

If we light our own fuse
And forget to count the seconds
In the dwindling moments before
Our one final, brilliant burst.

12-21-2008, 02:38 PM
*removed per request*
Written by: Snowblind 911

12-28-2008, 08:28 PM
Woodchips and Playgrounds
Written by: Ebshabutiee

I don’t think crying can explain what just happened
The tears would create mud
And you can’t bury your love in mud
That’s not habitual
Listen to the melted bells clang
That speaks volumes about this day
Decibels like pages in a short story by Poe
I feel light, and never to be the same

My Boutonnière,
Red flower, scarlet perhaps
Quiet so that it was guilty of puritan plagiarism
I feel bad for Hester, this was tacky
My Hair,
Long overdue cut to perfection
Barber shop off the boat Italians
Telling me, it’s a good day, maybe,
Without all of that hair you’ll finally be able to see it

Coax my limo driver into speeding
Not late, so much as, anxious
It is Christmas time by the way
Carolers out and about,
Hollering at people like KGB-superlatives
Harsh? I don’t like unwanted noise
Tis’ the season

I am burnt pretty badly by all of this
Last I remember is flat on a stretcher
Crying eyes of pop,
Not mine, hers,
Drunken loons shouldn’t be allowed near candles

Missing you is too cliché to state,
I still remember our first fight
You pushed me into the woodchips at school
They’re suppose to help cushion the fall, not so much
And when the Drunkard buffoon comes waltzing in with an apology,
That to me is the definition of playground-irony
I cliché you. Truly, I do.

01-05-2009, 11:30 AM
the mirage suite.
Written by: NGD1313

the mirage suite
[or the life you'd dream to lead.]

i. lady and the tramp

she felt his eyes close around her gaze.
"stop it, let me go"
"no this moment is mine until we curl up and die,
alone in a house that will never become a home."
their joined spines unwind as they leave behind only imprints
on the ground to remind someone that for one violent moment
they were comets colliding with the earth.
they were the sparks that set flame to the hearth.
for one moment she was beautiful, and he was there to see it.

ii. the ballad of the s.s. minnow

the worst thing about ships is their tendency to sink when storms hit.

he was a captain, sea sick, unfit, to guide this boat to anything but rocky shores.
of course. of course. of course. his throat was hoarse. cathartic screams, and always off course.
"i had a thousand paper crane dreams that one day you'd sail back to me,
but i couldn't wait for you my captain. i'm already broken and you're a heartache waiting to happen.
and i had a thousand songs to sing, though you heard not a word cause you've been forever lost at sea.
and i had a brick house with a white picket fence and two children and you never came for us.
i've found a new heart, cut from construction paper and colored with black marker.
and though i drew you in the center, you've long been scribbled out and replaced with another.
oh my daydream lover. don't you dream of me anymore?"
and all along he sat and played piano songs on pearl keys sparkling like diamond rings.
"minor, minor, minor chords, my man. everything feels minor right now."

iii. springtime for hitler

"years and years and years,
you're still not here.
but i'll wait. some day it'll rain,
and i'll bloom inside your bedroom.
it's been a long winter, and all i need
is a little sunlight and something to hold tight."
and when he found her it was like a film reel played in reverse.
her hands peeled off his shoulders and she ran backwards.
she was a stream and he was rising steam.
so certain they'd never meet, that when they did,
they'd forgotten everything.
but he dug in his pocket and pulled out a sea foam rose.
"i added a petal for every day since you'd been away."
"but you were the one who left."
"i was always with you, hoping you'd find your way back to me."

iv. casanova

he is a violent shiver.
she shakes and stutters as she
draws her lips together in a silent quiver.
her lips were emeralds, and they were endless.
and the lovers were a landscape of sweat and flesh,
of longing and regret.
of life and death.
they weren't anything but two breaths drifting through
an expansive atmosphere.
but when their forms collided inside her bedroom mirror,
they were as one. the man becomes a god.
"our love has the power to move worlds
to swallow words and leave only the feeling."
and he was birthing blistering semen dreams of brothers and sisters
in the valleys of her hips and all that was left were a few months
til they'd find they had redrawn the lines on their palms.

v. benjamin button

and so nights unfold,
children grow old
and everything becomes a sun setting.
or a dream ending, back at the beginning.
"you'll leave, i believe, but i won't come find you."
he placed a shriveled seafoam rose on her chest
and left her forever.
"there are no comets, or imprints, or sailboats, or happy endings."

vi. plagiarism

so began disintegration.
the wild mood swings of the imaginary boy
with no faith and no place to rest his head.
she was a ghost and he was a fool,
with no space to meet except under some tuesday moon
in an aeroplane over the sea, with avery island under their feet.
he stood above a stone.
"i fell asleep with explosions in my eyes,
but i didn't dream of swelling riffs or dynamic shifts,
i only dreamt of your hand in mine,
forever and ever, all time."
he wept, he slept, on the wet grass.
sank through the dirt and found
a home at last.

01-11-2009, 12:06 PM
the former years.
Written by: ottoavist

Valentina sank in the couch
with a wall clock in her lap
and an unwaivering stare into
time. pay close attention here
and then it's so easy to lose yourself,
but she's not lost, so don't fool
yourself. mother's Maker's Mark
on the dry bar and she brushes
Val's hair with golden intentions
while a monkey takes time to think
about dying on her breaking back.
distinguished father and the
rain clouds above his newspaper
dropping scents of pipe tobacco and
musk to the untrained nose, he greets
the neighborhood each morning with a
smile that took years of practice in his
polka dot boxers and exposed hairy
chest from an initialled silk robe.

she was unnaturally beautiful;
intimidatingly beautiful - but,
Val didn't talk for some reason.

in the summer,
her father gave me twenty-five
to mow their lawn while he and
the wifey were out for dinner.
when i finished
i ordered pizza for Val
and i,
and we'd get high and
watch sitcoms
and she always clapped at the end.

i loved her.
i wanted to love her,
the way a woman should be loved
by a decent man.

in the winter,
her mother ran the vacuum
and neither her or her manly
man knew how to work the
breaker box. so when i flipped
the switch for them, i'd sneak
and hand Valentina
poetry i wrote just for her,
and sometimes i'd see her
crying in her room looking
back to me from window to
window -
man i just wanted her voice.

the marvelous Valentina
went to college in 2006,
and after two months in,
she hung herself with a belt
in her dorm closet.

i received a letter from her
before i'd heard the news -
she told me that when she
was 10, her father and his poker
friends whom he owed money to,
took her on a little "vacation"
to his log cabin.
they each took turns on her
for payment,
and when she screamed in pain,
she was told to
hush, hush, hush.
when he took her back home,
he told her:
hush, hush, hush;
and rocked her back and forth to calm her.

hush, hush, hush.

hush, hush, hush.

hush. h
hush. u u
hush. u
hush. s
hush. h, babygirl.

she wrote me -
i love you so much,
but i am too used up
and filthy now
to give myself to anyone.
when i enter Heaven,
God will cleanse my body
and we can spend eternity
together when it's your time
to meet me there.

the silence;
it sometimes came to her as
a broken entity,
like when a person recollects
small fragments of their
infancy; a surreal blanket
for a logical creature.
surviving traces of an evidently
chronological servitude
to unhealing scars from those,
former years.

that day,
i called up a dirty surgeon i
fronted 4 ounces of pot to,
and told him he wouldn't have
to pay me back if he could
do me a big favor.

her father was greeted the next day
by a vacuum salesman
with a...smile so much more perfect
than his.
the doc called me and put the phone
up to this manly man's ear -
and as each incision was precisely made,
i just told him, hush:
hush, for i am the unheard retribution
that shall disconnect you from this world.
...and then he was silent.

