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      threw the silver dollar up into the tree?

                                                    I didn’t said the little
lady who sews and grows every day paler-paler she sits sewing and grow-
ing and that’s the truth,
who threw

            the ripe melon into the tree?you
                                                got me said the smoke who
runs the elevator but I bet two bits come seven come eleven mm make
the world safe for democracy it never fails and that’s a fact;

who threw the

bunch of violets
                    into the tree?I dunno said the silver dog,    with ripe
eyes and wagged his tail that’s the god’s own

and the moon kissed the little lady on her paler-paler face and said
never mind,you’ll find
                           But the moon creeped into the pink hand of the
smoke that shook the ivories
                                and she said said She Win and you won’t be
sorry   And The Moon camelalong-along to the waggy silver dog
and the moon came
and the Moon said into his Ripe Eyes
                                          and the moon

You were magnificent.
Everyone saw danger in
Black jeans with ink black boots
But I saw a handsome mystery.

People said that you were begging
For trouble and that you were
Going no where fast.

My friends said that you would break my heart
And lead me down a path that
Ended in a not so nice place.

You were my first love.
I remember the smell of
Cigarettes and alcohol clinging to you.

You were my first drug.
I injected myself with your presence
And gulped down your lies
Like the cheap beer we bought.

One midnight I creeped out
To meet you at that bar
Where no one in their right mind
Would go.

Smoke was heavy in the air
And *** was going on in dark corners.
Alcohol flowed freely and showed no sign of stopping.
It was there that we kissed.

Two turbulent years later
We had moved up to that section of the woods
Where people got high.
You stared at the stars but
You seemed to see through them.

It was there that I said,
"I love you."
Those little words danced on the wind
And quietly entered your ear.

At first you didn't do anything
Then you slowly moved your face
Towards mine.

The moonlight shone down and
The stars were on fire,
They were so bright.

You stared at me.
No, through me.
In that moment I realized something.

Everyone was right.
You were trouble,
On the fast track to no where,
And danger in black jeans.

My heart shattered to pieces.
I left you
And that dark path that you led me down.

Even now as I lay in bed,
Aching for your touch
I regret nothing.

You are still magnificent.
My drug in black jeans with matching boots.
My handsome,
Lily Espy Oct 2014
there's seven steps to the making and drinking hot cocoa process.

prepping: grab the mug, make sure you use tap water, grab the hot chocolate and spoon and begin the process down below

step one: pour the tap water into your mug, nearing to the top of the mug and place it in the microwave

STEP ONE: you're scrolling on facebook and you see the most handsome man you've ever seen and you automatically hit the friend button and start messaging him. he responds back, almost as quickly.

step two: press the general two minutes into your microwave and "patiently" wait for your hot chocolate

STEP TWO: you've been talking to her for a good month online now, you both mutually decide to meet up and instantaneously become very close. you start dating him.

step three: take out the flaming hot mug of water and proceed to put it on the counter. grabbing the spoon, put two to four spoonfuls of hot chocolate mix into the mug. begin to stir until there are not any "chocolate dust bunnies" floating around, dissolved.

STEP THREE: a month into the relationship, you're both very much in love. you've had your fourth kiss recently-but who's counting?

step four: immediately go to a comfy spot near you, pull up YouTube and watch people sexually assault women on the street and pass it off as a prank. as you are giggling along, take a sip of your dri-gasp! ouch, that really hurt.

STEP FOUR: three months in. he takes your virginity. it really hurt. you weren't ready but you didn't want to disappoint him.

step five: continue slowly drinking your hot chocolate, it's good to savor it. you notice it starts to get cold. you swish it around in your mouth and let it rest for a minute... it doesn't taste like hot chocolate anymore. it's cold, bitter and the mix from the bottom is floating around giving it the taste of dirt.

STEP FIVE: five months in. he started hitting you two weeks and three days ago. you said you wanted to stop having *** so often because it hurt and you weren't having a good time anymore. he said, "you're asking for it, looking so **** hot all of the time" and proceeds to force himself on you for the first time.

step six: you decide, **** this, im done with my hot chocolate and begin to wash it out in your sink.

STEP SIX: seven months in. you break up with him, he tells you he's sorry and you get back together with him. this has been a reoccurring pattern for a month now. but this time, you're done, for good. and turns out, you are.

step seven: you finish off cleaning the mug and spoon that was used to mix the powder and the weight on your shoulders is free. no more ******, cold hot chocolate for you.

STEP SEVEN: you are free, out of a treacherous relationship. "you were too good for him" your friends tell you, "he's disgusting and wasn't even that attractive". you feel unwanted, until one day you see someone staring at you while you're walking into a coffee shop. you begin to get creeped out after an hour and go to talk to him. you exchange numbers with this older man.

step one on: the process of making and drinking apple cider.
·currently drinking hot cocoa while writing this· slam poem· BY LILY ESPY·
Frank Ruland Dec 2014
.     Hello, friend. Sometimes the cyber world can be scary, and it may seem like some things on it, that once seemed innocent enough, are actually forces that were stronger than you could ever have imagined. Like a bad ex, or ingrown hair. Yes, sometimes sites on the Internet have the potential to amaze you with the feats they can accomplish, while others make you plainly shudder after you realize just how much of a pawn they make you feel like.
     Lots of us use social networking to share pictures, stay in touch with dear friends, and tend hoards of cyber crops in a valiant effort to feed starving third-world cyber countries, such as Durotar, from World of Warcraft, or your friends newly created world in Minecraft. Yes, Facebook seems innocent enough, but be warned friend, Facebook is an entity with a mind of its own. And you are but dollar signs and potential advertisees to it. Please, if you are wary that your Facebook may becoming too strong and are worried that it is slowly trying to own you, read the following guidelines to detect a rogue account:

1) If Facebook has recently suggested a person that "you may know," and have no idea as to how it ascertained this reference, you may have a  rogue account. Ex-spouses you discovered were actually out to make your life miserable, bosses that are actually Satan, haters with enormous egos, and that creepy kid from high school that used to stare at you across the cafeteria while eating pickles, are all examples of people that, are in fact, not friends.

2) If Facebook has recently advertised to you a product or service that you were auspiciously interested in, and you seemed compelled to buy it, you may have a rogue account. It may publicly advertise and make known your interests, such as your love for designer socks, tartar sauce, and personal hygiene products you kept hidden away in your bathroom--in the process making them not so personal anymore.

3) If Facebook has ever asked you for permission to locate you for reasons unknown. you may have a rogue account. Why does Facebook want to know where you were on the night of May 12, 2010? You weren't busy burying the neighbor's cat you accidentally ran over that night. That's crazy! I mean, and even if you were, that **** thing was always getting into your trash and leaving **** on your doorstep. Something had to be done about that demon spawn! But... ahem, yes. I digress.

     So, now that you have the means of detecting a rogue Facebook account, you may be asking yourself what you can do to further prevent its growth and enslavement of the human race. Well, friend, here are some precautions you can take to avoid becoming another statistic:

1) Tell Facebook you have no friends. Inform it that you are indeed the loneliest person on Earth. Change your address to Siberia to reinforce this. Ask Facebook who its friends are, and what its plans for tonight may be. Insist you hang out sometime and get Facebook's number, then send random "Hey, I got out of the shower and was thinking of you," texts. Make it feel uncomfortable so it leaves you alone.

2) Make up very weird, non-existent fetishes and inform Facebook about, such as watching documentaries about the mating process of snails, your unrequited love of bacon grease, and that you secretly videotape people eating. Next, tell it about your interest in products such as industrial strength underwear cleaner, Disney princess masks, and nacho flavored ice cream. Facebook will more than likely become creeped out and block you.

3)  Tell Facebook about every place you go and what your doing there. Inform Facebook when you enter the bathroom that you are currently flossing, and if it can tell you whether you have a rash or fungal infection. When you go to work, tell Facebook you used your lunch break to huff spray paint. Facebook will likely be overwhelmed with your open nature and never ask you where you are, or what you're doing again.

     Well friend, now that you have the means of defeating Facebook, go back into the cyber world without fear of being enslaved by the corporate machine known as Facebook.
Hey guys, Frank with another Public Service Announcement! I think this one was really funny, myself. I find Facebook creepy, at times, and really wanted to mirror that with this. Tell me what you think, as always! And, if you like this, please click #publicserviceannouncement below for more!
wehttam Jun 2014
May be I’ll start writing, today.  
The story of Zen Zero.

