christopher-rossiWhisper

American
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*20* End of War *10*a key / to / f r e e d o m,
21
Aug 19, 2010
A Bug's QuarrelThere was a bumble bee / with six legs and three teeth; / he was romantically involved
12
Jun 25, 2010
A Confident ReserveI need a clear sky / a clear head / a sunrise,
17
Jun 18, 2010
All I KnowI feel there is a poem / trying to claw it's way out, / as I pound the keyboard without grace
15
Jun 5, 2010
America's Noble Stancethis age of existence strikes / an honesty that prevails / it disappoints the generations
16
Aug 19, 2010
A Read Between The LinesI am an italicized remark, / your spicy punctuation; / I am your steamy satisfaction,
21
Jul 21, 2010
Ball Point Pen (Short Story)I am not used to taking risks. Many barriers tend to block my train of thought and my decision-making. Now that I was lying at the bottom of the trash, I could talk; I could think straight. I had no distractions or punishments, even though there was no need for deciding anything. I felt free because I knew he had given up on me. I felt like a meaningless particle of the planet when I was under Master’s control. At least plastic was used to create something else. But not me! No! I could not be used for anything else; I just got thrown away. I couldn’t say I was completely oblivious towards my lifespan. I had an idea of what was going to happen. There I was at the bottom of the trash; knowing that my master’s next victim had already been chosen to take my former position in his soaking, swampy hand. Master acted like he worked so hard; he should have been ashamed of himself. Because lying crippled within those dark suffocating walls of that garbage basket was HIS doing. I do not take risks. Those crumpled up papers began to fall upon me like rain and it felt like I was being buried alive. / I don’t remember my birth or the first few years of my life. My psychology teacher told me about how you cannot remember the first 2-3 years because of the brain’s progression in growth. The first thing I remembered was waking up in a box, locked in place by my neck and feet. My family was nowhere to be found. I did not even remember being apart of one. There were four others enslaved with me at the time. They were not my family, but they dressed like me, which scared me a little. The loud noise of slicing scissors pierced my ears and a small stream of light entered the cardboard box when the top was cracked open. The first sight of the Master’s obese fleshy hand brought motion to my bowels as a feeling of failed screams collapsed around my throat. I had no voice, I had no mouth. Was it welded shut or was I created incorrectly? Watching the way Master’s large hand devoured the poor ******* next to me and yanked him out of the box brought an immediate knowledge of trouble upon me. I was frightened because my opinions were insignificant and I didn’t know what to do to gain control. / We were transferred from our holding shackles to a less-captivated holding system. I don’t know what it was, but we were with many others; lost and stupid. The light blinded me at first, it was more open and I could see clearer. I would have gotten myself into trouble… or maybe not. The sight was horrifying because it enabled me to witness it all. Master was unfair and he had no patience, like me. When a victim needed a break or was tired, he banged its head on the desk (or the paper) or threw it across the room. When the victim was not meeting the Master’s needs, he squeezed it harder and harder while banging its tip more. If a victim was useless to Master, he threw it away without a care. That same poor ******* that was next to me ended up in the trash after a day and a half because it couldn’t finish transcribing Master’s C’s or A’s. I would’ve transcribed his C’s and A’s; and his M, O, T, R, F, K, R’S too! I hope master sweats himself to death. I knew my time would come. I knew I would end up just like the rest of the poor and helpless. When my juice ran out, the five of us from the box would be back together- empty and cold.
6
Jun 26, 2010
Blind DateHis bar stool creaks, / quaking ice rattles / as he examines his glass .
12
Jul 8, 2010
Call Of ShameI'm trying to grow the courage / but the telephone won't reach for me / there's a number on the napkin
12
Jun 29, 2010
CerealThere is something in the way you taste. / Your milk-white temptation surrounds you / Like midnight darkness within the fields of peace.
9
May 24, 2010
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