01-19-2009, 04:55 AM
Written by: Jammydude44

and i see rain, and i feel rain,
flick after flick, annoying - not
a thing more -
and umbrella is pest
with pointed corners poking
sharp; stop-stare,
it's rain and it's water
and i'm sure i've been safe
under rain before,

and i'm sure i've been burnt
by the sun.

01-25-2009, 04:45 PM
Written by: rockergirl1122

About this time, I’d have been
Pressed against your wall, my skin
Stretched against my bones; saran
Covering my guilty hands
See-through, pretty plaster mask
Flooding with my laughing tears
Was I there or was I here
Basking in the aftermath?

(Instrumental, music gains intensity)

They cuffed me like a criminal
The key so stern, the lock so cold
If only I was characterized
Cartoon smile, drawn-on eyes
I’d arise, my hands untied
A victor in my episode
But I remained, half-ashamed
The key still stern, the lock still cold

The key did turn, the lock took hold

(Another instrumental, music more intense)

You threw me in the hospital
The faces pale, the hope so scarce
A jail for petty fiends of fate
Beady gazes burning air
A goldfish in a tank of eels
Smoke exhaling from my gills
My eyes had lost their guppy glow

So am I here or am I there
My head for sale, my freedom sold?

(Bridge Instrumental)

If I were just a storybook
I’d mark through every yellow page
Then stumble over all the lines
And beg for every word to stay

I stain each blank slate with my brain
They fade to black as I grow gray
My eyes that find you, blurred and dark
Never bound, never apart

02-01-2009, 01:50 PM
a he and a she inside a city
Written by: skagitup

waking to the sounds of the city. the recently employed rising, brushing teeth over sinks laden with a selection of economy branded beauty products and shaving foamy mist of morning in the bloodshot eyes - smells of pineapple, lemon, grapefruit, tee tree etc. rushing out of apartment windows and drifting down the street into a crowd of oncomers, sweeping and shoving bags swaying and flattering with shy looks across. it was perfectly demonstrated in one particular attempt of embrace to a stranger on a morning just like this - he attempted to sweep a woman into his brutish arms in a moment of splendour and observed only her panic and fly off down montague street, muttering something about redemption. i heard only cries of exemption. she simply did not wish to be touched. the city simply too congested for a man like him, smoking on the balcony in terms of perfectly profound fragile lips slipping to the neck of a cigarette with such delicacy that the city appears to be facing his way. the rim of his wineglass is moist, the wine inside such a deep european flavour mixing and almost beyond the constraints of everything, including the traffic below making such a very big noise.

she - "come inside. you'll die"
he - "so be it"

and walked back into the room through the french doors from the balcony and flopped down onto the white sheets next to her, several strands of hair losing position and framing his face for her as if to say hello i am a picture. and it was indeed a picture the two of them within a city, within infact a world containing several oceans (one in particular being the mediterranean of which he was undeniably fond) that would never be sailed in favour of comfort. she brushed back his hair into place as if to say i do not want to look at the picture i want to look at the real thing and he smiled back as if to say i would rather not be a picture anymore as well. it was such a special moment highlighted perhaps by him hopping up momentarily to grab a slightly warm can of budweiser from the dresser before returning to her on the bed. they spoke of several things which are not too important (they knew this) but spoke of one which was - they were very much in l.

& such were the events of that sad day, that saddest day infact. in what is now an older man's life - the day when he will begin to delight in thoughts of the past more so than he delights in ideas of the future.

02-08-2009, 01:52 PM
Seasonal, Seasonal
Written by: Jammydude44

The clocks lie; days stretch their bitterly blue arms
out longer in the winter, straining but holding.
Does the Sun know? Yes, and hides for fear of fearing
the moon. The moon? Behind the clouds to pounce.

It came on gradually - summer passed it's time
by sweating, and bee stings. Autumn never had it.
Then winter came and dragged the hours like
the heaving bosom to a top too tight.

Also winter swindled me. With the sky blue
and clouds invisible, I started outside. The cold
hit me square in jaw like a boxer. I counted
myself out. Then this sap went back to bed.

Am I melting with the slush? I feel as frail as the
creaking oak under the strain of wind, yet look
pink, and as sprite as a shorn rabbit thumping.

But there, skulking from upwind, is the fox,
with February lurking behind him.

02-23-2009, 06:16 PM
Andrew and Angela are laid on his bed.
Written by: seventh_angel

Andrew and Angela are laid on his bed. It’s half past eleven in the night, and they are addicted on each other to kill the boredom that composes the air.

You’re not here…

No reaction whatsoever in his face. There was no mumble; no sound; nothing that made him being in the place he was.

Where were you?
In my mind.

She touched him on the left side of his brain. He didn’t feel a thing.

Somewhere in between.
Are you lost?
In you.
Because you’re not here.
Yes I am.
In my mind.
…In your mind.

“A moment of silence, please, for those who never get the chance.”

Are you still looking for me?
For three months… Are you here?
Only if you want to…
You are.
Look into my eyes, babe.
I’m afraid.
Of what?
I’m afraid that you might vanish.
Don’t be silly! It’s up to you.
It’s up to me to be the mediator between my head and my hands.
Don’t quote things, you silly!
I’m sorry; I was never good with words.
You are…
But you don’t like them.
True… Do you think we stopped the clock?
Au the contraire. It’s rushing to midnight.
Do you want me to go?
Do as you wish… You were never here in the first place.
Do you want a kiss goodnight?
You can’t.
Because you never gave.
Because you’re a coward! All you do is being a ghost in the scene; biding time to take the initiative you’ll never take; imagining things that will never happen if you stand there, acting as a ****ing martyr! If you grow some big, strong balls and say things out loud, instead of keeping them in a ****ing monitor or in a paper sheet, maybe people would see you as the person you’re afraid to show.
I’m just insecure… I lack self-esteem.
Oh, and is that something new? Go back to the past you lied to me about and search for the things you never had.
You’re being harsh…
I’m being bitterly honest with you. Can’t you see I cannot love who you’re not?
Can I be bitterly honest with you?
I love you.

And so, she vanished to where she never left.

03-01-2009, 09:51 PM
good morning, GOOD MORNING
Written by: cubs

and i never found out where she went
or if she was even here at all
but its good to have faith, i mean
she must still exist somewhere
in a circus, some place
selling stars, wandering around
still dreaming of ways to fly
as the world slowly drifts by

i have nothing to say to her.
last time we saw each other we could
not communicate. she kept screaming
something in this mechanical language, i
just smiled and wished her a happy birthday.
she blew off the candles (not sure if she made a
wish or if she even could) and offered each one of the guests
small slices of cake carefully cut up with
her favorite chainsaw, her own hands
and i told her "you know, I had the weirdest dream
last night: we were in some valley in California, it was
spring. we climbed the highest mountain we could find
and in the cold steel air we promised
to forgive each other for everything we've
ever done. we removed our hearts from our bodies
and cast them into the world below."

and her skin, her skin
it feels colder each time
her mouth is an icebox
gotta keep those lies fresh
and my head (ohyesyes!)
keeps trying to delete that scene
in which this golden sunset
turns into that ugly rusty moon

and i think i saw her a few weeks ago
said hi;
"hey, you still have that perfect
smile on your face."
she blushed and with bees flying
out of her mouth wished me a
nice day.