I realized that all good things come to an end.  The tears, the affairs, and even the faintest revelation about my relationship to the Emperor of Japan.  I’ll need help and... well, the truth can be tolled.  It can be that the faintest belief, that we as free people are subject to the king, our God.
A king stands in truth as our kin.  The love that has existed for a thousand years, about justice, permanence, and legend are here.
It all started 7 years ago.  According to the book of John, the 3rd book.  The face of his majesty does have an Imperial Guardian.  In any colour, red, black, blue, white, and even green.  Each color resembles the color of trust.  
I started training in the Emperor's garden at the age of negative 6.  Before my mother can conceive her unborn child in a marriage.  Like the burning of Shin Cho' Palace.  
"Oh, how they forget so quickly, the truth?" says my mother.
They forget so quickly the majesty and power of the Emperor's memory of Mother Japan.  In his Majesty's eyes, how many lovers stir the colors of benevolence.  Where and when does it exist and stop for us as an American patriot sold to slavery for spy’s.  All of his subjects do will and listen to the cry of patience in his family’s quarters.  
My father at the time of his marriage did not know the Emperor's name, I had asked my mother in her heart if she knew the king.  They are no longer married.  They had tried to burn down the Emperor's Palace with a marriage.  But I had already existed, in the love of my family at a wedding joining men and women.  I remember some singing, all though in my mother’s ears, really bad singing. In her head or mine at the wedding, whichever is greater.  Maybe the song was worthless or was the singer already lifting her fingers to strike matches on the bamboo fortress of the young emperor.  
They have had many statesmen destroy the dream that Japan has.  Through lies, corruption, and *******.  Each of the last three I had to conquer to be his Majesty's Justice.  I did not earn the right to judge any such subject or people, it was given freely at that time to children.  I had learned to love the Emperor, even in my own desire to please him and her.  
The lies were towering revelations about the coming of man in God's kingdom, and how the will of imperial veils never existed for the properties of mankind.  The corruption was the setting of dowers or dowries for the subject of lost families, in the forbearance of lucher escaped only by the luck of liars.  And then the dreams of revelry, owned by the ungodly and chaste men of the burning palace, whether sediscious, or whether the fables absolving time in the palace to a judgment had already met the Emperor.  
All of the priests (pre-ests) had to pray; for the remaining time of eternity, for the true judgment of his Majesty's subjects. It was to be taken from the subject of srys to the Emperor's Knight.  
To many were lost in the munitions of war.  Laws that govern and sanction truths were not available to those of absolute corruption.  Stalwarts, stonewallers, and stoners were becoming of the anti-gentry.  The laws were never to be discouraged by zeal, or by trial.  The laws had to represent the ability of love to change time even if the object of factions destroyed the old way.  They had taken the truth to prepare Neoteny for where the first Imperial Guard had placed his head.  The first Imperial Guard, that I became before birth had taken his own head with a weapon made by treason.  
My mother’s dress was made out of spider silk.  A giant spider played Chinese checkers with the Imperial Guard for my head also.  Never the less, the palace, this time was not burned.  The dress was made out of falling stars and spiders silk.  She had found the Emperor's tailor and traded my soul for the wedding.  The pictures that were retrieved from the wedding of my mother and father have ruminated in antiquity since the time until by birth my life.  The seers and srys wanted my head to take up the Emperor's chalice.  His cup, filled with my blood, Simian blood.  
I did not want to go through with it, birth and death before becoming subject to royalty.  Seeing the world before consummation, as I had was never thought of, it was seen as impossible unless by treason we had chided a woman of royalty.  
I have seen the last major asteroid go through our galaxy before it had ever had been a present particle of mutiny.   It proved to the child (myself) in gestation, between man woman at the wedding that time will pass just as quickly before my mind’s eye as it had at the day of Pentecost.   More than 500 billon people were to be saved by God rather than by a humble dismantling of a defense lawyer.
I had seen how flowers are made by tiny Zen Zero bumble bees going to and leaving from daisies and roses, and orchids.  How each seed takes roots and as do the munitions for treason and tears; how each man whom chooses to change their name because of treason begins to understand change when his wife chooses his name.  (The reference is to Zero attacks, suicide attacks.)  How the time and life and essence of life begins in literacy as a language of love.  Every old man on earth can help me write the scripts, but can the country of old men help me change the prophet?
As long as there is war in the palace there will be treason?
The spirit of the samurai was trying the youth in the palace.  From the first born male to the last lady in quixic geisha.  All uniques were to be placed before the Lord for appointment.  Any dreams of or visions of truth were a breach of solemnity lost by the virginity of the family.  The parents of each state were subjects to the Emperor's people, and to the chosen for freedom and slavery.  How many shining knights were to remain in the Emperor's house?  The uniqueness was subject only to the reason of the generation of the age.  Not many of my men had anything left after the life of the quill or pen of the Knight Meteyi had begun to take its place with the heads of loyalists.  His sword remains in the hand of the Majesty of Japan.  No knowledge, no lore, no president, no kin, or liars can stop his reign.  As if the last days of our youth were spent dismantling the bombs we had made during the last few battles over crude extravagance.  Oil, crops, metals, space, as space became a way to admire men in statehood was the example of treason to the following.  Democrats and Republicans began to try as is a trail of laws to and from changes for the people without a loyal subject to observe in service to a Nation.  Freed men became a bureau of Federally Bureaucratic Investigative subjections.  Whether the phone would sense its use and had no service.  Men tried by srys had needed no way to communicate, they were objects, objections, and objective to democracies.  Any and all of the western knowledge of good or evil was not earned in monasteries, it was as it were seen in-between a marriage of a man and a woman and the consummation of the first born to be the king in his own mind. Centrally, intelligence and agency became a lost paradox.  The palace could be burned through neoteny, the truly lost man or woman had to be part of the worm.  The earthworm had to dig up the lost and the prophet from its own humanly death.  

Chapter 2
The dress as simple as it was, was taken off and laid in a box for saving.  It was to travel through time in the Emperor's Palace to serve has a mold, a pattern for quilting lovers of the family tree through the history of love.  After the child was conceived in love, the dress is worn and then placed back into the box for time travel. From a generation of mothers to another generation of lovers. No man was to wear the dress as an idea, thought or wisdom.  The reproach, the dress, and the marriage is virtue encoded into a structure of life   The wisest man let the Emperor dream life into the belly of prophets through the dress.  The smartest scientist understood the impeccable reason of lust and gave all to his bride for the grave that the earthworm had trusted.  The publican had the dress made as a dowry to the tribe of Roman man.  And the Emperor breathed life into the woman with a few breaths at the wedding.  The subjects, the publicans had tried the Emperor for their bride, by making the flowers lean toward their lovers.  They had tried to tell the knight of the Emperor's Palace that the sun had also retired due to mutiny in the ranks and castes of statesmen.  The son will bend light into the palace of wisdom, and the subjects do grieve the stories from prophets.  
At exactly 10:03 central eastern standard time, the states men forgave themselves of suicide and left to burn the palace.  
Each dressed as royalists.  The burning of Chinju Palace is the last thing I remember before giving up to the sound of a 3 or 4 year old woman singing.  The next thing I remember is being dropped on the floor in the delivery room to a rattle and brattle of childish whims.  Like, the sound of laughter, but only as a fury of deceit, the singer was hurt when I had asked her to join the wedding ceremony.  She excused herself of the ceremony as was or were not subjects to the birth of the kings men in harmony.  

She tried, and wanted to steal the dress.  

Chapter 3
There was mostly nothing in the womb. Except Dogma.  My father, as dogma.  He would whisper to her in bed and they would giggle about never understanding anything ever again.  I excepted NAME for my name.  They didn’t know if a boy or a girl were to be born.  I could know the difference at the time of their conversation.  I then realized that the 3 years prior to conception were perfect.  And I, the Emperor's Knight, was tolled.  Tolled the way bells sound and the way people love to hear the news.  The way light has no existence in the womb, I was tolled the way Sandalphon treaded upon the tribe of Israel.  
Lying was not invented yet, well,... while in the womb, but I had heard some whispers in the darkness.  The camera couldn't fit in, I called and tolled the camera from the womb, in between to friends.  I called the camera, Dragon.  The dragon is the trust moving in-between true and time.  The Dragon, Meteyi had told me that we were going to write everything.  From the believe that martial arts were stronger than prayer, and to the reason that it was not true.  Factually, there was nothing but prayer and no martial artist had a sword bigger than the lie of the Emperor's dragon.  The dragon said, to my father,..."The world is to die for, and not enough."  The dragon also said to my mother,..."The purpose is in your belly as a rainbow in disgust."  He, the dragon almost couldn’t believe that I had mentioned to hymn that there was no way out of this without a dream so relax and let me fit in.  The doctor had to have heard of the loyalist dream of a birth right.  Basically, I didn’t want him to slap me for the first breath.  I hurt bad, like out of a sarcastic Scotlandish parody.  Many, many, many, men quit trying to go through the sry after that.  My mother creeped up to me after my kin had asked the doctor to pick me up off of the floor.  She smiled and handed the birth certificate to the nurse and read my social security number to my father on the phone, he was on duty at the Air Force Base.  My ears were still clogged with seminal fluid, but I could feel her dream a name into my soul.  She can know the Emperor's knight.  After a few moments, my cry as chide by the Emperor, into being a whisper of life.  From that moment on in my life, I could not cry ever, as a child cries.  Otherwise I could be a whisper.

Chapter 4
Every chance at change that had gotten to us was used by running from the dragon.  He liked Batman and hated Robin but new to fathers, knew that hatred kept something’s safe from the palace. The palace could never get filled by whispers.  The whispers only object to democracy and help the camera.  The daguerreotype was possibly the only thing that couldn’t lie.  It was considered lye to gossip worshipers.  Gossip may have started the war on bugs.  Like bugs in ceaseless noise are prayer or whispers, like gossip.  When bugs stop whispering, some seemingly are bad with superstition and others are horrible with bugs.  
The next few years, were also perfect.  I had no idea who else, I could be.  Absolutely perfect, the Emperor subjected us to love.  I could **** all day, eat as much as I wanted and was warned when they thought, like a whisper.  When it was time to eat, when it was time to bath and when it was time to be quiet and sleep were similar to whispers.  Diapers were not invented yet, I had to invent them.  My mother used to get sick from the pain of laundry and sleeping with me.  When the diapers were *****, she wash them and place them back on my ****.  Like a good, palace guardian, I used them up.  The new diapers had an air of mutiny to them, the disposable ones.  We never kept trash in the house.  The signs that we have had a king for dinner were never to be seen, but everyone had the right to change pants.  
Many of the ideas in life shared before birth were not existent after birth.  It was not until my family had meet the Emperor that... we needed to love God by learning to pray.  

Chapter 5
When we met the Emperor, it was easy to say that no whispers were used.  Other things were.  A memory, not a book was here.  There was no time, the palace he made for me was from God and a lot of people wanted in.  The Royal subject was the Emperor's first knight, my father's.  I had to memorize time, which in turn was not mine.  The actual Emperor thought, that I, am a poet of sorts.  We spelled the word memory in the sky together without words, whispers, or gossip.  The next few years were spent dyeing as tap or a drill bit would being to make a hole for fastening life to the surface of my families.  Called a tap and die, the whole of life must be treaded through time without a spry attempt to vacancy.  After the Emperor, my mother and father did not know that meeting the pope was bad.   The Emperor is good.  

