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Drowned Gods'When the gods return, from the ends of the fasting sky, they'll stand in the rain and knock and knock,' Erin frowned, 'Well that's freaking weird.'
She turned the tablet over in her hand, orange light from the fire made the ridges in the wax glow, the nascent crests contrasting with the deeply scored marks. The words had been gouged with unusual ferocity. Hurried. She ponderously closed the wooden cover.
Unwillingly, she shivered. The fire suddenly seemed too weak. She threw another batch of seacoa
and yet i cannot write of youi am attracted to the broken,
the lonely, the nutcracker before he was made prince.
i am false in a way that shames me:
burning through daydreams instead
of looking for their existence,
lately i have neglected the self-induced
hallucinations i am prone to.
you are gorgeous in your honesty.
please do not love me,
i am afraid i will break you.
do not question the poems,
they are the only things tying me
to mortality; the only things i will give
i guard my secrets the way misers keep
useless pennies tucked between their eyelids,
savings for the day i stop giving out poetry
as if i could hand out my burdens,
and walk away lik
unobstructed viewsfor you, my dear, I could attempt
to carve out the sound
of a smile, or weave the most
intricate words with a sigh
you make me want to steal the sky
and pluck the stars like feathers
from the wings of the night
and set fire to every one
then try to compile the taste
of burning beauty
in twenty-five letters or less
but I have always been clumsy with words;
always too many or too few.
my words are tigers, predators,
too quick to chase and kill -
whereas you, you,
your words are songbirds,
you capture them so neatly
and show them how to sing
at just the right pitch
to speak to the soul,
then let them dissolve
in a soft, soft sky.
quite simply, my dear,
you inspire me to write.
birds on a wire.today i saw two birds sitting on a telephone wire and i wondered if maybe they were on a date. i wondered if i were a bird, if i would have lots of dates that we spent sitting on a telephone wire watching the clouds shape shift and watching the cars roll by, with little kids pointing out the window saying, "look mom, those two birds are sipping coffee in a cute little cafe on the telephone wire!"
of course, the wire would never be able to hold a cafe.
but i'm still stuck wondering if i will ever have a date, whether i'm a bird or not.
i wish i could tell you that i don't miss you in the type of way that makes my stomach churn, b
SpoilageClashing to danger, head on collision
tragic, painful, catastropic!
moving -- being mobile does not help
a time when all I want to do is stop
Looking straight to where I am going
-- where I'm suppose to go, to run, to walk
Shatters, buzzing, clinging!
and again I'm lost
I need a hand to lead me
It's always there, all I need to do is grab
Is this everything that I got?
Panicking, feeling the ache, a rush!
Shut it! I need to lock it!
Not going anywhere... not going anywhere from where I am
Being stagnant -- spoilage. Spoilage. Spoilage.
and yet again, I am leaking
Heck! It's all done now -- not all.
Something is left. Spoilage,
casting off clichesi need to think outside of the curves of your bones. no more
discarded coffee cups or stars in your eyes, no more cold nights
or summer days. i don't drink tea, nor do i like rainy evenings
without you. i don't like to talk about writing about you; i don't
even like to write about you. no more dead flowers or ocean salt.
no more missing someone, feeling loved, feeling empty, feeling
sad, feeling hopeful, feeling angry - i'm tired of all of these things.
i want to write something about the way you hog the blankets;
that's a lie, that's something i want to keep for myself. i don't want
the world to know of us - i like to keep them guessing. i
Churches Are For Raised Voices1.
she was white noise and an exit strategy
a cold stone hurtling towards Russia
she was everything he never wanted
and when she crashed into him,
there was nothing he could do to stop her
from turning all sorts of heads and heels
the wrong way around.
I was 8 when I learned
how a song could lift
boulders off of backs
effortlessly bear twenty three prayers
right through that solid white roof.
I was 9 when I put my esophagus to work
stringing notes into bridges
and it wasn't till 13
I learned to start pushing my own growing stones
up the bridges I built
let each carefully annunciated syllable
begin to straighten my spine and fill every em
Rhymes with WaterRhymes with Water
Prenatal rush, the world enters with the birth pains natural. Outside Hurricane Bertha whips the trees bare. I am slapped. I cry. I piss on the doctor. I bury my face in the nurses' breasts. My mother reaches for me and softly cradles me calling my name like a mantra.
"Abraham, oh my son Abraham "
In seven seconds I'm going to die. I know this because I have seen it in my nightmares. I know I will die because the few minutes a human being can live without oxygen is nearly over, the restless thrashing my tired frame can no longer endure, so I slip beneath the waves. I know I will die because I can hear the c
FireflyShe shuddered back into existenceloose ligaments collapsing into connected pieces. Renewed rhythms rippled from her chest. Chemicals in the brain settled into a dance, awakened by the thrum of heart pulse. The belly twisted. Lungs expanded. Senses tumbled and curled and flirted with the swoon of infused hips and life song.
In a single breath, the human form was released from slumber.
The air tasted crisp, sharp like razors. Her insides burned for a moment. Tiny oxygen atoms carved designs into the interior of her system. She basked in it, allowing the searing trails of infiltrating winds to eat away at her veins.
And she liked it. Sh
Oh well.. I don't know if I'l ever keep this story up.. (But Lord please do let me keep it up an' finish it! It's just a short story with I think few chapters. BUt please do le'mme finish this one~ TT^TT)
I got inspired by a a game called HetaOni(c) well.... This story was.. well.. I wanted to make an RPG game too but I don't know how an' I was plannin' on making this an RPG game.. but.. I CAN'T MAKE AN RPG GAME! If I could just make one.. I won't be here posting this stories up... I would be out there makin' games... (suddenly I felt an urge to take Game Development...Darn! I'm all set for Animation!)
Umm.. you see Dear Reader-sama... I'm not good with novel writing.. This story might even sound "A LOT AMATEUR" than what I think.. but I'M TRYIN' MY BEST HERE YA DE.... I'm best in drawin'... Not in writin' though I'm second in makin' informal essays... Maybe I'm better off drawing than writing, huh?
huh.. You're making me cry....
Please do your best in reading this novel.. an' thanks for.... reading this....
I'm repostin' them from my account in wattpad.. I never finished 'em.. But maybe someday I will!