03-15-2009, 05:52 PM
January 14th, 2009
Written by: ColdFrontAttack
Can I walk you home? And just maybe I can get out some of these things you might not have known. But then again i'm sure you saw it everytime you looked into my eyes, the way the light reflected off yours on each occasion they aligned. And i'm sure you saw that smile of mine, it's never been so wide. Or even close, stretched out from coast to coast, just a bit too much to hide. Like I hid behind these wishes, just wishing you were mine. I put my two front teeth under my pillow, and in the morning just a dime. I made my way up to the genie, he said 'son look, there's a line'. I know what to do with lemons but life only gives me limes.

Well happy Valentine's

Can we talk alone? There's some things i'd like to say to you, sans the static of a phone. Things you probably could've guessed when our bodies were aligned, you'd have no intention of leaving, even if you knew the time. And even that became irrelevant somewhere between 4 and 5. I only made you go home cause I had to catch my flight- and that was only the first time. I skipped stones all day but they eventually sank, and I was the captain of my ship, but forced to walk to plank.

Just wanted to say thanks.

For everything you never let unfold, for making such a young man begin to feel so old, and tired, lost and uninspired and cold. I always knew February could be rough, but it's frozen more than just my toes.

Can I walk you home? You know my heart is racing, I've yet to find a way to slow my pulse. Or calm my head, I just wish I could take it apart, show you everything inside. Cause it's all out on the floor in front of you, nothing left for me to hide behind. I'm dying for reassurance what we had wasn't a lie.

And I wish that you would stay, but either way, here's wishing you a happy Valentine's, even if you're not mine.

03-23-2009, 02:16 PM
a dream.
Written by: Something_Vague

I went to sleep for eight years once,
and when I woke up I was the same.
The same face,
the same fair skin, the same weight and the
same charming stare.
My brother was married and had a child
Her name was Allegra and she had auburn hair.
My friends were now living with their spouses,
decorating their apartments, naming their pets,
and planning their weeks around their work schedule.
I walked around the places I knew,
and the people I'd met, and they all saw me
as a passing and unfamiliar old friend, someone
they were close with, but had just
disappeared one day.

I'd read my e-mail, and the girl that I loved
so much before I slept and had loved me,
was so angry that I abandoned her.
"I want cocks in my mouth and vagina."
Repeated hundreds and hundreds
of times in her e-mails. All dating back to _____ years ago.
I was never more hurt, than reading those words, every single
one over and over.

i woke up in a cold sweat, and
i had no one to call. no one to say
it'll be alright. i wasn't sure if
i was still dreaming. but i wished.

03-29-2009, 09:03 PM
A Harmonic Pinch
Written by: streetcarp19

I tried to explain what the leftovers looked like
outside the fridge, on top of the counter, beside the sink.
just last night, about a minute from now
is when the symptoms started to both persist and wane
could do nothing but lay on my back, with both hands clasped and wait.
there should have been a kiss waiting for you at the door, i know.
there shouldn't have been a pile of clothes for you to fold, i know.
it starts at the ankles and lingers slowly to the knees
just beneath where the flesh and the bones would probably meet.
i grind my teeth and squaller from side to side
moaning a hum i made up in grade school to get me through recess.
a collision of sensations that actually are truly beautiful
and reddish-green harmonic pinch of utter bliss.
who would have known how fun it would be not to breathe.
and syringe my last pulse that's hanging from the sleeve.

04-05-2009, 01:45 PM
aluminum bitten roof.
Written by: freshtunes

twisted up a cocktail napkin
turned it into a hopeful rose
white with a blue stencil letter
words blooming out to her nose

soothing sounds of a sunday belle
like the notes ringing in a depression era tennor
hanging over from the night before, we awoke
desire for a bite, hungry together

she spent a year in an attic
withering away but retaining her shame
three children had died following birth
each one was given the same name

i was a wandering carepenter
from west to east, a bar room gardener
trying to speak easy to anyone who would listen

they were all empty except for a free glass of water
i came along and offered a flower for their stomach vase
but all i gave was paper
"chew, 'cause everything beautiful is as bad as it tastes"

04-13-2009, 07:34 PM
Written by: Carmel

A sea side restaurant to taunt
your hungry eyes with sliced
up pies and piled up chocolate lies
under a neon lit buffet.
The menu read, “Disappointment –
a shared plate for two”, and you
have always been a sap for lady
and the tramp style cuisine.
And so we sat down and across,
while you awkwardly picked me apart;
sucking the sauce, pulling the strings,
from kidney to heart,
gracefully wrinkling your nose
when all you could taste was tart.
Then with puppy eyes you looked past
what was us; licked the plate,
sucked the bones –
you smiled.
It was all you wanted,
all along.

04-20-2009, 05:35 PM
The Run
Written by: Phoebus

I ran
Down concrete-poured sidewalks, through speeding steel cars and over fences
I ran
Over bridges spanning the great seas and holding continents connected
I ran
Until my muscles tore away, until my lungs seared and my feet ran raw
I ran through the dark places where the monsters and gods of the ancients dwelled, where no man has gone before
I ran past fossilized great lizards, the terrible rulers we inherited everything from through the trickery of environmental catastrophe
and evolutionary happenstance

I ran beyond the edges of this and other worlds
I ran until I reached the place where the sea meets the sun , the places known in legends as Talocan: the highest paradise.

The valkyries walked with me out to the edge, to the great waterfall of stars onto the universe.

I waited here for you
Stepped out
and was washed into the Eternal.

04-26-2009, 12:34 AM
orchestral maneuvers in the dark
Written by: Arthur Curry

what holy scripture
what poetic verse
authored in some strange brail between the
contours of her features,
flickering in the soft light around the window
and told
screamed in a hot breath against my skin when
my insides swell
explode into beauty redefined
our bodies
are vehicles and
temples at times
and in this moment i can't help but believe in god.

take me out of context,
i'll be dying under fruit trees
with my friends
smoking cigarettes
drafting bills in conversation
and letting them go
like balloons into the air we cannot breathe
and dreaming wine into divinity before the apple falls

stack all my mercurial thoughts, truths found in fits of passion,
build them high above their weighty science
their age old certainties,
their pedestrian knowledge of love.

05-04-2009, 05:45 AM
floodplains and coffee.
Written by: Ebshabutiee

I have nothing left to say,
nothing more,
about breathing
seizing, dropped off
into a nether,
I feel like
a microbe falling off
a brim of a coffee cup
going down into that black
sugarless abyss

because you don't take anything sweet anymore
its always the dim-and-grim horrorshow
because you won't even sleep anymore
I would stay, but I'd be barely there

I felt like walking up to the plains the other day
just to look for what ever flora is left
the sun has taken away
a lot,
the rain has taken away
a lot,
I feel I haven't taken a thing; on the other hand
I took everything, like a selfish little
I took everything.

05-11-2009, 07:20 AM
the cotton to weave
Written by: spike_8bkp

Looking at me, I know you'd never think that I'd be one to write race poetry.
I'm a northern European mutt raised in the land of the free.

Yeah, I've been poor, but the poverty line has never been my ceiling,
like at Freddy's place where for years the roof leaked rain pendulums,
his parents too broke to feed he and I truth, so we made do with what
we knew, which was the equivalent to what we saw on the news,

and it went like this:

his parents were black, in the ghetto and a white boy staying the night
was like a comedy, a Will Smith tragedy; nasty looks from neighbor types,
so we kept the windows tight and away from the doors, you know these people,
Sean, they ain't like you and yours, his mother told me once, and

I know that in my youth, I liked to think I knew a lot, so I said
what are you talking about? They're just like me. We've got ears
and we hear the same sound and the noses that smell all the same food,
and we all get our clothes from thrift shops, listen to hip-hop, and act
like we don't like cops. Hearing this, she laughed, and so

she sat us both down and put us through school in one afternoon.
We saw pictures in books of black men hanging from trees, surrounded
by white hoods and she told us who picked the cotton to weave them and I
wasn't the same after at the age of seven or eight, I learned in too much
detail the definition of rape.

