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Old 12-29-2009, 11:21 AM   #81
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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,
“demonology.”


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

“run”


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
to
you


xiii. the thirteenth step

-- Longing for you
and
no one else…
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Old 12-29-2009, 11:21 AM   #82
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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."


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Old 12-29-2009, 11:22 AM   #83
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Revolution
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.

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Old 12-29-2009, 11:22 AM   #84
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(1/f)=(1/p)+(1/q)
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.
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Old 12-29-2009, 11:22 AM   #85
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Stephanie
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.


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Old 12-29-2009, 11:24 AM   #86
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Relating
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.

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Old 12-29-2009, 11:25 AM   #87
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(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.
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Old 12-29-2009, 11:25 AM   #88
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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
well,
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.

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Old 12-29-2009, 11:25 AM   #89
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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.


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Old 12-29-2009, 11:26 AM   #90
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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
Clang-clang-clang-ing
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.

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Old 12-29-2009, 11:26 AM   #91
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*removed per request*
Written by: Snowblind 911



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Old 12-29-2009, 11:27 AM   #92
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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
Ever.

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.
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Old 12-29-2009, 11:27 AM   #93
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the mirage suite.
Written by: NGD1313

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


i. lady and the tramp

deconstruct.
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.

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Old 12-29-2009, 11:27 AM   #94
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the former years.
Written by: ottoavist

Code:
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 dollars 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 cleaner 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 though, 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.


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Old 12-29-2009, 11:28 AM   #95
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s.a.d
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.

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Old 12-29-2009, 11:28 AM   #96
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Comma
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
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Old 12-29-2009, 11:28 AM   #97
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel


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.

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Old 12-29-2009, 11:29 AM   #98
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Location: Israel


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.

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Old 12-29-2009, 11:29 AM   #99
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Location: Israel


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.

Andre?
What?
Where were you?
In my mind.
Here?

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

Somewhere in between.
Are you lost?
Completely,
Where?
In you.
Why?
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.
Why?
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?
What?
I love you.

And so, she vanished to where she never left.

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Old 12-29-2009, 11:30 AM   #100
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Location: Israel


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
-again

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.

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