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miss pie  Oct 2014
miss pie Oct 2014
dreaming sunshine
soothing elixir
backstroke swimming

open seas survivor
floating feelings evacuate
sea salt shake and roll
1,000 stroke communion

turning over and over
nothing much has changed
side stroke view another mile
Making headway resistance is futile
Rowena Chandler Mar 2016

Shine on you little, dismal light
Shine on, Shine on, Shine on
Your light is but a speck in a sheet
A dot in a yellowed text book
So many like you
So little time
To become what we want
Your light must shine
Outshine the rest
It must shine like the sun, little light
The sun is beautiful, the brightest light of all
It is the life-giver and day-bringer
Give life, Bring day
Don't spark in the night
The dark does not foster
The shining light you will give
And you will give
Little Light


Shine on, little light
There are so many just like you
The sheet you stain is stained by many
The blanket of the sky
Shine as bright as you can
Before the sun bleaches you out
You must shine and touch a soul
Fill a heart with your little light
Shine, Shine, Shine!


Glow on me, little light
Glow a dense, fuzzy ivory
Bring your warm white to the heart of my grey
A jungle of dampness
Clean clay muddied and wet
To fade away into a drear
Eroded into black
Glow so the white revives
And purity cleanses the walkways
The haze is hard to break through
But you can do it
Little Light


Shine and Glow
Glow and Shine
Whine and Row
Bow Divine
Swine and Sow
Go drink Wine
Fine hand Sew
Grow a vine
Grind and blow
*** and Mine
Mine is low
So is Nine
So Shine on, Oh
Shine Shine Shine
Shine on So
The world can't lie


Little, little light
So harsh on so little
You are beautiful
Beautifully insignificant
I write to you in prayer
Little Light
Bring peace and tranquil
Tranquilize the blackness in my heart
Touch my soul in the way only a little light may
So small
So pure
With a divine life I can never understand
A force so powerful it can be seen so far away
Stain my sky
Bleach my night
Do not leave me be
There are so many like you, but it takes many little lights
To make something special
You are a speck on my safety blanket
When I despair
I look to you
And suddenly

I'm okay

So shine on, little light
Shine on, Shine on, Shine on
Fel  Jan 2014
Short Story no. 1
Fel Jan 2014
I close the door of the bathroom cabinet, revealing the figure standing in front of it. I tilt my head back, bring my hand up to my mouth, swallow, and feel the slightly farmiliar sensation of the little pill sliding down my throat. Anything that used to be normal is only slightly farmiliar now, an effect of these little pills.
I look up into the ghost in the mirror, the one that slightly resembles my own face. I can barely pick out the individual features, but I'm pretty sure that's me. I bring my hand back up to my face, this time to pull up my cheeks in something that somewhat looked like a smile. Yep, that's me all right. The hand moved to the left, and grabbed my ear, tugging at it. Slowly, it made its way across my whole face, surveying all my features, feeling everything. I'm still here. Wish I wasn't.
I sigh and continue staring at this ghost of a person. She looks tired, and *****. Her dark brown hair ******* in a messy, greasy bun on top of her head. Her once bright green eyes are now a dull brown. Her once flushed cheeks, now completely pale and lifeless, still bear the scars of the crash.
I sigh once more and turn around, almost losing my balance.
I start toward my room, remembering I have to do something today. Not school, nor work, nor anything else in particular. Well, of course there is a reason, but thinking of that reason makes everything clear and painful, so lets just keep things hazy and safe.
I pull my once too small jeans on, which are now extremely baggy on my scarred legs. I try to steady my shaky hands as I attempt the eyeliner, but give up, and remove the waterproof makeup. It's not like he will care, he can't see my face anymore.
A sudden stab of pain envelops within my chest as everything suddenly becomes clear and I can see his face, his beautiful face, laughing. I blackout and end up on the floor.
When my eyes open, they are greeted with the concerned eyes of my sister-in-law. She's holding my face, trying to wake me up. "Woah there, woah. Are you okay?"
I sit there thinking of what just happened and what she said. It takes me a moment, but I reply, "As okay as I ever am."
She rolls her eyes and sighs. "C'mon, get up. We have to do something today."
Another stab of pain as I remember where we're going today and what we're doing. I ***** on her as the pain overcomes me once more, this time not blacking out. Instead the images, the very ones I have countless nightmares about, flit across my mind. Every one bearing pain, bearing a very specific pain. I start to scream and convulse, as I claw the arms of my brother's wife.
My brother comes in to pull me off of her and put me onto my bed, as I continue screaming. I can very clearly feel the very farmiliar pain in the middle of my chest. It's as if 10, no. It's as if a 100, a 1000 knives are being shoved in, turning, breaking bones, slicing organs. And then it feels as if someone is spitting salted lemon juice into my wounds, stinging.
It's all in my head though. Everything I'm feeling is all in my head. And that's the problem right there. Why couldn't I have just died in the crash, why can't I just be gone already.
I blackout again. And when I wake up, both my brother and my sister-in-law are standing there, watching over me. I see that my sister-in-law has changed clothes. Their troubled faces brighten up a little as they watch my eyes open. Unsurprised. This happens every time we plan to go to the hospital to visit him in the ICU. It's happened before, many times, so they know what to do and how to calm me back down.
They help me up from my bed and out into the living room, where there is a tray of fried eggs and bacon sitting on the coffee table. Probably for me.
I disregard it and instead walk to the kitchen to grab the *****.
My sister-in-law was right there to stop me. "No no no, not this early. Besides," she says as she takes the bottle from my shaking hands, "you already took your medication."
I begin to protest, and quit, knowing that it was no use.
Asides from the ***** and my medication, they have baby-proofed the whole house because of me. All knives are locked up somewhere in the garage, any tool that could be used against myself gone. No rope, shoelaces, small appliances, or other things that I may use to **** myself. The ***** was out because they confiscated it from my room. I had shoplifted the liquor the other day, and was trying to start a collection so that I may drink several bottles of alcohol at once and overdose. Not too smart, they search my room all the time. I'm too drugged to even care. And my medication tastes too nasty to overdose on, asides from being nearly impossible to OD from.