And at some point, I started to cry because I couldn't comprehend that color
was a reason to kill, or why these guys had to die, or work their entire lives
in these jobs they didn't even like - I said I'd save them. With my Tonka truck
and bears, if anyone even dared...

I said I'd peel my skin off and compare it to theirs, 'cause my heart was still red,
Freddy's heart was still red. She said it's been done, in the name of the lord,
of people and wars have been fought over this very thought, but keep thinking
like this, Sean, and you'll be proven wrong someday, oh, so very wrong, she says.

A little while later, Freddy and I made little cuts in our palms to see if it was true what she said. When we shook hands, though, it was all the same color red
that hit the ground where we defiantly bled away history and time, from hate and from crime and we decided there and right then that the world had changed since
she was a kid.

A few weeks later,

A single mother of one was killed in her East San José home today, receiving a fatal
bullet wound to the head. The source of the bullet is unknown, but police have said it came in through the kitchen window, leading them to believe a drive-by shooting to be the cause. Currently, no suspects have been found.

I read of pointlessness in cities and hear kids writing poetry of history,
how they hate what is happening and how people are doing nothing,
but they are, and they will continue to, until the cycle of society has
been stopped or destroyed, but in the meantime I stop every time
I hear the n-word slip, my body tenses up and I want to peel my skin off.

I want to show them who I am without it, and who they are without it,
incapable of senseless hate but not afraid of rage,
I don't care about your color, or from where you came, but just know
whether you own slaves or raise kids to judge race,

you're cutting your hands, picking the cotton to weave
the hoods that will hang you from oak trees, the color of your skin
becoming the banner generations will love to hate.

05-18-2009, 10:01 AM
the sarcophagus.
Written by: #1_synth

On the floor near the piano, the carpet of dust soft against their naked thighs-
The attic is still, ladder drawn up, windows closed- dense air burns their throats.

Near the piano; her fingertips rest on the inside of his thighs-
Their lungs settle back into a steady rhythm like the sea after an unnatural swell.

Near the piano with eye-lids closed tightly, like her thighs,
Wrapped hysterically around his hips sucking the color from their skin.


Near the piano and silently- how long has it been since this room has felt human thighs
Push its floorboards past their inborn lifeless calm and into chorus’ of perverted spasms?

Near the piano; in her hands he can no longer smell how she tastes between her thighs,
As the single light hangs like a noose from the crux of the ceiling and hums dimly.

Near the piano- in her mouth his spit sticks dryly like the ancient lacquer under her thighs
And her tongue spins the saliva with it into a thick tacky paste.


Near the piano and his silver seed drips pensively from between her thighs
Into a puddle on the floor where it mixes with the dust and tries to scream.

Near the piano, whose bench now quivers to repel the sweat left by their thighs,
And whose body says nothing, hundreds of mournful strings muffled by a heavy mahogany lid.

On the floor near the piano, the throbbing from their thighs
Long gone, her lips open like a phantom limb, mutely mouthing, “I love you, Dylan.”

05-24-2009, 06:53 AM
abattoir full of retarded children
Written by: Something_Vague

She makes her face up,
nice enough to pretty rough
smiles deep before reaching over
the railing and grabbing her guts.

"I told Easton I' moving for college."
"You never told me, I thought you were staying."
"I won't be close either way."
"I still half expect you to come into my work one day, hop over the counter and kiss me."
"You have silly dreams sometimes."
"I have silly dreams."

Scribbled out of her address,
Head's on fire, thoughts a mess
Kept thinking of how easy it was
to make her lfall in love with me.
Another guy
another guy,
another guy.

"I was thinking, I love you to death, but if I don't see you this summer, I think we should call it a day."
"Did you just give me an ultimatum?"
"I am a bit of a bond villain aren't I?"
"Sometimes...sometimes you don't know much it hurts to love you."
"I am fully aware. Trust me."

Bad dream tonight no one to call;
kept seeing her, laying flat from a fall.
Paisley dress in Gosling Park, flat and
firm from the starch she put in earlier that morning.
Told her about another dream, kept reading e-mails
about her deserve to suck other men's cocks.
Worst feeling I've ever experienced, laughed at the thought,
felt like punching holes in walls,
self doubt,
keep moving,
keep keepin' on.

I am standing next to me, I am a young man with a firm jaw. I have thick hair, and a charming, personable smile that is inviting and warm. My voice is calm, and soothing. I have seven scars on my right hand from when I was nine, and put my hand in a door, more random scars highlight my pale body. One lies succinctly on the back of my left heel, from when my brother ran over it with his bike, tearing the flesh off it. I have a suspiciously tiny mouth, with naturally white, straight teeth. I am six foot and weight just over two hundred pounds. I have had many woman, it shows under my eyes, already there are wrinkles from stress, bags from lack of sleep. My pores are clogged with oil and dirt, and my arms are scarred from when I was an obese child. I have lost most of that weight, but I still keep the scars. There are several women that have put things on my body. Becca, a scar on my left hand from giving her a piggyback ride, tripping and having the cement grate the skin off my hand. Ashley, when she refused to be my girlfriend in freshman year, a few scars are still visible on my upper forearm, when I tried to cut away at them with a pair of sheers. Those are the only two visible ones.

I am standing next to myself, I am alone. I am world weary, and afraid. I do not understand the happiness that other people enjoy. The insanity of my relationships doesn't seem to have transfered to others. I do not envision myself married in ten years, or with someone. I will be perpetually on this adventure, to see others have what I've wanted for so long, and for me to achieve what others would kill for. I will be brilliant, famous, and loved by everyone, and yet everyone else will love one other person a little bit more. She will move. She will move.

06-01-2009, 03:36 AM
Sir Thomas the Quiet
Written by: ZanasCross

I've been watching her forever.

Supple curves and a birthmark on her left thigh.
She's so embarrassed by it. Always puts make up
over it while she's getting ready for the day;
even though no one ever sees that far up
her long long toned legs.

Her current boy is a douche.
I watch him too. Not when he's naked though;
he's not pretty.
He's ugly.
Like scuff marks on a newly cleaned and bleached
tile floor; he sticks out against a beautiful world...
he is sin and hell and evil.

He tells her she's fat and
too stupid to amount to
anything at all.

He hits her.
hits her with his fists.

And I watch. But I can't do anything.
If I did, she'd know I exist.
That's just too risky.


Last week I watched as he broke her.
Bones and soul.
His neck tie,
her remedy

feet kicked; legs stretched forever toward the floor
and she was gorgeous; the beautiful side of death.
Her body a hand carved oak casket,
with intricate designs so wondrous
only God could have crafted them.

I couldn't do anything.
I'm a watcher. I don't cry wolf.

She spun toward the window;
I had my moment with her.
Eye to eye. Heart to heart.
Death to Life.
We loved each other to the end.

06-08-2009, 04:03 AM
Hard of Fearing
Written by: Dæmönika

Her last breath was beautiful, a wistful
sigh as her life departed. You know when you
lose someone so close to you, you feel nothing, just
this...this hollowness, so deep you can’t speak, move
or do anything? No emotions, just a blank expression?
I didn’t before then.

That morning, with tubes coming out here, there and
everywhere, she said she didn’t want to be here, wanted
to be in a happier place. I began shouting at her:
“A happier place? You’re dying!”
“I don’t want to die in this...house of death.”
“Well, what’s a happy place for you?”
“The tree...”