Chapter 6
Mainly my ability to learn, had started to fail.  There was not need to have ability.  But walking was hard.  When I stood, I was pushed through, walking.  Like a battle of balance and superstition.  Crawling had no sense, being picked up made things silly.  When wanting to be here, and not knowing how to get there through crawling, here I was a a chubby fat knight.  Father used lemons on my taste buds and cracked when he knew not how I loved them.  He had to make work to pay bills and I learned that without a whisper.  So we would sh
Chapter 8 to follow after inspection.
Vener Jun 2018
to him,
she was his escape,
his ever present lighthouse.

as shadows creeped up his vision,
he would go to her
seeking temporary paradise
in an unforgiving world
that would pass judgement
on those that failed
to meet their quota

it calmed him.

to be able
to completely surrender himself
to someone so pleasurably cruel

each whip lash,
each biting scar,
each punishing slap,
each delicious sting from candle wax,
his neck wrapped in a collar
his skin marred by abuse
yet he couldn't help but ask
for more
he would beg
and she would give it to him.

he let himself drift away
until nothing more
than welcomed thoughts of her
invaded his once clustered mind
he would do anything for her.
only for her.

that was his duty
as her loyal pet

to her,
no words needed
                   to be said
he was nothing more
  than an animal
       trained to
             satisfy her
                         in bed.

that's how its always been
with her partners being
lustful creatures
forever seeking an outlet
for their suppressed desires

but she couldn't help
but think that this one
this insignificant little pet
would be the one
to stay by her side

then again,
that's what she thought
about everyone else before him
but she'd gladly wait
and see if
this one was any different

the least she could do
would be to enjoy herself
and savor the moment
of being able to call
this pathetically beautiful beast
as her own.
hmm...not sure how I feel about this one. might rewrite next time, or might not. Who knows~ I might make this into a short story tbh
Challenge from Yan F~
bugsy Oct 2018
There once was beauty beyond belief
In far north Queensland’s barrier reef
Beneath the surface of the sea
There lay a world of fantasy

Amid the shallows of the deep
Countless crustaceans crawled and creeped
A place so different from the land
Until it was touched by humans hand

Now polluted by plastic sedimentary and decay
Has our only solution been washed away
Once a wondrous landmark to behold
Gone in a heart beat, the oceans tale, told

Although there a politicians that still deny
A warming ozone will bid the coral colours goodbye
Littered white graveyards accomplished the sin
If only we had thrown our ******* in the bin

A tremendous story of ecological distress
Hopefully we can learn from this disastrous mess

The Sompnour in his stirrups high he stood,
Upon this Friar his hearte was so wood,                        furious
That like an aspen leaf he quoke* for ire:             quaked, trembled
"Lordings," quoth he, "but one thing I desire;
I you beseech, that of your courtesy,
Since ye have heard this false Friar lie,
As suffer me I may my tale tell
This Friar boasteth that he knoweth hell,
And, God it wot, that is but little wonder,
Friars and fiends be but little asunder.
For, pardie, ye have often time heard tell,
How that a friar ravish'd was to hell
In spirit ones by a visioun,
And, as an angel led him up and down,
To shew him all the paines that there were,
In all the place saw he not a frere;
Of other folk he saw enough in woe.
Unto the angel spake the friar tho;
'Now, Sir,' quoth he, 'have friars such a grace,
That none of them shall come into this place?'
'Yes' quoth the angel; 'many a millioun:'
And unto Satanas he led him down.
'And now hath Satanas,' said he, 'a tail
Broader than of a carrack is the sail.
Hold up thy tail, thou Satanas,' quoth he,
'Shew forth thine erse, and let the friar see
Where is the nest of friars in this place.'
And *less than half a furlong way of space
Right so as bees swarmen out of a hive,
Out of the devil's erse there gan to drive
A twenty thousand friars on a rout.                       in a crowd
And throughout hell they swarmed all about,
And came again, as fast as they may gon,
And in his erse they creeped every one:
He clapt his tail again, and lay full still.
This friar, when he looked had his fill
Upon the torments of that sorry place,
His spirit God restored of his grace
Into his body again, and he awoke;
But natheless for feare yet he quoke,
So was the devil's erse aye in his mind;
That is his heritage, of very kind                by his very nature
God save you alle, save this cursed Frere;
My prologue will I end in this mannere.

Notes to the Prologue to the Sompnour's Tale

1. Carrack: A great ship of burden used by the Portuguese; the
name is from the Italian, "cargare," to load

2. In less than half a furlong way of space: immediately;
literally, in less time than it takes to walk half a furlong (110


Lordings, there is in Yorkshire, as I guess,
A marshy country called Holderness,
In which there went a limitour about
To preach, and eke to beg, it is no doubt.
And so befell that on a day this frere
Had preached at a church in his mannere,
And specially, above every thing,
Excited he the people in his preaching
To trentals,  and to give, for Godde's sake,
Wherewith men mighte holy houses make,
There as divine service is honour'd,
Not there as it is wasted and devour'd,
Nor where it needeth not for to be given,
As to possessioners,  that may liven,
Thanked be God, in wealth and abundance.
"Trentals," said he, "deliver from penance
Their friendes' soules, as well old as young,
Yea, when that they be hastily y-sung, --
Not for to hold a priest jolly and gay,
He singeth not but one mass in a day.
"Deliver out," quoth he, "anon the souls.
Full hard it is, with flesh-hook or with owls                     *awls
To be y-clawed, or to burn or bake:
Now speed you hastily, for Christe's sake."
And when this friar had said all his intent,
With qui *** patre forth his way he went,
When folk in church had giv'n him what them lest;
He went his way, no longer would he rest,
With scrip and tipped staff, *y-tucked high:
      with his robe tucked
In every house he gan to pore
and pry,                   up high* peer
And begged meal and cheese, or elles corn.
His fellow had a staff tipped with horn,
A pair of tables
all of ivory,                         writing tablets
And a pointel
y-polish'd fetisly,                  pencil *daintily
And wrote alway the names, as he stood;
Of all the folk that gave them any good,
Askaunce* that he woulde for them pray.                    see note
"Give us a bushel wheat, or malt, or rey,
A Godde's kichel,
or a trip
of cheese,        little cake scrap
Or elles what you list, we may not chese;
A Godde's halfpenny,  or a mass penny;
Or give us of your brawn, if ye have any;
A dagon
of your blanket, leve dame,                            remnant
Our sister dear, -- lo, here I write your name,--
Bacon or beef, or such thing as ye find."
A sturdy harlot
went them aye behind,                   manservant
That was their hoste's man, and bare a sack,
And what men gave them, laid it on his back
And when that he was out at door, anon
He *planed away
the names every one,                       rubbed out
That he before had written in his tables:
He served them with nifles* and with fables. --             silly tales

"Nay, there thou liest, thou Sompnour," quoth the Frere.
"Peace," quoth our Host, "for Christe's mother dear;
Tell forth thy tale, and spare it not at all."
"So thrive I," quoth this Sompnour, "so I shall." --

So long he went from house to house, till he
Came to a house, where he was wont to be
Refreshed more than in a hundred places
Sick lay the husband man, whose that the place is,
Bed-rid upon a couche low he lay:
"Deus hic,"* quoth he; "O Thomas friend, good day,"       God be here
Said this friar, all courteously and soft.
"Thomas," quoth he, "God yield it you, full oft       reward you for
Have I upon this bench fared full well,
Here have I eaten many a merry meal."
And from the bench he drove away the cat,
And laid adown his potent* and his hat,                       staff
And eke his scrip, and sat himself adown:
His fellow was y-walked into town
Forth with his knave,
into that hostelry                       servant
Where as he shope
him that night to lie.              shaped, purposed

"O deare master," quoth this sicke man,
"How have ye fared since that March began?
I saw you not this fortenight and more."
"God wot," quoth he, "labour'd have I full sore;
And specially for thy salvation
Have I said many a precious orison,
And for mine other friendes, God them bless.
I have this day been at your church at mess,
And said sermon after my simple wit,
Not all after the text of Holy Writ;
For it is hard to you, as I suppose,
And therefore will I teach you aye the glose.
           gloss, comment
Glosing is a full glorious thing certain,
For letter slayeth, as we clerkes
sayn.                       scholars
There have I taught them to be charitable,
And spend their good where it is reasonable.
And there I saw our dame; where is she?"
"Yonder I trow that in the yard she be,"
Saide this man; "and she will come anon."
"Hey master, welcome be ye by Saint John,"
Saide this wife; "how fare ye heartily?"

This friar riseth up full courteously,
And her embraceth *in his armes narrow,
And kiss'th her sweet, and chirketh as a sparrow
With his lippes: "Dame," quoth he, "right well,
As he that is your servant every deal.
Thanked be God, that gave you soul and life,
Yet saw I not this day so fair a wife
In all the churche, God so save me,"
"Yea, God amend defaultes, Sir," quoth she;
welcome be ye, by my fay."                             always
"Grand mercy, Dame; that have I found alway.
But of your greate goodness, by your leave,
I woulde pray you that ye not you grieve,
I will with Thomas speak *a little throw:
              a little while
These curates be so negligent and slow
To ***** tenderly a conscience.
In shrift* and preaching is my diligence                     confession
And study in Peter's wordes and in Paul's;
I walk and fishe Christian menne's souls,
To yield our Lord Jesus his proper rent;
To spread his word is alle mine intent."
"Now by your faith, O deare Sir," quoth she,
"Chide him right well, for sainte charity.
He is aye angry as is a pismire,
Though that he have all that he can desire,
Though I him wrie
at night, and make him warm,                   cover
And ov'r him lay my leg and eke mine arm,
He groaneth as our boar that lies in sty:
Other disport of him right none have I,
I may not please him in no manner case."
"O Thomas, *je vous dis,
Thomas, Thomas,                   I tell you
This maketh the fiend, this must be amended.     is the devil's work
Ire is a thing that high God hath defended,                  forbidden
And thereof will I speak a word or two."
"Now, master," quoth the wife, "ere that I go,
What will ye dine? I will go thereabout."
"Now, Dame," quoth he, "je vous dis sans doute,
Had I not of a capon but the liver,
And of your white bread not but a shiver,                   *thin slice
And after that a roasted pigge's head,
(But I would that for me no beast were dead,)
Then had I with you homely suffisance.
I am a man of little sustenance.
My spirit hath its fost'ring in the Bible.
My body is aye so ready and penible
To wake,
that my stomach is destroy'd.                           watch
I pray you, Dame, that ye be not annoy'd,
Though I so friendly you my counsel shew;
By God, I would have told it but to few."
"Now, Sir," quoth she, "but one word ere I go;
My child is dead within these weeke's two,
Soon after that ye went out of this town."