In the car on the way to St. Rosemary's hospital, we stop at a florist to get some 'Get Well Soon' stuff. My brother gave me some stronger medication, as he always does whenever we go to the hospital, and it makes thinking better. I'm able to think about what happened, but it makes the images in my head seem like they're from a movie, rather than my own eyes. I'm able to think about the man who lays there in the ICU, day in day out. That man I was once in love with. No, I still love him. And he loved me too. Loved.
I'm brought back to reality by my brother.
"What colour do you want to give him today?"
I don't know why he asks. I always say the same. "Green. His favorite colour."
My brother sighed. "I think he has enough green. But oh well, it's your choice..."
I love my brother very very much. I'm so grateful that he puts up with me. It's kind of a funny thing, when we were much younger and he was a ***** up, I could've sworn that he would have to end up living with me when we were older. Ironically, I ended up having to live with him. Well, 'living with him' isn't what it is. It's more like 'babysitting' or 'mom didnt want her in a mental hospital.' Like I had said before, I'm too drugged to care.

We also stop by SubWay just before we get to the hospital. I get the usual, a footlong ham and Swiss, with three chocolate chip cookies and a large Dr. Pepper. It's not for me, of course. I never eat anymore. This food is for him, if he wakes up. Because if he wakes up while I'm there, I want the satisfaction of being there with his favorite food. I do this every time. It's been a very long time since my brother or his wife has complained, wasting food and such. I don't care whether or not they're mad I waste stuff. I want this, no. I need this, for my fiancé.

Hospitals used to always scare me. As a child, I never had a reason to go to the hospital, except for my mother or grandmother, and even then I never went. I just knew people died there sometimes. I used to be so afraid of death. Now I'm wishing for it daily.
We head up to the ICU. He has his own room to himself, but he wouldn't care whether or not he had other people in there. All the people here know me, since we come around so often. They always look at me with extremely sympathetic looks, and then whisper about me to the people who they're around.
"Poor woman... Was in a terrible car crash... See those scars?... Just about to get married... **** near lost her life..."
They think I don't hear them but I do. It's a complete blessing for this medication, and that it makes me not care anymore, but sometimes I wish I could care. I wish I could turn around to them and tell them to shut the **** up thank you very much. I just literally do not care anymore.
We get to his room. The nurse comes out with the same sympathetic look as the rest of them.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to remember the last time I heard his voice, seen his eyes, felt his smile, heard him singing, the last time he told me he loved me...
And then the whole scene of when my life basically ended flashed across my mind, like a movie.

