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 Jun 2013 SLM
Ai
Conversation
 Jun 2013 SLM
Ai
We smile at each other
and I lean back against the wicker couch.
How does it feel to be dead? I say.
You touch my knees with your blue fingers.
And when you open your mouth,
a ball of yellow light falls to the floor
and burns a hole through it.
Don't tell me, I say. I don't want to hear.
Did you ever, you start,
wear a certain kind of dress
and just by accident,
so inconsequential you barely notice it,
your fingers graze that dress
and you hear the sound of a knife cutting paper,
you see it too
and you realize how that image
is simply the extension of another image,
that your own life
is a chain of words
that one day will snap.
Words, you say, young girls in a circle, holding hands,
and beginning to rise heavenward
in their confirmation dresses,
like white helium balloons,
the wreathes of flowers on their heads spinning,
and above all that,
that's where I'm floating,
and that's what it's like
only ten times clearer,
ten times more horrible.
Could anyone alive survive it?
 Jun 2013 SLM
Hilda
Untitled
 Jun 2013 SLM
Hilda
One Sunday night  a drunken man went down the streets about three sheets in the wind and bumped against a tree. Thinking he had hit a man, he backed off, took off his hat, and said,"scuse me,sir- scuse me." He staggered on a few steps, struck a man, and courtesied again, before staggering away.
A neighbor came along, seeing him stumble against a fence."Why, William! You need to go to revivals with me."
Accordingly the two set out for the meeting held at the nearby church, all the while William recalling what a hypocrite the deacon was.
Making his way down the aisle he threw himself on the pew beside the disgusted looking deacon, while Neighbor Jones took the bench behind.
As deacon Goodwench rolled his eyes in horror, William grinned and winked at him.
Presently the evangelist came to an eloquent Biblical passage and called, "Where is the drunkard?"
Whereupon William rose, folded his arms, and shouted,"Here's the sot. Blaze away," and proceeded to stand at his pew till the evangelist finished the verse.
The Reverend Crawford came to another Biblical passage and called out, "Where is the hypocrite?"
Nobody moved and you could hear a pin drop.
Suddenly William arose,reached over and gave Deacon Goodwench a rough nudge in his side. "Get up and take your med'chine,< Goodwench! Likes I did when he called me..."
 Jun 2013 SLM
Hilda
No Tommorow
 Jun 2013 SLM
Hilda
Her arms felt empty and pain stabbed her heart. There were no more cats left. Nothing. Odd how the tears refused to come. Only pain. For a long time she stood staring blankly out the window.
  Why had she ever supposed that all she was doing was helping little innocent creatures who were now gone? Only her heart beat on and on, though broken.
  Finally with a sigh she sat down with her notebook, but no words came.
Usually a story starts with a beginning. But I decided to be unconventional and write the end first.
 Jun 2013 SLM
haley
i think that even if i
drank all of you in
while i had the chance
i would still fear
death
by dehydration.
idk if this makes sense
sorry
 Jun 2013 SLM
steel tulips
happiness built on mud and sticks
most days i still crave your kiss
your lips;
oh your lips.

happiness fabricated out of good intention
most days i wonder how i got in this direction
good intentions;
without direction.

my new toy has left me too;
now all i do is think of the two of you;
mostly you.
always you.


(but I fucken hate you.)
and i kinda like him
maybe one day
you'll let me win
 Jun 2013 SLM
Chris T
Alone
 Jun 2013 SLM
Chris T
Alone*
          **I watched the midnight fires
                   consume the madmen and liars.
 Jun 2013 SLM
Chris T
Every day
he wakes up
from a bad
nights sleep
and he'll go
and wash
his face
in tiny gray
bathroom sink,
glaring madly
at the figure
in the mirror,
then he'll dress,
fit his
corpulent
body
into a suit,
gray and sad
and overused,
right after,
to his kitchen
he'll go,
make dull
coffee and
a dull meal,
on a
wobbling table
perspiring
terribly
he'll gobble
down his
gray food,
and lock his
apartment
and
then to his
gray car
and
off to his prison,
his gray job,
a thing he hates,
until the sun goes down,
followed by home
again
where he'll have a drink,
watch the gray news
and fall asleep,
and tomorrow
repeat
the same thing,
another
day in the life
of the fool.
2013. Just wrote it.
I don't wanna end up like the Fool and it depresses me, the thought of the same thing every day. Getting up to work at a job I hate, every day 'till I die. Terrible. A nightmare. And it hurts to see so many trapped in that process with no way out but death. You see them out sometimes, you can tell by looking at their defeated faces and posture and the way they speak, monotonous, a bore. And they'll fake a smile, maybe they have a kid with them, but you know that in their heads they wish that the kid doesn't end up like them. A father, a mother, who doesn't want their kids to think of them as heroes. It's sad really. They've got a wife, a husband, they hate each other. Or perhaps you saw them at a bar, face down on the wooden counter, an unfinished beer right in front. And those ties, like nooses around their necks, slowly choking their life force away. Maybe, at some point, in the beginning of their working lives they thought things through like me. "This won't happen. I'll notice when it does and I'll change things. I won't be a Fool." And the moment of transformation comes and they don't notice until it's been years too late and they've dug themselves to deep and it's over.
I guess that what I'm trying to say is, don't be like The Fool.
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