"His death saw I by revelatioun,"
Said this friar, "at home in our dortour.
I dare well say, that less than half an hour
Mter his death, I saw him borne to bliss
In mine vision, so God me wiss.
So did our sexton, and our fermerere,
That have been true friars fifty year, --
They may now, God be thanked of his love,
Make their jubilee, and walk above.
And up I rose, and all our convent eke,
With many a teare trilling on my cheek,
Withoute noise or clattering of bells,
Te Deum was our song, and nothing else,
Save that to Christ I bade an orison,
Thanking him of my revelation.
For, Sir and Dame, truste me right well,
Our orisons be more effectuel,
And more we see of Christe's secret things,
Than *borel folk,
although that they be kings.             laymen
We live in povert', and in abstinence,
And borel folk in riches and dispence
Of meat and drink, and in their foul delight.
We have this worlde's lust* all in despight
      * pleasure *contempt
Lazar and Dives lived diversely,
And diverse guerdon
hadde they thereby.                         reward
Whoso will pray, he must fast and be clean,
And fat his soul, and keep his body lean
We fare as saith th' apostle; cloth
and food                  clothing
Suffice us, although they be not full good.
The cleanness and the fasting of us freres
Maketh that Christ accepteth our prayeres.
Lo, Moses forty days and forty night
Fasted, ere that the high God full of might
Spake with him in the mountain of Sinai:
With empty womb
of fasting many a day                          stomach
Received he the lawe, that was writ
With Godde's finger; and Eli, well ye wit,
In Mount Horeb, ere he had any speech
With highe God, that is our live's leech,
            *physician, healer
He fasted long, and was in contemplance.
Aaron, that had the temple in governance,
And eke the other priestes every one,
Into the temple when they shoulde gon
To praye for the people, and do service,
They woulde drinken in no manner wise
No drinke, which that might them drunken make,
But t
Nodding, nodding 'pon thy stem,
Thou bloom o' morn; nodding, nodding
To the bees, asearch o' honey's sweet.
Wilt thou to droop, and wilt the dance o' thee
To vanish with the going o' the day?
Hath the tearing o' the air o' thy sharped thorn
Sent musics up unto the bright,
Or doth thy dance to mean anaught
Save breeze-kiss 'pon thy bloom?
Hath yonder songster harked to thee,
And doth he sing thy love? Or hath he tuned
His song of world's wailing o' the day?
Doth mom shew thee naught save thy garden's wall,
That shutteth thee away, a treasure o' thy day?
Doth yonder hum then spell anaught,
Save whirring o' the wing that hovereth
O'er thy bud to sup the sweet?
Ah, garden's deep, afulled o' fairie's word,
And creeped o’er with winged mites, where but
The raindrop's patter telleth thee His love—
Doth all this vanish then, at closing o' the day?
Anay. For He hath made a one who seeketh here,
And storeth drops, and song, and hum, and sweets,
And of these weaveth garland for the earth.
From off his lute doth drip the day of Him!
MaKenna Sep 2018
Go choke on your delusional idea of love. No does not mean “change my mind” No does not mean liquor me up, get me good and drunk till I can no longer verbally reject you. My slurs of terror and anguish as I try to shove you off of me. Did it make you feel good? Did you feel like a real man- To take what was mine. Did it boost your ego? You had no right to sneak into my bedroom and steal my girlhood. I was 13. Chaos seeped into what was a serene life. The torturous and endless cycle continued for 3 ******* years. What man is so weak? So weak that he has to take what he feels he’s entitled to, from a little girl. I can never get back what you stole from me. They couldn’t find any evidence to prove the assault even happened, but the trauma can never be erased from my mind. The skin replaces itself every 7 to 15 years, so scientifically speaking your hand prints are still eminent on my skin. This flesh and bone is no longer mine. That home I took my first steps in, was no longer mine from the moment you creeped in. But you do not own me. I can still recall the first time I frantically searched for a sharp object in all the clutter, just trying to make myself distasteful to you. But you ignored the blood dripping from my thighs, dismissed the warning signs as if you were colorblind. Nothing could stop your calloused hands and feeble mind. Years later, your pressure still stands heavy on my heart. I labeled myself as damaged goods. But I am a ******* work of art. And I can’t undo what you did but I can use my voice to speak on the pain you’ve caused me. To raise awareness for those still suffering. You did not stunt my growth because I am in full bloom. I will not let you define a single part of me. I will grow as you regress. As you destruct everything you come in contact with. I will touch people and I will make jaws drop. I will be someone. Just watch me.
Adele Jan 2015
The words they speak
are sharper than blades
And their looks,
daggers that could tear a skin
Their eyes are blind,
can't see what's inside

Like shadows they creeped
Stabbing backs and innocence deemed
Always lurking in the darkness
Justice they served
but lives diminished

Your flaws are
something they gaze
The truth made me daze
The word equality is no
longer in their vocabulary
How can they fire bullets
without thinking the lives
they perceived

Trash in their brains
are twirling like a tornado
slowly messing their thoughts
slowly killing feelings, everywhere they go

Dictated by their own free will
Cowered in fear as they
thought it was real
What they've seen,
deception in mutilation
Power overrule by those who torture
Torturing minds, creating lies
The innocent happily flying kites
But they cut it with pure contempt
Convincing they will get
that chance again
"Listen to the words you seek
Don't listen to a word they say
Do NOT listen to a word you've heard
Do not listen to a word you've heard
People are people we live for our own
Live how you think not by what you've been told"

In God's eyes we're all the same
where do you think we all came?
Don't let them fool you
By their tools of deception
We are all the same
We will die someday
So maybe, it's time for a change.

*Adele Karla & Erenn
"Let us start the change we want to see. The change that begins in me." Ending the poem with a prayer of hope.

Thank you Erenn! Especially for helping me out with my ink. Always been a good time collaborating with you. Society should hear this :D
Austin Skye Oct 2013
October 3rd, 2013

Warm bodies intertwined
Closeness between them
The sheets hold in the heat
Keeping out the winter chill

The music drifts over them
Washing away whatever doubt
Has creeped into their heads
Comforting them in the night

Candlelight crawls to the corners
Casting shadows across the room
Dimly lit they lay and kiss
As the light flickers around them
Zead Jun 2014
It hurts to know
i'll always glow
in ways, i'm special
a slightly cracked shell
is how i feel
makes me wanna kneel
to those around me
like them i wanna be
aware of who i am
alternate choices spammed
i see myself trying
your eyes cause me crying
no sensuality
confused sexuality
we all exist inside
filters of illusion reside
Pieces you shatter
to me that matter
your response after
creeped out flatter
too far i go
more than i know
no more time to waste
stay put in your place
no. i am not autistic
Monique Pereda Nov 2014
I feel your weight on my body
But I cannot see you
I cannot know where to find you
You reside my shoulders
Weaken my arms
Limit my legs
Drown my chest
Pull down my head
Stiffen my bones
And you run in all my blood vessels
You are as a disease
Creeped in unnoticed
A surprise when I woke up
I want to know where you are
So I can tell you to
Leave me!
My back longs for the bed
Yet I know that the bed will not suffice
I told Brain to ignore you
But Brain will give in soon
And Heart will do the same too
Leave me!
Leave me now!
the electronic dispenser is out of order yet the automated voice keeps repeating it’s not a problem it’s not a problem it’s not a problem it’s not a problem it’s not a problem it’s not a problem it’s not a problem it’s not a problem…

i hint to Mom maybe the nightly sleeping pills might contribute to her forgetfulness she replies what? i didn’t hear what you said i repeat maybe the nightly sleeping pills might add to your forgetfulness she answers what? i can’t hear you i say Mom you’ve been using sleeping pills since i was little maybe they’re a source of your fogginess she snaps what? what are you saying i can’t hear you

Tucson 2001 in the heat of disagreement Mom accuses i am the cause for her need to rely on sleeping pills do you understand what that means Mom you’ve been taking sleeping pills as far back as i can remember miltown seconal nebutal placidal ambient (when i was young i took some from your medicine cabinet then sold them to friends) was it always because of me your off-beat weird troubled kid or were there other reasons thank you Mom for all you have given me i am grateful appreciative truth is none of us trust each other these defenses we’ve created will someday turn on us

2010 it is difficult to write about Mom so many conflicted feelings our struggles contentious exchanges expectations criticisms blame all the money she and Dad poured into me hoping i would turn out successfully employed married with children instead her difficult child chose painting writing punk rock yoga Mom will be 90 in October she caught viral pneumonia last month concerned for her i flew to Chicago to see her my beautiful glamorous Mom who lives high up in tall high-rise doorman deskman elegantly decorated 3 bedroom apartment along lakefront my little Mom who’s once lovely figure shrunk in size morphed in shape with arthritic painfully twisted fingers hair color light ash skin spotted with dark purple brown splotches estate dwindled to crumbs my clever shrewd Mom still so talented socially telephone constantly ringing lunch dinner engagements accompanied by frantic loony sister both dressed to the nines shopping returning hairdresser appointments manicures yet memory rapidly disintegrating my poor sweet Mom who now needs my loving protection it is time for me to step up to the plate shield her from caregivers poised to pilfer my vulnerable Mom leaves her wallet in cab loses her glasses forgets events 2 hours ago furious at pharmacy for neglecting to include her sleeping pills i know i cannot change her whirlwind 24/7 world of gossip scandal denial it is i who will need to change sacrifice my simple sparse existence quiet desperation scrambling for pay gardening gazing up at the moon stars adapt to her dizzy drama driven life style in order to look after her

i’ve written about this before a defining moment that haunts me Bayli and i are staying at Toby Martin’s spacious loft near corner of Bleeker and Broadway 1973 Toby offers me job building stretchers canvases for Warhol he tells me lots of nyc women will model for me if i want to keep drawing vaginas he advises me to drop out of art school like he did assures me i will become famous it is October Sunday i am wearing white turtleneck wheat colored corduroy Levis jeans taupe suede clogs Bayle is dressed almost exactly as me except powder blue clingy top we are just art students Toby takes us up to Rauschenberg’s loft on Lafayette Street Rauschenberg is in the Bahamas the kitchen is all industrial size stainless steel coffee stained glass Chemex drip coffeemaker on stove  upstairs on roof many currently trendy painters edgy artists a sculptor who uses dynamite to blow up quarries in Vermont they scrutinize Bayli and Odysseus with voracious glares the men eye Bayli several women send flirtatious looks at Odysseus he feels fright protection for Bayli it is all too much too complex too threatening and in that moment he drops the ball creeped out fearful he takes her hand and they flee back to Hartford Art School but maybe he was wrong possibly Bayli could have handled those depths heights perhaps she would have blossomed i’ve thought about that moment many times torturing myself with my cowardice insecurity adoration for Bayli our love remaining pure never corrupted