We were in the car, driving, listening to the iPod that was hooked up, singing along with whoever the hell was on. It was the middle of April. Nice weather. It was the perfect day.
We were on the way to this favorite place of mine, a 'special date' he had called it. At the time I had no idea what he was going to do.
We went into the place, a rollerskating rink. We got our skates and went into the rink to skate around. The DJ called out a special song for a special someone. As we danced and skated to the song, which was 'our song', the song we used to sing to eachother all the time, when a spotlight shined on him and he stopped what he was doing.
"You know that I love you," he said. "And you know that I want to be with you for the rest of our lives." He got down on one knee. "Will you make me the happiest man alive, and marry me?"
I started to cry. I said yes, if course. It was the happiest moment of my life.

When we were finished with the date, we were driving back home. We were seated very close, holding onto eachother.
We stopped at a stop sign, and I wanted a kiss. So I turned my head toward his, and we kissed. When I opened my eyes, we were in the middle of the intersection, and a car was coming our way from the left. It's headlights were shining in my eyes, and it was too close, going too fast. Right before the hit, I looked at it, knew the danger, and screamed my fiancé's name. He looked into my eyes in alarm, and that was when it hit. The other car smashed right into us, t-boning us on the drivers side, while my husband-to-be was driving. That moment felt like an eternity. We were flown around, and we hit some **** I don't even remember.
The next thing I remember was the sirens. The ambulances came and took us away from the wreckage. He was hurt severely, put into a coma. Me, I had some bad injuries, but not as bad as his. We were rushed to the hospital, and he was flown by helicopter to a bigger hospital that dealt with more serious injuries. Within two days he was considered brain dead.

And now, here I am, walking on this earth, while the love of my life just lays there, brain dead. I don't know whose brilliant idea it was to make it so I have to walk around, wondering whether he will ever wake up. The doctors always say that it's been too long, or that there's no hope now, or that we need to pull the plug. But every time they tell me that, I flip out. I flip out so bad they have to basically tranquilize me and send me back to the mental hospital. It's horrible. I just wish I could die, and that they would finally pull the plug after my death, so that we can both be together, wherever we go when we are finished with this life...

And the picture that always haunts me? The one of his eyes, in alarm, when I screamed his name. That picture is what haunts me day and night. It's what my nightmares are composed of. Every. Single. One.

I think all of this over for about a minute before we walk in. No one urges me to go in faster, they all know what I'm doing. They all know that I'm reliving the moment that pretty much took him away.
I open my eyes, ready to see him at last. I take small, careful steps into the hospital room, watching the floor. I finally looked up to see him lying, like usual, in his bed.

...At least, that what I was expecting.

Instead, he was sitting up, eyes wide, waiting for my reaction to see him awake.

And that was when I fainted.
Not my best work, but I felt like writing a full narrative for once.
Last week I was watching the news, and I saw a story about a pregnant woman who is brain dead, and I thought of this idea to write a sort of love story. Meh, enjoy.
Guido Orifice Dec 2016
J.R. said the man in the helmet said, “Goodbye, my friend,” before shooting his father in the chest. His body sank, but the man shot him twice more, in the head and cheeks. The children said the three men were laughing as they left.*
-Daniel Berehulak, They Are Slaughtering Us Like Animals, New York Times

Manila, goodnight.
The world is watching you slowly die.
Tattered truths & losing sense of life
captivate your battered night. Mud hurls blood
streets batted with horror & blabbed
anonymous spirits ghostlier than ever.

(Even ghostlier than your Martial Law days)

Manila, tranquilize yourself.

Your rest will be disturbed by scourged souls, thunderous cracks of guns,
bullets hitting flesh, motorcycle tandem arrests,
people’s holy shouts shunning shibboleth sounding death.

Hear them not. Sleep well.

Maggots festering wound. Manila,
on your knees, worms stich your broken nerves
healing gunshot wounds with peace.

Your night will be a train of madness
shattered by lies through morbid holes in skulls
& confessions in cardboard signs.

