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6 43%
8 57%
Voters: 14.
worth 4 pts.

A Round Robin

"I think that I was cloned." Yuki said in a low whisper.
Clock gears turn and the mechinical hymn of a battery operated
resperator thumps and whistles. Acordian pistons that push
oxygen into her lungs, squeeze...
in and out,
in and out,
in and out.
There was a halo of light around the hospital door from the
oddly circular windows that haunted this cold building. The room
smelt like iodine and latex while her skin felt like tree bark. It was the
lack of mostoire getting to her body, I wasn't worried, the outcome,
it is always the same. The acordians kept playing through, so I knew
that as long as there was music, she had to keep dancing.

Time passed,
and I left the building,
I walked past old woman in
Salted filigree dresses,
brown stockings and black shoes.
I told myself
"You'll never be that old,
you'll never be disconnected with society like them."
I smiled through the fog of
ben-gay vapors,
vick's vapor rub and other
fine smelling ointments.
Eventually I went back home,
kicked off my shoes.
I laid in bed and I fell asleep listening to
various news reports about scandals in
congress and celebrity deaths, I ignored
the world's concerns and drifted away.
When I woke up Yuki had died.


"Immortal and Poor"

I saw my face in a man centuries dead.
His visage preserved in time on a tiny card
Pinned up 'mid typed quotations of the Bard,
His gaze obscured by Satan's mighty heads.

Keats! His hand raised soft and fingers curled,
Against his face as I am wont to do.
The wispy hair of mousy brown, his eyes so pure and blue,
As yet they were, I guess, departing from the world.

His talent, some say, amounted to more
Than Milton's weary bridge to Fragonard.
He outlasted the bear, would've bested the bard,
Had God not recalled his life at twenty-four.

A better way to die, it seems to me,
Than dying at twenty four? There must be twenty-three.
Last edited by Something_Vague at Mar 6, 2007,
For the most part I wasn't keen on blue, I'm never one for name dropping writers into a piece. But the last two lines are great, even if I did recognise them. Red was great for the most part, a few images took away from the piece more than aid it. But still I vote red.
Filth, pure filth... That's what you are.
i didnt like either
when im with you, there's nothing I wouldn't do, i just wanna be you're only one. im gasping out of straws, taken aback by what i saw that night before when we were all alone...
Quote by *Truly Ninja*
Well, I mean, the poem was about John Keats. So sorry if i "name dropped" him too much for you.

Whoa, getting a little hostile there.

You really dont seem to like me do you?

It was a personal preference. Sigh.
Filth, pure filth... That's what you are.
As usual red was interesting and good to read but blue has my edge on thi sone, purely 'cos personally I prefer it. I also thought it flowed slightly better.