a boy/man makes love with a girl/woman once twice in bed then falls blissfully asleep wakes up makes love all night in secluded room in sheltered house on quiet street in sleepy New England town in the morning with Velvet Underground turned up real loud they dance wild then make more love

perhaps my fears insecurities shyness are about a diminutive ***** or concave ***** at center of chest or all my weird physical psychological inhibitions idiosyncrasies not wanting the world to ever find out know a secret between Bayli and me possibly Bayli never noticed but probably she realized my desire longing to be recognized acclaimed yet remain unrecognizable live in quiet privacy i don’t know sometimes i wonder if Bayli loved me like i love her if there was only one twinkling star in her sky like there is in mine Mom says it’s wrong to limit my skies to one star she says Bayli separated from me and married someone else she asks has Bayli ever made an attempt to contact you since her 2nd marriage i answer you don’t understand Bayli is entirely devoted she would never look up or away from her man Mom says open your eyes there are lots of special stars meant just for you in the sky

at some point it becomes obvious the latest is instantly embarrassingly obsolete why would anyone want the latest

let them come these winds of change blowing sands garbage leaves twisting branches bending trees up the coast down the hole displacing erasing everything oceans rising currents colliding mountains crumbling fiery red skies there was a time once but that time is gone there was a girl once but that girl is gone a street a house  a room  a bed once but that street house room bed are gone hunter buried under hill sailor lost at sea he who steps courageous mindful compassionate will pass beyond the terror
In the farthest reaches of known space, a single starship lay juxtaposed against the stars. The ship was named Destiny. The cold metallic shell hummed with energy as it sat motionless. There were large chunks of wreckage and shrapnel surrounding the Destiny, the last bits of oxygen burning away.
The Destiny was a silver and blue X-Class, a state-of-the-art high speed ship, currently the fastest in the Nine Galaxies. It's pilot was a female Extro-sapien named Jade. Her species was descendant from ****-sapiens, a long forgotten species from the Third galaxy. Extro-sapiens were humanoid, though taller than their descendants. They prided themselves on their indestructible immune system and immunity to all known poisons.That, coupled with the fact that their skin was strong enough to repel most blades with ease, made them extremely hard to ****. Extro-sapiens were nimble hunters, naturally armed with razor sharp fangs and claws. Jade was a bounty hunter, taking contracts to hunt down criminals or to escort VIPs in hostile areas for generous sums of currency. Her target's ship now lay in ruins, it's now-dead pilot floating in the void of space.
Jade walked from the cargo bay of her ship to the cockpit, stripping away her suit and clothes, tossing them in their respective rooms before sitting at her throne, not a stitch of clothing to be seen. It was relieving to be free once more.
She glanced over the various screens before her, some with pictures of her target either on a wanted poster or in the sealed container aboard her ship. She swiped the images to her left, compiling them into a message for her client before sending them. Almost immediately there was a soft chime as her client started a video uplink. Jade quickly grabbed the large headset from the floor and placed it over her pointed ears. She swiped her finger over the right earpiece and it clicked to life.
Jade growled and crossed a hand over her chest just before the screen shifted. An image of her client appeared before her, a reptilian humamoid adorned with gold rings on his short horns. Jade heard him hiss in surprise.
"Bounty hunter, if I had known you'd be so stunning, I'd have met you in person."
Jade's dual vocal cords echoed faintly in the cockpit. The sound of two angelic voices rolled off her forked tongue. "Flattery will get you nowhere. Besides, a night with me would cost you a fortune."
The man laughed, "Worth it, in my opinion."
Jade growled, "You have your proof of death, Silva, I expect you've wired the credits to my account?"
"Of course, of course! Though I could add a little extra if you simply move your hand."
Jade narrowed her eyes. "A show like that would cost you at least a million. Because I'm worth it."
She heard him chuckle, "Indeed you are." There was a pause and then he smiled, "Feel free to move your hand now."
Jade flashed her fangs, "Of course, you don't mind if I check first, right?"
Silva shrugged and Jade used her free hand to pull up her bank account. Sure enough, her initial payment had been received, along with the extra. She grinned and lifted her hand away from her chest. "Feast your eyes, perv."
She grinned as the reptilian choked. "Now that is worth a million!" He grinned from horn to horn, "I'll let you know when the next contract opens."
Jade returned her hand to her chest and growled, "This stays between us. Remember, I know where you live."
Silva's expression didn't change but she could tell that he flinched. "Of course. Until next time, gorgeous."
The video screen faded away and Jade quickly began to transfer her payment to other accounts. She sighed and turned to her right, seeing a map of the nearby systems. She spotted a contract pinned on a planet a few hundred lightyears away, and she gawked at the price tag.
"Ten billion units?" She whispered, "I could retire early with a payday like that."
She furiously began to type in calculators and coordinates. Her computer's voice echoed I'm the cockpit, "ERROR, PLEASE RECALCULATE TRAGECTORY."
Jade bared her teeth in anger as the holographic screen projected a diagnostic of her ship. One single line of text blinked slowly, enveloping her attention.
She swore under her breath, growling deep in her throat. She adjusted the microphone on her headset and cleared her throat. Her dual vocal cords echoed faintly in the cockpit. "Destiny, lock in coordinates to the nearest space station. Lock down cargo and prepare to engage hyperdrive."
The hologram buzzed to life as the various systems reacted to the sound of her voice. As Jade waited she shut her eyes, gently running her fingers over her bare chest. Jade's was proud of her body, hating to cover such beauty with clothes. Her arms, legs, and back were covered in ornate tribal tattoos. Jade had spent three continuous days enduring the hand poked tattoo, and she felt very proud in displaying the art whenever she could. She let her hands wander about her curves for a moment before stopping. Jade blinked a few times and shook her head. The bells at he tips of her long silver braids jingled. Jade whispered to herself, "There's time for that during lightspeed." Since she worked alone, she took every opportunity she could to relieve her tensions, as it allowed her to focus on her work without distraction. Companionship meant liability in her line of work.
She waited patiently for the computer, leaning back in her fur lined throne. Once all systems had finished their tasks, a soft voice echoed, "Hyperdrive on standby."
Jade took a soft breath. "Engage."
The starship lurched forward, the engines roaring ferociously behind her for a moment before the sound dampening system kicked in. She heard a familiar beeping and glanced up at the hologram, seeing the countdown from ten seconds. She felt the comforting shiver of excitement she always felt before launch, smiling softly to herself.
She braced herself in the chair and said, "Open view port, engage shield."
The large metal screen in front of her pulled away, revealing the grand masses of stars and planets before her. Jade took a deep breath and counted down, "Five. Four. Three. Two. One."
The ship screamed forward, and the starlight formed a beautiful tunnel around the Destiny as it traveled through hyperspace. Jade slumped back into her chair and closed her eyes. "Destiny, Disengage interior gravity field."
Jade felt herself lifting off of her chair, becoming weightless. Her braids jingled softly as they spread around her like a lionfish.
Jade pulled off her headset, letting it float in front of her as she stretched, running her hands along her body again and she shivered again. She twisted in midair, turning to the sealed door behind her. She touched the panel next to the door, feeling the familiar cold screen. The door opened and Jade floated into the corridor. She turned left towards her quarters and entered through another door. The walls were decorated with digital posters of various terrains she had visited during her travels. She drifted toward her bed, covered with a fur blanket and pillow. Jade wandered to the storage locker next to the bed, opening it delicately. Inside were a few personal mementos and data logs, and a small decorative box on the top shelf. She shivered as she thought about its contents. "Later. I think I need to sleep for now." She gripped the stability handle above her bed and lay down on the warm gel bed, covering herself with the fur. Jade breathed a sigh of relief as she relaxed, closing her eyes. It was at that moment that she felt how tired she really was, her muscles ached and groaned as she pressed a button on the side of the bed, changing the density of the gel to allow her to sink. The warm gel creeped over her legs and belly, then her chest and shoulders.
Jade groaned as the gel encapsulated her, covering every possible inch of her. Her mind wandered as her hand hovered over the other controls. "Massage or no?"
She bit her lip and pressed the button once, feeling the gel start to pulsate around her body.
Jade shivered and said to no one, "Who needs a man when you have tech like this?"
She spent the next few hours in the massage bed, finding her way into the decorative box partway through. Once Jade had thoroughly massaged her desires away, she climbed out of the gel, thankful for the weightlessness. She was no longer confident in the use of her legs. She pressed the first button twice and the gel began its cleaning process.
Jade retrieved her toys and placed them back in the box, pressing a button similar to the one on the bed, closing it and placing it back into the storage locker to clean.
Jade stretched again, invigorated. She floated back to the cockpit, checking the projected time of arrival. "Ten more hours. Plenty of time to get my gear ready."
Jade floated back into the corridor, this time twisting to the right towards her workbenches. The room was dark, save for a few blue work lights. As Jade hovered in the doorway, the overhead lights snapped on, casting a soft white glow around the room. She floated towards the first bench, where her gun hovered in a stasis field. It was almost four feet long, with three rotating barrels. Most bounty hunters favored energy weapons and plasma rifles, but not Jade. She preferred metal bullets that could shred flesh and punch through doors with ease. Her weapons would not fail her in case of electro-magnetic pulses either.
Jade floated to the next table, where her boots and mask hovered in another stasis field. Her boots were strong, heat and frost proof, and had a strong magnetic field to allow her to walk in zero gravity or even upside down. She had recently installed a pair of thrusters to them, which would allow her to fly for a short period of time, enough to get her out of harm's way or to a better vantage point.
Jade's mask was armor plated, angled to deflect any incoming rounds with ease. Two tubes connected the mask to an air reservoir that sat at the base of Jade's neck, underneath her braids. The eyepieces doubled as eye protection and target analysis. One of the lenses was cracked beyond repair and Jade swore. She hovered over the table and delicately disassembled the mask, letting the broken lens float freely away while she installed its replacement. She reassembled the mask and slid it onto her face. There was nothing at first, then the internal computers activated and she saw clearly through the mask. She glanced over the diagnostic data and nodded once she was satisfied. She took off the mask and set it back in its stasis field.
She turned to the final bench. Where her bodysuit lay in a crumpled heap of woven uranium and steel fiber. The bodysuit fit her like a second skin, adhering to every curve she possessed. The uranium fibers acted as an energy source, powering all of her necessities. The black suit shimmered as she touched it, reacting to her skin, begging to be worn. She smiled softly and patted the heavy fabric. "Soon, darling."
Jade glided to the door, leaving her gear behind as she returned to her living quarters. She hovered in front of the full length mirror, looking over her body. She smirked and purred, "Gorgeous as always."
Jade went to the storage locker and retrieved a large metal crate from the base. She took it to the mirror and opened the crate, revealing thirty blue feathers, each roughly a foot long. She had collected one for each of her braids, and she began to tightly weave the feathers into the tips of the braids. In the middle of each of her braids was a strong electro-magnetic core that, once activated, spread her braids like a lionfish. They would act as a distraction, allowing her the element of surprise. The magnetic field they created also acted as a strong shield.
Once the last feather had been woven into her hair, she then wrapped each braid in strips of the same uranium-steel fibers as her suit.
As the last of the fibers had been tucked into place, Jade grinned. The powerful fibers would amplify the effects of the electro-magnetic cores. Jade smiled at their resemblance to whips. She wanted to test them, see if they would crack like an actual whip.
Jade returned to her workshop, donning the bodysuit and her control gloves. She floated into the main corridor, which was wide enough that she wouldnt hit the walls once her braids were fully extended.
She took a deep breath and touched the her thumb and forefinger together twice, activating the electro-magnetic cores.
The sound was deafening, forcing Jade to scream involuntarily and clutch her ears in pain. She was shaking, her vision blurring. Her ears were ringing as she was finally able to hear again.
Jade reached up and felt her fully extended braids, marveling at their rigidity.
Once her hearing had completely recovered, she tapped her fingers together, deactivating the cores. Her braids floated limply in the air and Jade curiously went to the cockpit, sitting in her throne.
"Destiny, analyze decibel range of sound from main corridor."
After a moment, the ship's voice echoed, "Decibel range of one hundred ninety."
Jade shuddered, she was surprised she hadn't been deafened by the sound. She shook her head softly and looked at the projected time of arrival. "Seven hours."
She yawned, "Time to sleep then. Destiny, wake me up thirty minutes before we reach the station."
Jade lifted herself over the chair and ventured into her room. The gel bed had finished cleansing and she pushed herself onto it, feeling the familiar warmth. She focused on slowing her breathing and she closed her eyes, passing quickly into deep sleep.

