Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Its cold stainless steel in my hand
Its silver body glows in the mid day sun light
Its bright reflecting light playfully dances in my eyes
I caress it like some sort of dying animal taking it last breath
Carefully I stroke it six chamber cylinder
Teasing it I pull back it hammer
And close my eyes
I imagine it firing
My heart races at the thought
I pull back the trigger
The cylinder rotates as the hammer crashes against the bullet
It rockets out leaving behind fire and smoke
Like breath from a dragon
Whizzing through the sky
Only to lose its momentum
Then slowly its once straight trail
It begins to dip towards the ground
The feeling I felt dies with it
I'd do it again if I had the chance
I pull back the hammer once again
do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.
The stars glare at me
As I lie awake on my bed,
Imagining constellations on my ceiling
Truth be told,
I imagine I am gazing up at them,
But they are too stubborn
They wouldn't listen if I told them

Their twinkle in the night sky
Looked like a sparkling waterfall
Their loyalty to the night
Is unrivaled in the universe
Their blazing bodies
Bring light in the darkness
Their presence every night
Gives me ease and I sleep well

Nibbling on the corner of
A fluffy planetary nebula,
Swimming with a cluster
Of dreaming asteroids
I imagine all these things
Happening above my head
Among the stars is where I belong, because I always find my mind traveling there.
""
"I used to be the person
who took pictures of
beautiful sunsets but
now all I see are dark clouds"
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Lovers come and lovers go
I am dissatisfied with my toes;
I ponder too often about the unknown,
and spend little time on my own.

My Fridays are scheduled,
My Thursdays, too
I wonder when I'll have time for you
This weekend or next?
I do not know,
Some coffee, some tea? A midnight show?

My bed groans as I settle in,
A single sardine in a lonesome tin.
I read of romances, dramas, and more -
Sometimes, I feel my life is a bore.

I dream of adventures across the world
With someone special to hold;
When nights become chilly and the news become old,
I don't want to be alone in the cold.
Written on a whim December 5th, 2014.
I woke up hungry again
From the lack of food in the freezer
Sometimes I open it an pretend its full
But the pain in my stomach snaps me back into reality
No breakfast again
We try to conserve but the little we have
Just isn't enough
Mom has two jobs
Ironically to feed the both of us
She's working all day an all night for me and you
I wish we could see her
I know your hungry too
So here take my plate
Dont worry your my little sister its what any big brother would do
Im tired of being poor so here's what I'll do
I'll go sell drugs
Even if it kills me ill do this for you
There he stands, on the far corner of this room
Leaning against that wooden table
In a black tuxedo, with one hand in his pocket
And another holding his drink.
Mysterious as he seems, his eyes never fail to mesmerize you.
His words so few, his feelings always true.
So deep in his thoughts - you could get lost for hours.
But as you sit here next to me and stare,
Your life wouldn't be so bare..
Because in his presence you feel something so rare.
And if you're lucky you'll catch a smile here and there,
A smile that is almost as deadly as the devil's glare.
Next page