In an unsynchronous, unscripted, parallel of this world lie the unsuspecting pieces of my game. They are as diverse as they are unique, and equally as unwary. Their roles, even unknown to me, will be played out and unraveled along with the secrets of the universe they occupy. They are unwilling, innocent, and utterly perfect.
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 1:17 AM UTC
I wish, just for moment, that I could show you how you look to me. How even your simplest of creations are a constant inspiration. Not because they give me ideas or contribute in a synergistic manner with my own works. It’s because your pieces of literary and artistic genius give me hope that one day my own pieces will no longer be this muddled, contorted maelstrom of chaos and damnable poetry. They give me happiness when I sorely lack even a shred of joy. They enable me to bravely face the demons of my work, in hopes of quelling their ceaseless screams, or destroying them all together. In the end, your positivity helps me face the monsters that I have created to remind myself that this world will continue to beat me down, and that with the unknowing support of all of you, I can continue to fight.
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 1:12 AM UTC
The house is a mess,
as ***** as could be!
There's dust everywhere,
I cant find the tv!
We've looked all around,
but we cant seem to find
my poor little brother
I'm going out of my mind!
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 12:31 AM UTC
Poison in bottles,
disguised as sweets,
the heart it throttles,
and halts its beats.
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 12:12 AM UTC
It was as if the world itself fell away and all that existed was the piano. He reluctantly made his way over to the gigantic instrument, and simply stared. His hands, seeming to have a mind of their own, absentmindedly struck few comfortable keys. The hollow notes hung, as is frozen in midair, before bouncing about the room and finally fading into silence. A hushed quiet falls on his unnoticed audience as he stands above the playground of his hands. His fingers hover above the ivory keys, fearing the outcome he knew would accompany his continuance. With a frown he pushed on, filling the room with strings of beautiful music, playing out his very soul. It was more than music, it was life, it was the feeling of soft grass warmed by the rays of the afternoon sun, it was the first sip of cold lemonade on a blistering day, but to him it was her. Suddenly, the music became soft and somber, as the tempo grew erratic and uncontrolled. He felt anger course through him as his hand grew tighter and began to lock in unusual places. His listeners now shuffle nervously while others look on, concerned for their unknowing player. His anger gives way to despair as his right hand suddenly cracks and grows limp, leaving his left to finish with only a lonely chord. As the last notes ring out, he cradles his hand and turns to leave only to hear clapping.
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 11:51 PM UTC
Misshapen hands, with scars in unusual places, glide and strike with short flurried bursts across the keyboard. The soft ticking of keys and the clock are the only sounds that permeate the silence. He leans back in his chair to observe and critique his work before moving on, only to return hunched over to correct minor mistakes. This pattern, this silence, has become normal to him. Foreign is the concept of others while he gives his thoughts their first breath of air. The world to him a simple hum tugging at the back of his mind, slowly bringing him down from his throne of creation.
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 4:16 AM UTC
I envy other writers, with their uncanny ability to weave together their thoughts into beautiful stories. I have only the fleeting snippets of memories lost to time, the forgotten tales of characters who never got to be. I wonder if these authors are plagued by their fabrications, not given respite until their very creations’ voices are heard. Do they dream of others lives as if it were their own and become disoriented when their memories become poisoned by these dreams? I feel more than envy, I feel bitter, for their lives lay untainted by their own literary sons and daughters.
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 4:12 AM UTC
How bad can I be? I’m part of you!
I do the things that you wouldn’t do.
I talk to that girl, I flirt with that guy.
Why, without me you might as well die!
I am the fun that you throw away,
the memories you burn at the end of the day.
I am the things that you wouldn’t brave,
the people you ****** and still couldn’t save.
Why am I here, well that’s simple too.
I’m all the fun parts of boring old you.
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 3:38 AM UTC
I can't hold it back, they're too loud to bear...
"If it's all in your head, then why even care?"
They scream every word, every day, every night...
"If that's really true, why do you seem alright?"
It's all just a show, to escape from the pain...
"But what purpose would it serve, what would you gain?"
It muffles the sounds that terrorize my dreams,
And hope that one day I can quiet the screams...
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 12:22 AM UTC
Untitled entry, devoid as the space that fills my screen, killing words in their place.
Untitled entry, like clay to the mind, a blank white canvas with no art confined.
Untitled entry, once empty now filled with all of the words that it had once killed.
Untitled entry, filled up to the top, the words keep coming, but the screams won't stop.
Untitled entry, hard as I pray, the screaming continues, and wont go away.
Untitled entry, this world's not the same, for under the screams, they whisper my name.
Untitled entry, I can't let it go, of knowledge they speak, I just have to know.
Untitled entry, I know that they lie, to gain their knowledge, they say I must die.
Untitled entry, but do I dare tread, upon hallowed ground, reserved for the dead?
Untitled entry, curiosity won, their knowledge now mine, through my life undone.
Untitled entry, the words make no sound, the space in between is where we are found.
Untitled entry, no knowledge just dreams, tune out their whispers, ignore their screams.
Untitled entry, just please save yourself, beware my mistakes, no knowledge is wealth.
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 12:16 AM UTC