I lay on the ground with the trunk to my back
and held her in front of me, her back on my stomach.
****, I didn’t want to let her go, all those feelings.
What was I doing? I knew she was dead already, I’d known for a
while now, but I couldn’t make myself realise it. When that
dickhead in his white coat earning hundreds of thousands
telling people “There’s no cure, now piss off,” I could’ve killed
him in a gleeful twist of irony. No cure for death, is there?

We didn’t speak to each other for a while, just listened
to our breathing. I could hear her lungs less and less
with each breath she took. She coughed delicately, turned
to meet my face, kissed me – **** **** **** **** **** – and
she spoke in a tiny voice:
“It’s getting dark now.”
“Oh ****...is it painful?”
“No...it’s nice. Soft. Silky.”
“I’m scared.”
“Don’t be. It’s okay.”
“How can you not be scared?”
“Remember what you said to me when I told you I was dying?”
“Yeah...’Life is but a passing dream...but the death that follows is eternal’”
I’m going to tell you something to not be afraid.”
“’The fear of death is to be more feared than death itself.’”

The breeze died as she did. The tree was a golden willow
and its branches drooped mournfully, the tip of one resting
on the crown of my head. That feeling that the tree
felt my pain got to me and I let out a scream and tears.
Her last breath was beautiful...
Her last words were beautiful...
My hand reaches into my pocket and withdraws.
I can see my reflection, tears on my cheeks.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there soon...”

06-15-2009, 12:50 PM
Written by: FunkasPuck

Click to view piece. (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1132709)

06-21-2009, 06:10 AM
The Scarf
Written by: ndakasimba

Do you like it?, you asked, following
my eyes to a trim, tattered length of fabric
slung over the bar in your closet.

Take it, you insisted, it’s yours.
So I did, lifting it from where it hung,
frayed and thinning, forgotten –

a sorry defense against a New England
winter, I remember thinking as I pulled
the soft, grey wool through my fingers.

Later that year, when the brittle cold broke
and spring sent up flowers
like little flags to announce its arrival,

you mentioned that it was your dad’s
before he died, casually, as if you
were telling me the forecast, or the time.

I had worn it in ignorance all winter,
the threadbare scarf a familiar, airy
lightness on my shoulders and I know now

why you were so quick to give it away,
why the wind swept through
like an icy breath at the back of my neck,

and why it clings now to the shadows
of my own closet, like a ghost
no one wants to remember.

06-28-2009, 05:50 PM
Good Ol' Suburbia
Written by: BluesyBilly

all this self medication
swerving beside me on the highways
makes me wonder
What our loving God really made all this alcohol for.
Probably for a cheap laugh
as the 81' camaro wraps around a telephone pole,
while the man inside howls out his daughters name
in a scene of pure heartbreak and agony.

The first Friday of summer,
and this is what we've all been living for
for the past month and a half.
Do we even recognize our friends anymore
when our heads are so caught up in where we're sleeping this weekend.

I wanted to be a cop
but a black guy got the job.
So I never got the chance
to yell at drunk rich kids in their daddy's mercedes benz
driving their girlfriend home
while she's all doped up like a modern day little Miss Monroe.

This is something no one wants to relate to,
but secretly we all somehow do.

07-06-2009, 05:31 AM
table manners.
Written by: Carmel

table manners. (http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1147426)

07-12-2009, 11:30 AM
black balsam.
Written by: we have sound

i was arguing with my woman long distance
when the other phone rang -
friend on the line
how's things?
he had just got off a train
in the next town
and was walking thirteen miles into the countryside
to take his girl some flowers.
he told me how his
feet were aching
on the one phone
and on the other
i told my lover
that we'd come real far
but it was getting tough now.
he said that the trees were
growing out of the side of the road
and bending over
and great bars of dusk light were
throwing themselves over him
and i whispered to my baby that i felt
a little like she'd tamed me
that i was an animal but
i just felt a little caged right now.
he told me his girl was expecting him and
i told mine that i didn't expect
anything at all
that i just wanted
to come to some kind of agreement you know
sort everything out.
the friend asked me to
grab a map
check his route for him
he was getting a little lost
in the near dark
and so was i.

07-19-2009, 11:18 AM
baptism.rebirth.uglybluebird. (a roadtrip)
Written by: NGD1313

iced down the tires and we set about the rubber map,
each roadway fluid and poised to stretch.
alex sings along to the a.m. channels,
and alex sings the prettiest songs, in the worst keys,
warbling at higher speeds, and when the frequency releases its last note,
alex hums the static, and i dance along, man, i dance the whole night through.
alex keeps polaroids in the trunk, of everything we've ever loved,
our families, the snowfall, dead autumns, and graffiti walls, he hides them from me,
he knows i can't see them yet, or i might turn around,
and we're not even close to there. alex knows we're going somewhere.
alex counts the yellow lines, and tells me fairy tales in the blistered pines,
of the western coast. he sings me lullabies in the gold of california glows,
and alex drinks from a flask, that he gladly shares, but
meticulously cleans before sipping again. in the arizona deserts,
alex stirs the dust. alex retrives a polaroid of the most gorgeous elm tree,
you and i have ever seen, and he places it in the brambles,
he turns beauty into shambles, and carefully measures his steps back to the car,
and to this day, i'm sure, that tree still sits in its perch,
encouraging a cactus to be a better cactus, and lizards to flee to the grasslands,
alex has that kind of magic, and when we reached it, whatever it was,
in the middle of nowhere, in the dank and rust, alex handed me the shovel,
and the pictures and the pistol, and he said to me, with a tongue unplagued
by decency or brevity, "you love your family. you love your home, and your radio,
you love the sound of alice's footsteps, and the new year, but
you'll have to live there, in the nothing, every night, alone,
and i don't belong, and you can't go back until i'm gone, so do it."
and i beat alex so ****ing dead that night, that i've been washing the blood
from my knuckles ever since, i broke him so good, that i made it so he never existed,
and the nights are easier without him there, but the sunrises just don't fill me up anymore.

07-27-2009, 07:38 AM
blackness, part two
Written by: DigUpHerBones

we're burning our buildings
we're making up mountains
we're throwing underground parties
we're tugging on drawstrings
you've got your head inside a black box
a camera pointed right at the sun
and I don't have the heart to tell you
"honey, that ain't how it's done"
"honey, that ain't how it's done"
we're hiking up the yellow line
made where paper meets lighters
the ground is on fire
the future looks brighter from here
but there's such a bright sunset
before the black of each night
we're walking on ashes
honey, something ain't right
honey, something ain't right
fireflies are coming out of the ground
but we're dancing with moths
as we touch their wings
their markings brush off
it's just dust on the mountainside
falling down into water
there's only dark in the deep
and little else left up here
the fireflies are falling
the mountain's losing its might
into the dust we are sinking
honey, something ain't right
honey, something ain't right
we're lost in the dust
and we can't get back
don't know which way I'm falling
got to believe there are crystals inside the black
how come creatures evolving in the darkness
become transparent in time
but they're always the brightest
when they're brought out into the daylight?
honey, something ain't right
honey, something ain't right

08-02-2009, 03:04 PM
Written by: ottoavist

on a thursday approaching noon
Shane calls me and says:
"i've got a ride back to town, and a lil money, too.
so you wanna party or what?"

i'm like

he's a brute, in and out
of the system
since age fourteen;
the mom was a head growing up
and the dad skedaddled
so by unwanted events
his loyalty
in the ties of friendship, are
unscathed by a
circumstancial childhood.
his blueshot eyes stream a
darker consciousness
that says:
fuck the world - this life is mine.


and so we began the night
popping valium like PEZ
out of a tic-tac bottle -
nothing screams taste like
residual-wintergreen on downers,
and i had some morphine patches
this old-head sold me
for cheap
'cause i changed the bulbs in
his outdoor motionlight;
we were dodging bullets
and buzzkill
in slo-mo.
some hours ticked by and then
he called up a pill-fiend
named Bridgette. she
told us she had
lorcet and liquid promethazine
with sprite
and we'd start spinning
if he'd smoke a couple of bowls
with her.
soon she was here
and then we were everywhere
slumping, sliding out of furniture
and my head felt
too heavy to raise.