(Justice today is served cold, so cold)

& everything from that day on is simply to be known
as a cold just.

Truth decays. Life smolders, vanishing.

Your nights will be unthreaded from memories
for no one dares to look back to twisted arms clenched
by plastic strips, head bowing to ground (instead of ground
bowing to head), ground kissing the body naked swarmed
either by grease or blood, the body breaking gossips
among gossipers & gossamer among spiders.

Weep not, dead men tell no fiction.
Their bodies are the shocking truth, forsaken
shocking headlines hissing morning papers
peppered with mint or lies.

Manila, goodnight for your night will be remembered
through vigilant myths & nothing more.

Often cold bodies, freezing voices from limbo,
can’t speak nor bothered the living.

Again, Manila, in your arms, dead men tell no tales.

The killing spree of fragmented morality,
mortality, fatality, vanity, sanity, insanity, apathy.

Manila, do not move. You are now sedated with fear,
stronger than cooked methamphetamine of crooked realities,
no less than a drug making your anxious, bothered
in the darker & dimmer night
in dimmer  & darker disaster.

Manila, walk with your graffiti walls.
Your gutters will be banks of blood. Daylight traffic
will erase your night’s unwelcoming sphere. Last night
persists as tiny figment of imaginings photographed
& again, nothing more.

Everything will pass like hyacinths of Pasig River.

Everything will pass like one’s eternal passing.

Everything will pass like a chilling December wind.

Everything will pass either a typhoon or a butterfly fluttering.

Manila, goodnight. I am afraid they will ****** you
in your sleep. I am afraid that everything will just pass
like your breath losing hold of your lungs then your heart.

I am afraid that your death, my dear Manila,
will just be a neighbourhood rumour passing
& everything turns into a fiasco of a madman who believes
that he is a messiah, was he a messiah or never he will be a messiah.

Manila goodnight, I will watch you in your sleep. Your sleep
will be a thousand fold peace. No more of your sons or daughters
will be killed at least not in my memory.

Manila, here comes the night. Sleep,
sleep holy in the hidden lair of my mind. Your
catacomb will be wreathed by flowers & tears.
Incense will be fragrant burning bones. Your life,
your tired life will be a gentle ebbing of time
like your Bay’s sunset beauty, like your lively street people
like your once known heritage, your life
in the busy daybreak of your kindred sons.

Goodnight, my dear Manila.
I invite you to read Daniel Berehulak’s coverage of Philippines’ War on Drugs here:
Joshua Haines May 2014
I cut myself on the future
I thought of kissing your picture
I detached myself from
lullabies and sorry eyes
only to realize:

I want to make love to you in November,
just before the empty of December.
Where snow blankets
and suffocating leaf-beds
aren't the only dreams
to fall asleep in our heads.

I could hear your voice trip
as my hands started to drip
around your hips and thighs-
You could tranquilize
with your lips and byes.

You look so sleepy-headed
Many words I have threaded
to weave a dream
but you prefer my
Chris Thomas Nov 2016
We walk with our headphones on
Drowning out the ever-changing noise
Dropping pennies in wire-brimmed hats
As the subway roars beneath our feet
We set gears in motion with no intention
Of ever fixing them when they spin off
We call it freedom, but it's just retribution
For a host of mistakes that we've unleashed
We are paper tigers with nary a pencil
So by all means, tranquilize us before we pounce
And if kindness had teeth that could **** a man
Then sadly, our hearts are still alive and well
Homunculus Dec 2014
He retreats into his home, and
Now his ritual's begun,
He briefly questions his decisions, and
The person he's become.

Now he brings to birth, an orange flame
Beneath a tarnished silver spoon.
His eyes fixate on glints of light,
Which penetrate his living room, and
Flood into his windows, from the
Autumn evening's harvest moon, and

He looks down into the spoon, he
Smiles, and gives a simple nod, and
Now with unremitting reverence, he is
Praying to his God, and begging:

"Sanctify me, rectify me,
"Tranquilize, mesmerize me,
"Pacify me, O' great master, so
"That I might know thy peace, and
"Fill me with intrigue, pon which,
"My famished soul might feast!"

"Won't you please..."

"Light my darkness?
"Stoke my flame?
"Calm my mind and
"Heal my pain?