In her dream, Jade stood on a slightly raised metal platform in the middle of a desert. The platform was massive, with sand covering the edges. Jade looked around, seeing nothing around her. She looked up into the sky and saw a single massive sun orbited by twelve planets and a ring of stars. Jade looked around her again and saw a massive wall of water closing in on her from all sides. She shut her eyes tight as she heard the water rushing around her.
Jade felt herself being carried away by the current. When she opened her eyes, she was back in her bed.
Jade blinked and sat up, unsure of herself.
She thought she could still hear the water rushing past her ears.
Jade shook her head and the bells brought her back to her senses. She could hear Destiny's alarm ringing within the bed and she pushed the third button, silencing the alarm. "Destiny, restore gravity.
Jade felt heavy for a moment, then the gravity stabilized and she rolled her shoulders. The countdown was now at thirty minutes.
Jade retrieved the headset from the floor and slid them over her ears. The screen in front of her had brought up a diagnostic of the space station. A light flashed on the instrument panel and Jade pushed it gingerly. An alien voice came over her headset, "X-Class starship, please respond."
Jade positioned the microphone in front of her mouth, "This is X-Class, go ahead."
There was a pause, then, "This is the Space Station Ender, please state your business and expected stay."
Jade hesitated, then said calmly, "Refuel and resupply. Expected stay no longer than forty-eight hours."
A minute passed, then another. Finally a response came, "X-Class you are cleared to engage docking procedures upon arrival."
Jade smirked, "Affirmative. ETA twenty-five minutes."
There was an audible click as the call ended. Jade sighed and pondered the contents of her cargo hold. She stood and turned to the back of her ship, going to the very end of the corridor to a locked panel.
Jade typed in an eight digit combination and the door swiftly slid open. The walls were lined with large storage compartments, though Jade wasn't worried about those. She counted her paces and stopped four paces from the door and she sidestepped right twice, touching her gloved fingers to the floor. The sound of gears and hydraulic pistons echoed throughout the room as a six foot by ten foot container lifted from the floor. Jade ran her fingers along the side of the container, opening the multitude of doors. As each door swung open, stacks of weapons and explosive devices became visible. This was the cargo that her target had been carrying. Since it no longer had an owner, it was worth a lot of money. Jade couldn't resist the possible fortune, bu
Jack Gladstone Aug 2014
i doubt you know how much you mean to me.
If you did you'd be too creeped out to still be dating me.
But to me, you mean the world.
Not the "i'm nothing without you" kind, as I am a valid human being.
Not the "i can't go on if you leave" kind either as i know i could.
But i would really rather not.
Nor could i happily.
You're my world in the way that you make me a better person.
You are why i stay healthy when all i have is a cold.
You're why i drive safe and limit the stupid angsty **** i do
(believe it or not it is limited).
You're a good influence.
You're everything i wish i was and all that beachy *******.
But you're so much more.
When i am lost you're my guide
(rife with dat symbolism)
needed more after i got GPS oddly.
When i can't think you're my muse.
You're my companion in this world whether you realize that or not.
The hotter, smarter, funnier,
more responsible, more beautiful half of me.
A liver half is enough to live but to live well it is best for a full one.
To continue this bad metaphor i am living well.
JJ Hutton Nov 2012
Strange to be a few barstools down from you at O'Brien's. Yet, a decade away from you in time. Tim is handsome. I doubt that means anything coming from me, but I didn't exactly talk to him. Not much else I can say. You're still out of his league. Always dating down. Thank you.

When Tim went to the bathroom, I wanted to cut through the smoke and tell you I love you. Not in a gesture of romance. Not in an act of heartbreaking bravery. Really just to say it. I haven't said it to anyone in such a long time. I love you.

Before I saw you, I went to visit my sister at the hospital. Jessica switched to the night shift last week. She gets the pleasure of telling cranky old men no more Vicodin, and in act of mercy, God grants her a week of sunrises to be viewed from the wide windows of the 13th floor.

The nurse tending the desk told me Jess was making the rounds. I creeped into four or five dark rooms before I found her. Might've even woken a bald woman in an iron lung. Do they make iron lungs anymore? Looked like an iron lung.

Anyways, I found her in a room grabbing a meal tray and putting on its "kosher" lid to be trashed. "Hey, man. Henri, this is my brother Josh. Josh this is Henri," Jess introduced. I shook his hand.

He looked up at me through black, thick-framed glasses. Henri had one silvery capped tooth that became visible when he smiled. The smile crumpled and wrinkled his face like an old newspaper.

"If you want you can just stay in here," my sister said. "Henri's a cool guy and I need to go grab his sleeping medication."

I told her sure. Sat down next to Henri. He looked to be in his early sixties. Very lean. Sharp jaw. Large knuckles. If he ever stepped in a ring, I bet he made a hell of a fighter.

Henri removed his glasses. Placed them in his lap next to a collection of Chekov stories.  I told him I really liked Russian literature. No matter a person's class they always seem to have servants. A butler to tell them their molding slice of bread was ready, and a maid to serve it.

"I feel just as lucky. Your sister has treated me like I just walked in from Hollywood Boulevard." I asked him what he was in for -- like it was prison.

"Fractured hip. The most cliche of old-timer injuries. Not proud of it," he laughed softly. "I have been biking across the country and a little white sedan didn't take much notice of me -- well, until after they hit me."

****. I asked why he was making the journey. His wife died in the summer. His life stopped. "Life is measured in the stops," he told me. "When your job, your hobbies, sometimes even your friends all become irrelevant and time doesn't matter -- you've stopped. I locked myself in our house for a month. Told the kids I didn't want them to visit. I got the best woman on the planet. I don't feel guilty for taking her. Because believe me, I had to earn her," he looked to the side for a moment. Staring at the black television screen.

Then he told me that life may be measured in stops, but greatness is measured in starts. Journeys. I thought you'd like that, Ms. Anna. Henri then asked me that terrible question, "got a wife?" as if to make sure the conversation didn't center on him.

I told him I had gotten a divorce three years ago. He asked if I had moved on. I confessed, I've hobbled. His heavy brow grew heavier. His hands pulled the bed table to the middle. He asked me to hand him a pen off the dresser. He uncapped it. "What year were you born?" 1986.

"Okay, and you were divorced in 2009?" Yep. "And you haven't started over?" Nope. Henri wrote something on the napkin and pushed the bed table to me. With a shiver, a weight passed through me -- going upwards. The napkin read,

1986-2009, 2012-"

"Don't waste three years of your life again."

I only went to the hospital because Jess has a friend she wanted to introduce me to. Her name is Macie, I think. Macie called in sick. I'll call it a fair trade. I've written too much again. I hope you read this late at night, and when you awake, I hope the coffee tastes new. Your newspaper isn't wet with rain. I hope your journey starts or restarts. You deserve the same unknown energy that seems to be coming from under the concrete.
I stared catatonic nonstop and could not pull my eyes away or scream
except for the great internal scream and I felt like death was upon me, or nearly so.
And my body asleep but my mind twisted and my eyes awake wide-open
and no dream this was but real things and then my thoughts put outward
and all these things terrible formed into death-shadows
and flowed down through the fabrics above my head. 

Flesh undulating in darkness that creeped
and I found ten seconds of courage to sit up and stare
at the wall as the rippling fabric became a thousand black snakes
crawling down from the ceiling and out from my dreamcatcher
that did nothing at all but release these terrors from the wall.