Shane and Bridgette
went upstairs to
i took a drive around town
to find more people.
my eyes caught trails of
life and light
and drug and stretched them
past me
and hula-hooped them around
my head;
i was helpless, but withstanding.
and i wanted to find somebody -
wanted to be with somebody.

Shane called me and
"where are you dude?"


"well me and Bridgette are heading out,
there's a party out on the ridge...you alright?"

yeah i'm fine.

sometimes i turn red
when the others are not
inclusive, but
i guess i dug that hole
hours ago.

08-09-2009, 10:10 PM
sweet eveningtime.
Written by: We Have Sound

a flat over the bike shop with my baby
we were making it
we were winning it
had people over
almost every night
drinking my beer
but i didn't care that much.
the conversation lit us up
like fireworks
and we reinvented ourselves
twelve times a second
to keep them
second guessing
her hand in mine
and all the pretty girls came and
(they could never get me on my own)
and they would only be
playthings anyway.
I thought back to the girls before and
they were a blur
a sweet memory of
manipulation and betrayal
and things that other men
but really are hateful and
shouldn't have been done at all.

I've got a good wine now and
it's late
i'm going to bed with
a beautiful troublesome angel.
to heaven.

08-16-2009, 06:33 PM
Freddie Freeloader
Written by: SubwayToVenus

in between the clicking of heels on the cobblestone outside
and the tapping of raindrops upon the window of this bustling cafe,
i can hear the splashing of paints
as the artist in my mind brings color to my memories.

the virgin canvas is dashed with a bantam gold
and my feet dip deeper in the sand
on the shore of a hushing lake,
while the rocking of the lingering waves on my body
push me gently back and forth.
I feel our fingers waltz with one another
and when I catch your brown eyes,
the sun kisses the gold in them.
I listen closely to the water
and hear it sing to me;
such cadence and timber in its voice.
every subtle breath that it exhales
glides effortlessly in my direction,

as a shadowy blue is launched from my artist's brush,
the same blue that grandma's eyes held
before they ran away from me.
it was the kind of blue that flirted with blackness,
the kind that caged beasts of a faraway mind,
creatures that you never thought you'd see up close.
and i saw their razor eyes and rapier teeth
as massive paws brought the entire solar system to a halt,
just for a moment
until they were gone.
and then all that exuded from a tranquil queen,
were ribbons of love for all her subjects,

and then a sanguine red dresses up this work-of-art,
like the flow of your gown as you descended the stairs
on the best night of our lives,
with my hands coolly sweating in my pockets,
and my face beaming like the headlights of the bus
that we rode on our way to the ball.
the electricity of our conversation strengthened
an evergrowing spark,
and the exchanges of heat solidified
an eternal flame,
one that could never be doused by any flood
or quieted by any gust.

a slight draft from the opened door hits my back
and my artist steps away from his masterpiece;
an amalgamation of colors,
a beautiful mess is all it is.
you give me a kiss and sit down across from me,
flashing a smile.

i think i'm the only one who gets the picture.

08-23-2009, 02:12 PM
Rose And Whoever The Groom Is
Written by: Hesh

I had a dream, so long ago
but I was afraid to tell you-

Two doves were weaving silk
around a pole carved with love letters.
Around and around they spun
fabric rippling from their talons
in a tightening spiral.
Through each of their feathered white backs,
a nail pierced like an interruption,
stuck to it, a bloody note
"In sickness and in health."

Though each could barely fly from the pain,
they never faltered in their task.
And their wings
never touched.

After some time, one of the doves
began to weaken.
The steady beat of its wings became ragged
and the slack of its thread grew more and more.

Finally, the bird spoke quite clearly.
"I just can't hold on anymore.
We are undone."
And the nail fell from its back.
It flew away into the roaring silence,
the bloody mark of its bond
never to fade.

The other bird never hesitated,
but it couldn't keep the weave from collapsing.
So eventually it gave up, and
perched atop the pole.
Its dark blank eyes
were searching for something
outside the confines of my dream.
The pole was now scrawled with graffiti.

then I awoke. it was 4am.
you were so far apart from me,
I thought I was alone.
in the humming quiet of the air-conditioning,
I told your back
we would be together forever.

the turning point was when
I reached out to touch you.
my hand pressed against you
and you moved away.

08-23-2009, 02:19 PM
Written by: SubwayToVenus

you took me outside
and started making a snow angel.
"Won't you make a snowman for her?" you said
while the december air gripped my body
and whipped my head.
I flashed you my bare hands,
already bitten by the wind,
and asked,
"Now what do you think?"
not expecting an answer good enough
to keep me out there for long.

and you didn't give me one,
so I waddled back inside
leaving you
to make an army for heaven.

but now
when the city's asleep on a blistering winter's night,
I walk underneath the halo
of an empty streetlight and pray.
I pray she's found a saint,
who'd withstand whatever weather
with no complaints.

and as my feet become one with the asphalt
I reflect on a single, sad thought
'til the break of day:

men like me,
even those made of snow,
are not for angels.

09-13-2009, 03:56 PM
The Writing Room
Written by: circular.parade

I got into the house
and wandered from room to room.
her father's an author, he said
"I don't care what you do or
where you go, just don't set the house on fire,
don't get yourself hurt or killed but mostly,
don't come into the Writing Room.
you've got no excuses."

he closed the door
and she cried silently,
like the women in his stories.
There were
books all around, in fact,
you couldn't see a single wall,
not the
slightest hint of enclosure,
no fence of the mind.
it seemed like every time you took a book
there was another one behind it,
maybe a little torn apart,
maybe just a little worn out
but it was there nonetheless,
pushing you further, like a sin,
like a sin.

she said he designed the finest verses
and crafted polygraph paragraphs
out of mirror glass,
as the only witness, the only gauge
of his impassable mind.

next to the writing room we sat
in the living room, there were
comfortable cushy chairs,
sky-like marble stones, handwritten
manuscripts, the fireplace--
oh, that fireplace...

the only place without transcripts,
the only place that's letter-free
the one and only dead end
to infinity
she said that it always burned,
that for as long as she could remember,
she sat crossed-legged and watched,
the tiny men dancing in the flames,
the artists of the blaze.

I took her hand and we got high
a soft and creamy high
like iced cream in black coffee
and we tried to stay quiet
to not disturb the host
so kind in his absence.

when i asked, she said
that he wrote about nothing,
nothing and everything,
the pains in life and tragedies,
foreign countries, his family,
about how she looked like her mother...
i knew,
the blaze in her pupils.
she said
that he was well informed,
as I could guess by the books,
some he wrote and some he read,
most he knew as if he wrote them,
anyway, a great artist.

This is the point I'm having
a hard time to describe.
You'd need to ask her but for a moment
she poured a little bit of her soul
out in the room
to mix with the creamy smoke and
to fill the cloudy space.

she spoke of many things,
as if reading my mind.
answering all the questions
I would have never dared to ask,
if you don't mind
I'll keep them for myself,
but mostly why so much misery
in such a family--
she pulled my arm,
brought us to the writing room
without pretending that the house
was on fire or that
we were getting ourselves killed
she reached for the doorknob
of the writing room.