"Dry my weary,
"Weeping eyes, and
"Grant my heart, to
"Feel again?"

"If only for a moment,
"Let me know that
"I'm still live! and

"Fill me with your beauty,
"That of which, I'm so deprived!"

Now, he draws up with his needle,
The cold steel then tears a hole,
He feels relief, that within seconds,
He will once again be whole.

Back he pulls, as crimson stains the walls
He pushes in, and back he falls,
Into the velvet wonderland, of
Blankets on his bed.

His prayer indeed, was not refused
He feels fulfilled, he is renewed,
Well, at least until tomorrow's
Vicious cycle starts anew.
I've lost way too many friends: in death, to crime, to prison, and all because of ******. This is my requiem unto their memory. I've been lamenting over this one for some time, and although the meter may appear unstable in certain places, it seems to flow in my reading of it. I just hope that it may mean as much to someone else as it does to me.
JC Lucas  Nov 2013
JC Lucas Nov 2013
Sit broken
Softly weepin' wisps which then
Withdraw themselves from all of this
And fiendish
You'd have my arms and legs bound tight
You're sulkin'
Without remorse, without respite
I'm nervous,
And functionless in all your eyes
You're girlish
And cutesy
You give them eyes to get replies
I've never-
You've never?
You finish thoughts and work your little fingers down my

Uproot the weeds inside you
I'm through with being fruitless and
By old attempts to change our ways
We're newly polished anyways
We're newly painted, off the line

The bitter
And nameless
Are working after hours to reface this
And shame it
It sits and spins and multiplies
With frequence
I feel it
I feed a framework filament fire
And hapless
You're hopeless
I'm hoping on another line-
To find out what's been sanctified
Who sacrificed to tranquilize
And backfired by bullshittin'
So now I'm sleepy saunterin'
To see what life's like on the other side


If we cared
We could whisper cloudy whiteness where there
Used to be only filth and flies
I'm sick of sentimentalism
Sick of sinking in
I'm feeling fine.

Uproot the weeds inside you
I'm through with being fruitless and
By old attempts to change our ways
We're newly puffed up anyways
I've walked the line from Z to A
We're freshly painted hypocrites
At least this time I won't be so surprised.

This is actually a song. Sung, not spoken.
PhiWrit Nov 2015
When I pretend everything is what I want it to be
I look exactly like what you always wanted to see
When I pretend, I can't forget about the criminal I am
Stealing second after second just cause I know I can but
I can't pretend this is the way it'll stay I'm just
Trying to bend the truth
I can't pretend I'm who you want me to be, so I'm
Lying my way from

If you feelin like a **** *****, go and brush your shoulders off
Ladies is pimps too, go and brush your shoulders off
****** is crazy baby, don't forget that boy told you
Get, that, dirt off your shoulder

I probably owe it to God, props to His Son of course
Tryin to hustle some things, that tranquilize a horse
Feelin no remorse, feelin like my hand was forced
******* to the law, better read up the psalms
All the ladies they love me, but the Preachers they screamin
All His Body is bouncin they like the way I be Beamin,
All the trappers be hatin, off the sack that I'm makin
But all the shamans they love it just to see one of us make it
Came from the bottom the bottom, to the top with pots
Yeshua Son of Man, of His plan I talk
Like a running back, get it man, I'm straight off the block
I can run it back ***** cause I'm straight with His rock.
Ivy Swolf Jun 2015
A girl once investigated her tousled
      subconscious, for starry-eyed symbolism in
dreams was a better navigator of
      real life than battery-powered bleakness of
her daily alarm. When little boys pretend to be
      sailors they forget to be lost under foreign stars
as well, kneeling on wooden decks and blistered
      knees just to plead with the unrelenting new
moon to tranquilize its harshness, just a little bit,
      to peal a layer of its sinister skin and
shed some light on the
      twisting abyss ahead. Among all the apologies
sowed deeply in my ribcage
      there is a haunting song reverberating
in my bones that is
      faithless to what my chapped lips preach.
just word ***** while looking at the moon at midnight.
jennee  Feb 2016
Untitled #11
jennee Feb 2016
tranquilize the heat
my body conceives
i am a sacred human being
not a functional machine
made up of cogs
and dependent body parts

i am more than someone
to just disregard


— The End —