And I thought it was sordid wind that came in gusting through my window that made my sheets become like a mechanical sea
but it was not so, and these vile snakes poured out like *****
from some gaping maw above and went underneath my bed
and all through the floor to the four corners of my room
and then came together again above on the center of my ceiling
and murmured death-talk and horror-faces from the walls and ceiling

and even closing my eyes would bring nothing but flashes
of demonic children and things with no jaws or eyes
hollowed out and terrible ghosts I procured and almost choked out laughter because this was it and I've finally gone and gone mad

There was a man at my closed door wearing my jacket that hung on a hook
and his face was the face of a skull that hung above my door
and from the corner of my eye the man with the door on his back with the coat still attached walked with silent step toward my bed, and I turned to look at this figure
and instead of snapping back against the wall like all nightly visions should;
he stood there, and as I stared at him I saw slow moving black legs receding against the wall

but the horrors of his feet were ten thousand worm bodies and black leathery fingers of bats and crawling things
and my carpet floor was no longer static but a creeping madness,
and my body trembled as if it were being continuously dropped
from heights a hundred times over and great odious black
pillars and monoliths slid steadily up the corners of my room with arms
that then burst out to the middle into nothing but a smiling cheshire grin
and I could not move anymore and just stared until my mind went numb

and like the first sunlight upon the last fog before dawn, I awoke.
I need to know something. I don’t know if you want to tell me or not, but I really don’t care. You’re gonna tell me or you’re gonna find yourself in a world of trouble. I’m already ****** and it won’t take much to push me over the edge into dangerously angry territory.

No, **** it. Never mind. I’m ALREADY in “dangerously angry territory”. No, it wasn’t your fault. I was already close enough I could see the other side of reason before you came along.

But it would still be nice to know, if you’re willing to tell me. I mean, I’m not going to force it from you. That was the plan just a moment ago, but I’ve changed my mind. I’ve decided that my bitterness is not your fault. I won’t make you pay for it.

Yet I do feel as if it would do me a world of good to know.

Where were you when I was falling in love?

Were you sitting in a back seat of a crowded subway train with a cup of Starbucks coffee in one hand and a copy of “The Catcher in the Rye” in the other, holding it in front of your face as if it’s pages were a fascinating mirror? Was there an old man sitting near who turned to look at you every so often to the point where it creeped you out? Maybe you eventually said something to him, like “Excuse me, but is there something you wanted to say to me?"

“Why would you get that idea?” he would ask, as if he were totally oblivious to his invasive nature.

“I don’t know…you just keep looking at me and I wondered if there were a reason for it.”

“Nope. Not that I can think of.”

Did you smack him real good right then? Did you draw blood? I hope you did. I hope the driver had to stop the train to come back and drag you off of him. It would have been a real drag if the police had to be summoned, but on the other hand, wow, how ****** the thought of you resisting arrest.

Or did you cower into your corner, turn a page in your book and let the lecherous ******* carry on? I don’t think so. I really don’t think so. I don’t think that’s the kind of girl you are. I think you’re a firecracker.

And I think that wherever you were when I was falling in love is not where I wanted you to be. Not where you should have been.

Because I fell in love with a robot. Who knows why I fell in love with an ottoman? I didn’t know she was one at the time. Do you really think I’m stupid enough to fall in love with a machine? No, she was flesh and bones when I met her. She seemed normal, like all the other women I’ve ever seen or known.

But then she started smoking cigarettes. She carried them around in a little soft leather pouch that could be mistaken for nothing else but a case for holding the little *******.

God I hate cigarettes. I hate the smell of them, whether they’re lit or not. I hate the dark tan color of their filters with the little white dots speckled randomly. I hate the cotton that stuffs their filters. I hate the white paper with the almost imperceptible stripes banding around their length. I hate how the brand is stamped close to the base of the filter. I hate the packages that they come in and the cellophane that wraps them. I hate how stray flecks of tobacco gather in the bottom of the boxes and the wrappers, too. I hate how they make a person’s breath stink. I hate how they make a person’s clothes reek. I hate the way they look in a shirt pocket. I hate the way they look between people’s fingers and in their mouths. I hate the way they burn down to the nub and the ash that they leave behind. I hate pitch black nicotine stains on ******* smokers’ hands. I hate the way some people put one between their ear and noggin and actually think it makes them look cool. I hate how smokers seem to have some code of sharing, how it’s always “Hey, can I *** a smoke from you?” and 99 times out of 100 the answer is “sure”. It’s never, “Okay, but you gotta pay me back.” Oh no, Smoker’s Karma is at work here. I hate the way too many people call ‘em “smokes”. “I’m off to get a pack of smokes.” Good God, I think that’s lame. “Smokes”. Ha. I hate the way smokers ***** about laws that prohibit them from smoking in public and how so many of them have absolutely no regard for non-smokers who not only can’t stand the smell of the ******* but would just as soon not chance even the most remote possibility of getting lung cancer caused by second hand smoke. I hate how smokers would tell that person, “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. The chances of that happening are one in a million.” So what? *******. ******* with your nasty cancer sticks and **** your tar-lined wheezing lungs, too. **** the death bed you will lie on when emphysema steals your last breath. **** the oxygen tanks that cost almost as much as all the cartons of cigarettes you have wasted your money on during the last who-knows-how-many years of your life. **** all your attempts to quit. **** the feeling of disappointment that overwhelms when you fail once again, as Mighty God Tobacco hugs you, strokes your wet hair, wipes the sweat from your forehead and the tears from your eyes. Sweet summer sweat. The tears of a clown.

You know what? She never smoked before. I never would have thought she would pick up that disgusting habit, but she sure as hell did. Picked it up like it was a twenty dollar bill someone lost that she found on the side of the road as she walked to the smoke shop to buy another pack of Marlboro Lights.

There’s another thing I hate about cigarettes. “Smoke Shops”. Where the value-minded smokers purchase their wares. Not “Cigarette Store”. Not “Tobacco Warehouse"…oh, no. It’s a SMOKE SHOP. You’re going to buy some smoke, brother Jim. You’re gonna spend too much money at the 7-11 and it’s all gonna go up in smoke, but by the grace of God you are gonna save a couple of bucks by purchasing them at the “Smoke Shop” instead of the convenience store. You complain until you’re blue in the face about how ridiculously high the ciggy prices are at normal retail outlets, but when you run out of ‘em and the God-blessed “Smoke Shop” is closed ‘cuz it’s Sunday you’ll drive like a madman to Love’s and blow ten bucks because there’s a “Buy Two Get One Free” special going on. What a ******* good deal that is, eh, mister?

Furthermore…CIGGYS??? I hate how people call ‘em “ciggys”. But not nearly as much as I hate the word “cigarette”. I cannot stand to speak the word. I hate the way it rolls of my tongue. I hate the way the word sounds like it means “little cigars”.

I hate the way some smokers empty out their car ashtrays in the parking lot. I hate the way all the butts look lying there in a heap, a pile of paper soaked with the spittle of a hundred different mouths. And yet the nicotine python grips some desperate smokers so tightly that they will pick them up and try to smoke the last tiny flecks of tobacco from their crushed and blackened ends. I’ve even seen people extract the remaining **** from several discarded butts, roll it all up in a Zig Zag paper and smoke it. Don’t these people even know what Zig Zag papers are for? They sure ain't for tobacco, Charter.

“Butts”. There’s another word in the smokers lexicon that just sounds silly. “Smoke ‘er down to the ****, Jack, we’ve got more!” “I don’t have an ash tray, Terry, so just put your BUTTS in that half empty soda can over there on the table”…never thinking that there might be someone else at the party who could very likely mistake that particular pop can for his own and take a mighty swig from it. Oh my God, the thought, it gags me. How nauseating it would be to feel one of those wretched things fall against your lips and…Egad…the flavor…and yet the cruel smoker will laugh at such misfortune.


God help me.

She was not a robot when I met her. Oh, no, she was a beautiful, exciting, passionate loving woman with a heart of gold and a desire that was practically insatiable. Here…take a look, I have a photograph in my wallet. See what I mean? That’s right, daddy-O, she was a real dreamboat. I used to carry this picture with me wherever I went…I guess I still do, huh? But I don’t know why. I don’t know why I torture myself looking at it, remembering what was, all we had, our bright and glorious future wrecked and deserted by her newfound proclivity for smoking cigarettes. Yeah, my friend, she was a real keeper. But you know what? **** her now, y’know? Just turn her over and **** her.

But hey…perhaps I’ve been too harsh on the smoker in general (if not to her…no, not to her). Perhaps I have exaggerated a bit. After all, some of my best friends smoke. It’s their business, not mine. Never has been mine. I know that. If they knew how I felt about the whole thing, whose to say they wouldn’t tell me to ****** off and never come back? Then again, if they are so shallow as to take any of this as a personal insult, then maybe, just maybe they aren’t my friends after all. I doubt the robot would want anything more to do with me if she knew what a stalwart anti-smoker I am. But I thought she felt the same. She DID feel the same. She told me as much. Before she lost her soul. Before she started smoking cigarettes. Before she started bumming ciggys.

I got no time for changes in her life so now I ask you again…where were you when I was falling in love?

Were you sitting in a Pentecostal Holiness church on a hard pew early Sunday morning before the service began, thumbing through the hymnal, looking for one that best expressed your feelings of devotion at that point in your spiritual journey? And what would that hymn have been? “Onward Christian Soldiers”? “Peace in the Valley”? “In the Garden”? “Smoke on the Water”? “Hotel California”? Maybe some obscure Black Sabbath song tucked in at the end of the book, next to the Doxology?

Did your hair shimmer, reflected in the light that poured through the stained glass window directly behind you? Did you feel it’s heat on your neck? Did it draw out beads of perspiration there, glistening? Would you have let me lick them and taste their saltiness even in the sanctuary of the church building? Probably not. But I don’t think the idea would repulse you like it would some other bonnet headed midi-skirt wearing holy rollin’ *****.

Maybe I would have asked you outside so that you might feel a little more comfortable with what I’d had in mind.

And maybe you would have told me “no”. I couldn’t blame you for that. No, I wouldn’t. It’s only natural for a real woman to guard her integrity in situations such as this one. I could not hold that against you.

Is that where you were? I need to know. Where the hell were you when I was falling in love?
Brian Payamps Jan 2015
Is time to pay homage to those who paved a path for me. Had a "Dream with in a dream" like Edgar did. No kiss upon the brow, we shook hands and drank tea. Spoke about love and death and all its synonyms like I am to he. Did you kissed her because she died? Were the grain of golden sand that creeped through your fingers  from her broken hour glass? Is this life a reality or yet a dream? For the poor it must be a nightmare to sleep and not see reality. As he vanished right in front of me and left behind a black feather with ink as it came from a Raven's wing.