--and so he stood
pressed her against the wall and
collected himself in her matching eyes
the eyes of his daughter

I observed for a little while,
couldn't see anything in the room but them,
it seems
he could have died in those eyes
i understood, and realized
that there are some places a man can never
ever leave

09-13-2009, 04:24 PM
Mrs. Pipe
Written by: Something_Vague

in the corner of my basement there is a pipe that just sits there
and in this pipe that's in my basement there is some mold that has grown.
In the corner of my basment there is a pipe with some mold and it is
dark and awfully smelly
and i tried to suck it out.
i do not know as to why, but i wrapped my mouth around it, and i
tried to inhale whatever in it grew. in my lungs i had it pictured, as to
what was really happening. And as the tiny spores over took me
the waiting was quite maddening, just to lay down and die.
but i didn't i just waited and i coughed up an awful thing
a black phlegm that had grown deep inside my throat,
not from the pipe it was there, or from any other mold
it seemed that it just grew there since before i was old.
now in this moment i knew that i would never die alone here,
i would never rot away in a basement built for two.

across the street there is a man and he's pulling a shopping cart,
he's got all his things and all his food and he's pulling a shopping cart,
and i witnessed this with my mold still deep inside my chest and
i saw what he face said and i knew
i'd never die.

and in the same vein there is a girl out there willing, to sit down
and talk to me when i need someone, she is lovely and she's dark haired
and she is Croatian. There is something about her voice or the way that
her body looks, the way that her eyes look when I think of her, she doesn't
give me pity or the smallest sign of laughter at my awful jokes, and so it
is in this, i regret to have sucked the mold out of a dirty pipe below my kitchen floor.
and it is now that i realize that everything is wonderful,
that everything is beautiful and that i will die alone,
this mold that has been growing and the mold that i suck
it will be stuck inside me until it drops me dead.

i'm sorry mrs. pipe for putting my mouth around you and sucking
all the bad out of you, and putting it in myself, and i hope you have
a great life being a pipe and all. Will you be doing things that you love to do, like
draining water and pushing exhaust and letting spiders into my home, will you
be doing all of these things when I am all gone? I really hope that you are being a pipe
so often, and being a pipe so well because that is what you're best at, you wonderful little pipe.

and then i died.

09-20-2009, 09:20 PM
wool hat
Written by: rushmore

a wool hat in summertime, you wore it everywhere,
hair always wet from sweat dripping down your forehead past your
tanned neck. you'd never take it off though,
i remember even once we went swimming in a pond on your parents land
and you took off everything besides that wool hat.
you get attached to things too easily,
you're young,
but not too young to remember last winter
when you would never wear a jacket and
always ask to borrow mine, i spent those few months shivering until i
started wearing two jackets so i could keep at least one.
i don't know where your wool hat was then,
but you'd ask for my gloves and scarves and socks and boots until i finally gave up,
spent prom night freezing naked on a bench outside the gymnasium while you were
off with friends warm and occupied with things more temperate than the temperature.
olivia, its not about that prom night though,
the way you shrugged it off and put your comfort ahead of mine,
its that you never dress for the weather and it pisses me off.

09-27-2009, 06:23 PM
to live and die in verona
Written by: NGD1313
to live and die in verona
the lacquer of the spit shined smiles we gave to the handsome,
will soon cover our own intentions until the shine distracts
from all we'd prayed to save. you can't always love what you choose
and when the dots don't connect you self-destruct in sunday shoes,
head on your knees, crying in the pews, "god help me please,
i'm too porous to hold all this blood. won't you take it out?
won't you take me now? "

pale, pale, pale man.
what a plan, what plan.
you bleed on god's floor
and you spit in his kitchen?
put your feet on his couch
and hit on his women?
you fool. you coward.

home. for the first time in 2 years, 8 months, and 11 days,
my mother turns the corners of my bed. my brother puts
his hand upon my head, my father turns his bottles out,
sends the sweetness spiraling down to the bottom of the city,
and i dream and i dream, my body found a blank expression
and old depression on the blistered blankets of a
cheap motel and my words will reverberate off dirt-deafened
walls for the rest of eternity, mocking the ears that arrive but aren't listening,
"**** god and grandnoise. my gestures reflect my dignity and poise,
show me heaven or the purity in dirt. i care not."
and my mother holds my arms, dresses my wounds,
though the subdued pulsation of my heart assures
that i will bleed and bleed, til i've filled up a lonesome motel bed.

10-04-2009, 12:40 PM
Gasoline Fumes and Tea Parties aka 18 Reasons to Just Keep Driving
Written by: Jimmy388
I'm well versed in
buildingSinking ships
fostering dependence
and falling in love with closet hypocrites.
Mesmerized by ink stained skin and crippling habits.
This is my midnight hour,
shallow bathtub blackout.
I can't keep this up,
this wasted... factory
and its old machines.
I've reached my renaissance!
I'm finished with obsolescence
and the adolescent-esque.
No machine made parts!
just the finest hand made art!

10-10-2009, 05:35 PM
I just need a minute
Written by: Ebshabutiee

opened up the door to this little bazaar
walked out with a t-shirt and bangles, for you.
thinking about moving towards the side streets
to get away from all the busy feet.

on the corner there is a man, sign in hand
says the president has no mind for anyone
its like he's eating through our time,
mainly mine.

kept snippets of the news paper you appeared in,
snippets of memories from when we first met.
open the closed hope chest and started pulling out songs,
rewriting them to your silhouette.

broke down every little line,
made sure each of them rhymed.
held your hand as we cross the streets,
getting lost like pulling teeth.

so anxious to go back to our bed, crept up on you tonight.
waking up from bad dreams
falling back asleep to blue eye gleam.

so anxious about everything, i am scared to cross your streets.
waking up from bad dreams
falling back into the same damn things.

hypochondriac, self diagnosed
these are what i believe
keep me from seeing me
as anything but ugly.

i think i could use a minute
or two
or three.

10-19-2009, 12:53 AM
Written by: hippieboy444

I was told that
Venus would sparkle
with polka-dots
and milky scarves
Wrapping its slender body
in moonlight
when I was eight
and that night
I was so
when The Big Dipper
was all my eyes Could catch;

[I wonder if
the Philippines’ witnessed
the murder of my excitement
in the Big Dipper’s handle]

And even
Six years later
I can still only ever see
An impressionistic portrait-
Sometimes peeking,
Sometimes gazing
Down on my little
Fish bowl of existence-
Unless someone
Points Venus out of
The pointillism

10-25-2009, 08:55 PM
Written by: NGD1313

man of convictions
cracks a case of pabst blue ribbon
rolls his armchair looking to put his feet where
the veiled spine of the collective life hangs her hat,
because he's had enough of that tired bitch
and her tired this and that.
hands blistered and bleeding,
arms folded and heartrate declining,
lets the sun and sisters go,
lets the blood and body flow,
lets his heavy breathing slow,
and now he's gone. now he's perfect,
and when he wakes in the morning,
he hangs his head, his pavement warming,
and walks out a door to a slow and trying death,
and in the closet, i clutch my sister to my chest,
and i tell her, "don't worry little girl,
i've got a pile of warbonds
underneath my bed, and when this one's over,
we'll collect on our debts.
we'll get the **** out of here and never come back."

11-02-2009, 01:28 AM
Cigarettequette Lessons at the Adair County Mansion
Written by: stellar_legs

From mounds of chin to pick food from scruff
To birdlike men and psychedelic drugs.
Traded the girth to wrap your arms and hug
For sharper necks and collarbones to suck.
I chase dinner with a mug of Listerine
To chemically plunge out all my rotten teeth.
It's a little more than just a lucid dream
Because these days I can shit through metallic screen.

