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1 14%
2 29%
1 14%
3 43%
Voters: 7.
Bedside Windows

This is another meaningless pillowtop musing
Nothing more than a whisper to a windowsill
A meaningless whiff of baby's breath
On the breeze in this indigo night

The stars are a pattern, painted by the heavens
Tonight, in a stunning, unnatural display
Of a portrait of Cupid: eyes wide, mouth agape
At the disaster occuring before him

Why is it that his arrows always miss their marks?
Why must they always hit unwilling hosts?
I sympathize with them, the butt of every joke
I'll allow myself a moment of retrospection, then I digress

The drama; the saga plays out in my mind
I am "but a walking shadow, a poor player"
I am all but the narrator and the antagonist
The source of the salt and your wounds

I am the pirate, the villain, the scoundrel
The one who gave you promises by the shipload
Only to leave you, with a stack of crowns
Meaningless in anything but material value

You,the would-be white-robed protagonist
The manufactured unsung hero of the rebellion
The one who emerges triumphant out of the battle
Your clothes, wine red with your trials.

You stormed into court, fresh from battle
Only to sing the verses of my supposed trail
Of twisted hearts and broken minds
The only way for me to see this is with my eyes closed.

Let the waves come, let the clouds pool themselves
Into something tangible, something more than smoke
"Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain"


“It’s a Small World after all”
Very small, indeed.
This connects us with every man in the planet,
Through only four simple people.
The white are connected with the black,
And the Red Roses are connected with this fusion.
The Princess realized this, feared it at that.
She noticed that as the people enter and leave,
She was in trouble. People had big mouths now a day.
She fills the water glass half way.
It’s pretty self explanatory what she saw.
Half full, or half empty? I’ll leave that for you to decide.
She was alone now. Her future husband now turned a frog.
Of course, this is an exaggeration!
No one has been turned into a frog,
At least not from the outside.
She turned to look at her mirror, she saw nothing.
She was beautiful, at least in his eyes.
This man watching from the tree outside her window,
Had no idea how to reach inside. Guard in every corner.
Armed to fight, to protect, to live, obviously if anything happened,
It would be on there life, and then who would feed the families?
This man knew the princess very well. He had been watching her for a while.
She of course knew as well, but through the eyes of another person.
This “other” person was her father. Who had watched this man since he was a baby,
Until he died of the plague. This is where all fear comes from.
If we are connected to everyone through four people,
And one out of four has the plague, then we are damned.
Forced to die, one by one, because of our gift turned curse.
But that is not the story. The story is about the man at the tree.
Full of self-doubt, but persistent, very persistent, he jumped.
The princess did not react, for a moment.
She was afraid of the plague. She gave a shriek and the man stopped.
He said he was not infected, his blood was pure, and thus his heart was as well,
His veins did not carry the curse, and thus neither did his arteries.
She asked him who he was, he replied a shadow. Watching over you.
She asked what he meant, and how long he had been with her.
He replied with “You already know”. He heard the guards come, he kissed the princess.
He was about to leap onto the tree once more when the princess asked “why?”
“My duty is not only you,” And with that kiss, He left as fast as a Ninja takes a life.

The Colour Seven

This is a story, of a man.
This man was at his computer desk, playing his guitar rested upon his knee. He is an unusual man, for he plays guitar using a purple plectrum. So many people believe that his skills decrease with the colour of the pick. Although he is quite good people say he would be better with a blue or black pick. So, one day he decides to ask his kitten, The Cheat, whether or not he should stop using the plectrum. His cat says nothing and the man sits puzzled. He asks “What The ****?!” But of course his cat says nothing back. Then he thinks again, “What the ****?!” He is confused. He is also puzzled because he does not know what the word fibrous astrocyte means. No one knows really. It has been a question for mankind for all eternity. Anyways, the man continues to use his purple guitar pick despite what all the people are saying. So then the man thinks **** them, and he orders a ninja suit off of the internet because he just can’t stand the torment any longer. He waits patiently as the order is in the mail, soon to be opened.
He all of a sudden stops going out of the house. He is trying to get better and better at guitar so people will not tease him as much. He counts the hours till he will receive his ninja suit.
Then he says to himself, “My mom does more dope then I do,” he pauses. “She will definitely have some ninja weapons for me.”
So he heads over to his moms house, and it appears she is meditating while standing on her hands. So he comes back the day later and gets some ninja swords and all those nice things.
One week later, his suit arrives in his mailbox. He just can’t wait to give his enemies a little treat of Dave The Ninja. So later that night, he dresses up, gets his weapons, and kills everyone.
He then sleeps with the satisfactory of killing all those people. Only to awake in the morning, without any sign of his purple guitar pick. He has lost the purple pick. What luck? Poor bastard.
"Awe ****.”

Stop the Car at the Side of the Road

The Doctor emerged white coated from the blue collar squallor,
shooting down the nancy-boys.
He ran wild eyed and screaming,
ducking and weaving
through the crowds at midmorning mass and -
Bang! Bang! He dropped two priests,
shots to the chest causing unnecessary pain and embarrasment.
Red Lace.
Just a child, playing soldiers and Indians,
playing pirates and ninjas,
firing at minorities in the horrified congregation.
And my God, what a mess.
He was a rampaging bull,
new-age Rambo,
up on his high horse and shooting anyone below.

"Sir, put down your weapon or we'll blow your fucking head off!"
Hysterical upper class hatred.
"Sir, lay your weapon on the ground!"
Smug interjections of superiority.
"Sir, this is your final warning!"

And the good Doctor smiled.
"Turn on, tune in, drop out!" He shouted,
"Do what I have done, motherfuckers!
Take the bait, follow the sweet green grass to the other side,
spoil the fuckin' surprise!
Life is a box of bulets heading your way and
God Damn,
you better keep sharp."

They shot him, of course,
a metal penetration from all angles and
so surgical.
He would've liked it.
But now his broken body just serves as a reminder -
every kind soul is balancing on the blade.