Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
ryan pemberton Sep 2012
there is no GOD, and I am his prophet.
don't shove your religion down my
throat.
there is no GOD.
to believe in GOD is wishful thinking.
i don't need a boss man
breathing down my neck,
but you must.
you better harden up.

i believe
that you shouldn't believe
in anything, and I believe you
ought to harden up.

face facts.
get real.
it's a raw, dog eat dog world out there
and it's us against them.
you have to be able to
face the cold truth of it all.
life's just what happens
between the maternity ward
and the crematorium.

hear me brother,
this is my sermon:
there is no GOD
and I am his prophet.
ryan pemberton Sep 2012
omar loved his guitar.
he took it to pubs, clubs and parks.
he took it on trains, buses, to bathrooms.
he went to bed with it.

omar loved his guitar so much
that he cut a hole in it
so they could make love.
it hurt like hell, but
it was worth it.

three months later, omar
and his guitar, who was called
Vera,
had made love two-hundred and
thirty six times, and a
viscous mess lingered
inside her.

one day the mess
became sentient and it
slid itself out of
Vera's whole and onto
the carpet.
omar came home that day to find it
soaking up the linguine in his pantry.

within days it had doubled in size.
within weeks it had grown soft, wet arms
and legs
and fingernails.
after three weeks its form was fully recognisable:
a guitar, with arms, legs and a head, and
a thin sheet of human skin, stretched over
it.

on it's forehead were the six tuning pegs.
and strings were stretched from its forehead
to its crotch.

one time one of the strings snapped and omar
had to replace it with
one of Vera's.
it had a mouth.
when it was old enough
omar made love to it too.
ryan pemberton Sep 2012
i'm writing this down
now.
i've never written
before now.
I remember writing
but
even that memory
is what's happening
right now.

I see you
and I
saw you
now.
I love you
and I
loved you
right now.

can you hear the
rain?
can you know
it
without needing to
tell yourself?

we are all
always experiencing
the same everlasting
moment.
ryan pemberton Sep 2012
"have you ever ****** on the roof of
a moving train?"

"no."

"would you like to?"
ryan pemberton Sep 2012
I loved a girl once, she had long dark hair.
She could draw, I watched her draw wrinkled faces.
She kept her mattress on the ground, her tongue in the air,
And with the mattress, and the tongue, we went to new places.
It was weird, which I liked, romance was boring.
She'd chew on my jaw and I'd spit in her eye.
No request for sensation was worth ignoring,
We were all *** for tat, we were high for high.
Then she left, as she would, and I felt fine.
I mean, I felt like ****, but I kept this in mind:
I still have those days, and those days are mine,
And I have other dark haired girls to find.
       Now that she's gone, my drink's all that's near,
       But that's okay too, I can spit in my beer.
ryan pemberton Sep 2012
i used to look out
the car window
and sonic the hedgehog
would jump from car to car
and swing from streetlights
to keep up with us
on long car trips.

later, i played i spy,
i'd pick a cow
or something.
cows are not as interesting
as sonic the hedgehog.

these days i'll read a book
or listen to a lecture
or sleep the whole thing
through.
it's still not as interesting as
sonic the hedgehog,
but i'm 19 years
old.
ryan pemberton Sep 2012
it's like watching a elegant array
of dancing barbie dolls.
there's some beauty in it,
but it's plastic beauty.
there's no rawness, no guts,
no emotion.
cheer is not an emotion.

cheer is not happiness,
or elation,
or bliss.
cheer is the exhibitionist,
mechanical representation
of real joy.

one girl was really good
at cheering,
but her partner kept
messing up.
I could see she was angry
that her partner was ruining
everything.
but she was grinning bigger
than the rest of them, because
that was part of
the routine.
part of the
cheer.

he messed up because his body
was wrought with tension.
he couldn't relax and live it
because he was too ****
stressed.
too **** worried he might
ruin the cheer for
everyone.
Next page