Poll: who will it be?
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View poll results: who will it be?
0 0%
0 0%
Dark Red
3 38%
3 38%
1 13%
1 13%
Voters: 8.
for my uncle

What darkness have you travelled through?
What shadows linger still in your periphery?
What ghosts rise from your tea
and sift through your fragile lungs,
your frail heart, your trembling limbs?
Speak to me
and know that you are not alone –
that behind that darkness
is a glorious day
where the sun waits to iridize you
and your two beautiful girls.

How cold is each night beneath your linen?
What dreams morph into heaving ocean faces
and caterwauls?
How dull comes each sunrise,
filtering through your blinds
like prison bars?
Speak to me
and know that behind that darkness
birds are chirping and clouds sit so lightly
that you can’t but smile when they pass above you,
because in their transience you might open your eyes
that little bit wider and absorb the world
that little bit more.

Let the next breath you exhale
be your nepenthe.
Speak to me.

all you have

"so are you going to talk to me about them?"
"huh?" i'd forgotten she was even here.
"your family."
whoo, boy.
"what about them?"
"well, do they like me?"
"of course they like you, hon. they're just..."
"just let me finish."
"this is pointless."
"then go."
"what's the problem, sweetie? it's just your family."

i love my parents, that's the problem.
it's always been the problem.
i can't look at them sometimes,
it's like knowing the world is ending and it's all your fault.
i cracked something in the mold when i was born,
something that's never been reparied.
i'm just seeping through the cracks,
waiting for something to set.

"but they're your family, hun."
she grabbed my arm and i realised i must be crying.
i was doing that a lot, didn't even need a reason these days.
"they're all i've got left."
pushing against her.
"no, sweetie, you have me."
"they're all i have," i breath and open my eyes.
for the briefest moment, her image lingers,
before i awaken to a mother's love.

she is gone,
and they are all i have

Family Tree (hidden deep in the forest)

The branches sway heavy
with their own little secrets
We hide skeletons under our home
And my sister won't realise
That paint chips aren't flavoured
As she sleeps in the dark all alone

The dishes are dirty
With no soap in the water
We take turns to clean up the mess
But my father's no figure
Sentimental... so mental
But he won't give us up in the end

My mother spills spirits
With her own inner sweetness
She tells me that everthings fine
Excuse me if I'm being
Under dramatic
But I'm so sick of living this lie.

I grew old underneath your gaze

Childhood leaves litter the floor with nostalgia,
of florist nightmares and late-night horror movies
culminating in an after-dinner crooked skeleton calcium ad.
His owl eyes glowed like talcum powder in the dark,
like magical pixie dust sprinkled like butter over rice.
Mom kept warning that I put too much, and I did.
It didn't taste nearly half as bad. I hurriedly finished my meal
to catch whatever what was next, whatever it was,
the great big bespectacled whale of unknowns.
But he's friendly, and will gladly take me in,
and show me around, and show me the cogs and gears
of tinkerbell brains. They chimed and made a nice sounds.
Gradually, I replaced them with old antiques,
and built a tower, the top of which I placed an old chuch bell,
to alert the citizens of this senior ghost town.

Untitled (for a reason)

The secret to loneliness
is to let your regrets
pay all of your debts.
My grandpa taught me that.
It was testified to
by the bare scalp
under his fishing cap.
He would take us out
in his boat every now and then,
the family of one of his daughters;
hell if he knew ours names.
I used to wonder,
is he trying to make up to mom
for past mistakes,
or is he just trying to
tide over his loneliness?
I was scared to take a guess.

Those days out fishing
weren't so bad,
he'd be smiling the whole time
and having a blast,
but maybe that was just
his love of fishing shining through.
He still calls once a year,
(though he lives 3 minutes away)
that call came just yesterday.

I've never seen him at his worst,
only heard a few curse words slip,
but my mom would tell me stories
from when she was a kid.
She'd talk about them having
to go to the bar and find him there
passed out drunk. They'd have to
literally drag him back to the car.
Or the few times he tried to walk home,
and they'd find him naked
in the middle of the road.
She'd remind me of how lucky I am
that my father never hit his wife
in front of the children
like hers did.

I fear I've since made up my mind.
Once in high-school,
though I don't remember why,
the teacher asked which of us
had grandfathers that were still alive;
I didn't even raise my head,
let alone my hand.


it began as hundreds of pages
of meticulously written longhand
in varying languages,
russian, polish eventually english.

the story of a young girl
born in a small russian village
just after the first great war.
it told of how much she loved her dog
and how her father loved too many women
and her mother let him back in,
two times too many.

she grew into a young woman,
treated like cattle and corralled into train cars
during Hitler's war, brought to delousing showers.
took shelter in an abandoned farmhouse,
while bombshells dropped across broken fields
infant cradled in her young mother's arms.
she cried for the millions of her countrymen
who died without recognition

all of this lies in front of me,
resting on a glass coffee table.
wedged between two blue binder covers
a life translated
I picked dark red. It sounds effortless and honest, and I can relate to it.
Well done to everyone thought! Ive just started writing for the first time today, its not going great lol
"And my sister won't realise
That paint chips aren't flavoured" - dark red

could somebody explain this line to me.
p.s. sorry if this is classified as spam
What happens to the tied people?

Quote by Våd Hamster
Find a dice and assign a number to each girl. Throw the dice.

The number you hope for at the moment you throw the dice, is the one you'll want to keep.
does that mean they both get 3 points?

Quote by Våd Hamster
Find a dice and assign a number to each girl. Throw the dice.

The number you hope for at the moment you throw the dice, is the one you'll want to keep.
Quote by jiminizzle
I would have said blue or red... Sorry.

If you pick between blue and red and I pick between dark red and green then we can avoid the tiebreaker.

If you're up for that then I'm going with green.
Yes, sorry, you're all right. Green, Dark Red, Red. I'll put the points up as soon as my laptop's repaired and i'm not hocking the family computer.