Hold your medals tight as you master a liquid with no advantage
to ever fuel the artistic mind.
Hold your rusty relics tight as you're buried thin, distant
And still very much alive.

There were two years where I got soused and rose high all the roof beams.
Cut the plywood, dug the well and washed my filth down by the creek.
There were two years where I ate cereal out of butter bowls, whiskey out of jam jars.
Let's smoke crack out of a soda can and watch our eyes swell up like neutron stars.
I want my kiss on your neck to be your every reason to stay -
I want to see you log your orgasms in a day planner and update it every day.
I would love nothing more than to storm your castle on horseback
and take your far away from gut rot and decay.

11-09-2009, 04:38 AM
Written by: Bleed Away

We arranged our visit,
a graceful pursuance
at times a journey.
We grew old in the darkness
as we journeyed without a second glance
into the dark heart of Africa.
But my misfortunes were clear,
my skin too weak;
it is the hardship that leads me here.
Can you skip
to the flogger's song
of watchfulness?
Because those days are dead
and the gesture remained solemn.

The voice of the sheppard
possessed the land
and the plans remained unageing.
For the deeds were never fulfilled
and the endeavour, never settled.
A fallible god once ruled there
with an iron rod and a tolling bell
rattled by the wind,
things that I could never change
but rather forget.

The farmer said onto the sheppard
"I don't know what you should do with yourself,
you have opened the gate; the future
and the incantation in which it contained.
I feel like killing time;
the ignorant period of restoration
once was the incentive
to be alive. And mention in your prayers:
you do not know what you have gotten yourself to...”

The civilians never wished to breed
and the rain poured towards
a recessed state. They seemed ready,
for what was next
was proceeded by oblivion.
Human existence;
a recurring vice.
I remember, the tourist said
to never be happy in a dream,
but I didn't understand-
I never understood,
but this wasn’t quite the truth.

The priest was wailing
and was buried alive-
beside the rugged river of Cavally
and awaits eternal life.
We couldn’t hear
the voice of the mother;
the morning cry she couldn't renounce.
Songs of the voice and the fullness thereof,
she had come to whisper a verse:
"No more rivers at the door,
at last it has found its rightful place.
You wouldn’t understand
what it is I’m after.
Suffer not
the witch to live
of the inner felicity
upon the crest of vanity.
A trackless land into the steady morning
that was guided only by the moaning of doves;
this was the way to hell.
You are the saviour they speak of
at the barren coven.
You once called this the last hour,
the hour of our death.
The sound of the wind,
the crest of waves;
a clarification of thought.
It is not what you want,
to wait in the fire
in which you so badly despise.
These are the last days,
and I have at last come to terms
until the end of the world."

We fared forward
through many green pastures;
a graceful pursuance;
a perpetual journey.
We rested, and the rain lapsed-
I didn’t feel like sleeping
so I receded to the Juniper tree,
there, I found solace.
The strange fruits brought no relief;
the road was filled with desolation,
a much updated ruin
within the jars of tribulation,
the siege of Africa.
The resolution of a dying animal,
I presume and cry out twice,
for what this image could resemble
and resemble much.

Time and madness
wine and lilacs;
the harvest of the mystic brew
the women couldn't bring themselves to drink.
They kept it discreet
from the sowing circle
upon the bleakest hills,
a place to be.
The idea of being cursed resounded me.
Naked old ladies gathered around me,
with leaves in their mouths,
enthroned in limbo.
And with a convoluted smile
they decreed:
“There’s no hope for you here,
like blind men
who grope in the dark,
who were escorted
by the immemorial horn;
you cannot escape.”
And it was so.
Time has told me to never fear;
it was all a distraction
and at once it became a distraction.


I watched Pharaoh’s dance at a distance,
where the demons could no longer sleep
and the poets couldn't bring themselves to sing.
My time is coming
and I’m no longer afraid
for the spirits I no longer embrace.
The problem and the annunciation.
The breakage and the destination;
in convergence,
they no longer discourage me.
By the throne of grace,
my visit remains sincere.
And now I leave.

11-16-2009, 12:45 AM
Written by: ottoavist

like genre disposition and
hobo smiles,
the veiling mists of the divide seem to
purge its ghosts at me, relentlessly
but hey
restless hearts were never
a stone's throw, i suppose.

walked outside and knew
how the world worked

but not you;

into the bar
with wisdom
of the birth of life

but my divining rod
could never pause grace
in your wishing well.

i love you so much.

but alas,
i am a man: solitary and elusive.
please -
turn around and count to ten
while i bury my
insecurities, frustrations, and weaknesses
somewhere safe.

...ok, ready? go.

11-22-2009, 05:53 PM
Watching Clocks
Written by: Jammydude44

I'd had enough of the limit
of the edge of the rough,
the rub of the green, the
lust and the love -

and then this -----

and then finite grew
(it wasn't with you)
and then I looked
close -

and I was sat on the meaning
for a day, a week, a month,
a line or two.

11-29-2009, 07:39 PM
the pains of being pure at heart
Written by: jiminizzle

one time back in high school
i picked up your homework when you stayed home sick
because i wanted a reason to come over,
but his car's there so i gave it to your parents
and left without saying anything,
and i hope it bothers you.

12-06-2009, 06:07 PM
god bless the outlaws
Written by: SilenceEvolves

that old grove ain't sweet no more
the oranges lay tossed along the floor
withered and dry, like fruit jerky
feeding the worms beneath my feet.

stumbled barefoot amongst the trees,
followed pawprints to an old cemetary,
and sat atop an unmarked grave -
when I looked up, there in the dark,
couldn't tell if I saw stars
or headlights on the interstate.

gave a bareback man a needle and thread
and he threw the damned old needle at my head;
tossed a goldfish into a wishing well,
but no matter what I do, it don't seem to help.

but there's this road I know, Old Dixie Highway,
drift by everyday on my way home from work -
I swear one day I'm gonna make that turn,
follow that road til my wheels can't rotate no more.

12-14-2009, 12:29 AM
Out of State License Plates
Written by: D&DLover

Headlights glint off the reflective white
And pressed tourist sites on an out of state license plate
My words color paths for the driver in my head:
The snow covered brake lights make halos of warming red

The radio recites its soliloquies low
While I tune it out, your voice swallows my evening view
Streetlights pirouette, elucidating brown eyes
Fingers intertwined as we follow the traffic lines

I taste shadows of distant stars
Echoed across windshields of the parking lot-lined cars
I taste the language on your lips
And memories of last week’s departing wooden ships

Your arms wrapped around your legs in front of the blaze
While the movie screen spills faint flickering light on your face
The gentle string soundtrack scoring our scene
As we sit together by a film that I’m hardly watching

We open our minds and pour ink on each page
Of a history textbook simply titled both our names
Quiet exchanges, longing timid hush
Conversations march circles like lost hikers as our hands brush

I taste shadows of possible lives
Echoed across the clear lenses of auburn eyes
I taste the language on your lips
And fading memories of yesterday's casual quips

12-20-2009, 09:45 PM
Winter In Me
Written by: BramdyCross

theres nothing soft about the leaves that fall
and winters chill it takes them all
another night all alone
i guess thats why its broken

and i could almost feel
the softness of your skin
and wonder what it would be like
to hold you close and then.

the frost that sets in
as the day turns into night
wake up in the morning
and nothing makes it right
because its become apart of you
nothing left that you can do

and i could almost feel
the softness of your skin
and wonder what it would be like
to hold you close and then

this house is not my home
it merely holds me in
and love its not that close to me
to far away to ever be

sit and watch the leaves that fell a long time ago
autumn rain has turned into the cold of winter snow
a little shiver at the sight of ice on the tree
ill cover up and try to hide the winter here in me