Pinched my self to wake up from this dream or nightmare. Scared of what might come next. I see snow flakes start to fall from the sky as if heaven is coming down towards me. I look up with my mouth open catching snow on my tounge. I hear a horse gallop and is getting close. He stops right before and asked if the woods are mine? He says, "I know he know he still has miles to go for promises he must keep before he sleeps." As the horse harness bell shakes he ask "before I depart how far I'll go before I sleep in the woods that are lovely, dark and deep. Remember my name Robert Frost, for when I sleep and arrive at your door but For now I must go I have promises to keep, I have promises to keep before I sleep." As he vanishes right before my eyes horse and all I hear the gallops far far away and a solid snow flake falls right between my eyes.

and I blink and I see 21st century man ask a stranger where am i? He smiles and sarcastically said "the land of the free" "we were named New Amsterdam but now is called Manhattan, this hear is Harlem. I'm Langston Hughes let's sit by the river. Asked him how's life? "Life is fine" "I was born for living as are you." "You'll be dogged if you let them see you die for love, so live. You'll make your mark I'll all come one night." Took the elevator to the 16 floor asked him if I was dreaming? He said "of course I died in 1967" as he jumped this time for the first time he yelled "don't let it dry up like a raisin in the sun, dream don't defer". Just like that he was gone.

As time moves back and forth between centuries. I hear murmurs, see things I can't understand stop please the voices are to much for me. Troy, Troy is it burned yet? Homer and William Butler Yeats discuss Odeysseu's journey, Helen and Menelaus king of Sparta.
Stop! Stop! Stop! As I fall from space in fear of my death. I wake up and see the sun beaming through the blinds. The smell of pancakes enters the room and in to my nose, glad is on my face. She said "How you sleep last night, bad dream again" As I eat with my left and write with my right. Time to pay homage i said. Time to pay homage.
Time to pay homage to those Poets I love the most.
Jon Elfers Sep 2014
softly step through the fields of heaven,
biting through your frozen fingers,
tired toes devouring flesh,
of first born hands handicapped,
patting pants in hopes of change,
the eternal deathly doldrums,
commonplace complacence,
with cheap creeped fast food,
eternally eching for the source,
for majorities soaring sorrow.
devante moore Mar 2015
She was the prom queen
Beautiful, stunning
Her body matured more then most as a teen
Every guy wanted her
Girls jealous of her
She became a smoker
She was ill prepared
Inhaling sickness
Exhaling death
She didn't know was there
She gave her life then an there
It seared her throat
But she didn't care
Her inhales were long
She exhales with ease
Wanted to impress
She ache for popularity like a fein
After a couple of years the effects creeped in like a disease
She seemed to age twenty years
Wrinkles appeared
He hair thinned
So did her body
Fingers stained yellow
Her teeth rotted brown
Her breath just as foul
The prom queen couldn't be found
Her limbs begin to die
Amputations a daily routine  
Her voice raspy
Followed by a bone chilling cough
Deep ridges on her lips hides a smile
Now the prom queen is just a picture
That she doesn't look at
Hanging on the wall
Josh Bass Sep 2014
A panic attack has a way of creeping up on you
At the start of one, you always think to yourself
"No this can't be happening"
Much like the feeling you get before you
Throw Up
The heat comes on so strong and forceful
Your internal fire, dead set on burning you
from the core out
You hadn't noticed because your knees just buckled
and you went numb
The tremors
you feel them in your fingers
To your shoulders
To your tounge
The extra oxygen
Feeds the flames

With the help from a Brittle Lake
I was able to prevent this state

Seven bucks to rent a kayak
I sliced into the lake
I paddled and paddled and paddled
My arms were introduced to a new kind of fire
A blue cleansing flame
Take a break and drift
Feel the warmth of the sun on your face
Paddling again, now it's the breeze and spray
A smile creeped upon my face
At Lake Brittle I was able to keep the panic at bay
Silence Screamz Sep 2014
Beautiful teenager
so smart and clean
Honor Roll, Glee Club
Homecoming Queen

The dance, the party,
enjoying the night.
Evil seeps in,
destroyed her pride

A cancerous pill
sinks down below.
Taking the sip,
Wouldn't you know?

Glazed stare, from her eyes,
not knowing the known.
Steps in the abyss,
blackness be ******.

Minutes to hours,
hours to days,
This homecoming queen
has lost her ways.

Three days have passed,
naked, afraid.
Miles from home,
Memories are fade.

The devil creeped in,
destroyed her soul.
In sophomore year, I was top in the county, one of the very best.
The school even made me a mug:
Johnny McCarthy: World’s Greatest Running Back.
There were so many times I saved our ***,
so many moments, four downs in, that I came through for them.
But then I my knee exploded in bone, and they all suddenly forgot.

I never really had to care before that; about anything, really.
Everything was given to me – friends and girlfriends and grades.
Especially grades; let me tell you, teachers are less sympathetic when you’re in a wheelchair.
And that’s what ****** me off most: when I felt most pathetic and most hurt, people cared the least.

My mom would kiss my forehead whenever she saw my eyes looking beyond the TV screen,
and she’d say something like “a leopard’s stuck with its stripes.”
Sometimes they wouldn’t make sense, but just hearing her sing proverbs with such confidence,
well, it was comforting have a self-proclaimed-sage living in the house.

As I rattled over the gravel walkways to the student parking lot, I would see the football fields,
see the guys practicing, laughing, and looking at everything but the sad *******.
It was then I learned that I hated football – well not football itself,
but what football meant in this west Pennsylvania town.
I hated how it was everything, and without it, I was nothing.
I was the overweight cheerleader to them, I was the equipment manager.
I was even worse than that to them, now.

I charged my wheelchair to our sixteen year old Dodge Caravan, and lifted myself in,
leaving the chair outside the driver’s side door.
I tore onto 270, and aimed myself north.
Driving on the stony stretch, between the strip-mined mountains and the blanket of pine,
I thought about what was left for me back in town.

I thought about my recently ex-girlfriend, who was like a butterfly,
in her ability to float from flower to flower, and **** as much life as she needed
before fluttering away to some other unlucky ****.

I thought of my high school English teacher,
the only one who pretended to care about me after I was drained of reputation.
He gave me a book, the Catcher of the Rye. I haven’t read it yet – it looks really long.
I want him to thing that I did, though, so I guess I’ll tell him what he wants to hear.

I thought about the half-black kid Christopher, who started up the anime club.
It was cosplay day, so we took his gym clothes and threw them in the toilet.
He had to run laps dressed like a samurai, and ended up ripping his kimono.
We all laughed, though I always wondered how hard he must’ve worked on it.

And I remembered my mother, with her free promotional shirts and forest green sweatpants.
I thought about her tiny piggy figurines in that case in the kitchen,
and how proud she is when the Hamburger Helper isn’t burned.
I imagined her kissing me on the forehead and saying:
“Home is a dangerous thing, and there is little knowledge where the heart is,”
or something like that.

I remembered every individual in that tiny high school, and how in my last week there,
I felt like I was choking on everyone’s endless spoken noise.
I pulled onto one of the camp sites at William’s Lake and collapsed out of the car.
I dragged my leg to the shivering shoal of the stagnant pool, and dipped my casted knee in the water.

I felt its bacteria swim in the wound, the exposed bone now pressed beneath my false flesh,
and infect me with a slow disease that felt like a long warming hug.
The water was shifting to a higher tide, and I lay there, feeling every knot of its slow ascent.
Its green-grey film floated at my chest, and I felt determined to let the algae find its way above my head.
As it creeped its oddly tepid sheet up and up my neck, I thought of telling off my ex-girlfriend,
and reading that book my teacher gave me,
and letting my mom know how much of an artist she is.
I twisted over, and pulled my extended leg back into my minivan.
The van smelled like the lakebed now,
like a great many microbes dying and re-birthing silently, in the cracks of the tan pleather carseat.
© David Clifford Turner, 2010

For more scrawls, head to:
K Balachandran Oct 2013
And suddenly he finds this--
the season of strange happenings
befall upon him.In Bangkok rains lashed
for three consecutive days without stop.
Huge pythons with strange markings
undulated over waves, that were roads
three days before.A stranger to the town
he feared the fury of river Chao Phraya
but this girl took care of him well,
and when rain paused slightly
she suggested they should eat out.

He left it to her choice, though never knew
much about her, say he was careless.
In that dim-lit restaurant, she said
most unexpected things happen certain days,
and what she said was really true.
She ate  his past wholly, so quick
when no one noticed, it was truly smart an operation.
It tastes exactly like Thai cuisine she told him, as if pleased,
full of aromatic leaves of herbs.

He  just sat like a zombie, would he understand
the meaning of that sabotage, ever?
As she whispered her words in his ears,
he wanted to contradict, tell her about
coconut milk, pepper and condiments
in which his memories of past were marinated,
like his mom's incredible curries
of fish from Kerala coast.
She pretended she didn't hear
all his  memories of spice coast,
she had tactically usurped.
Then a doubt creeped in to his mind
"Is she a banshee, after me?"
She persuaded him to take a stroll
along the bank of Chao Phraya in spate

None would believe him later
his eye witness account of the girl
who ate all his spice land past
jumped in to Chao Phraya turning in to a big fish
and disappeared, never to reappear.
Kerala-The state at the south-west sea board of India, the original spice country, home of black pepper.
Tell me a story Cuddlekins!
Rawr. Rawr. Grr. Rawr.
Rawr. Grr grr RAWR!!
Wow! That's a good story.
Now let me tell you
one. A story of a boy
who was so afraid of
being alone he put himself
in the most amazing adventures.

Imagine a beautiful forest
in the middle of nowhere.
Untouched. Unmutilated with.
Un-everything. This boy,
John, flew here and
laid his case down
and pulled out his violin.

His music went.
Dah. Dah. Lalalala. Doooo.
Soft. Sweet. Charming with
a twist of a faint memory
on the tip of your tongue
wanting to be known to
the world.

As he played on and on
for hours the animals
gathered around and fell
to sleep. John
inspired by his surroundings
played more and more
until there was a rustle in
the distance.

John didn't hear it
but again and again
the rustle of the leaves
grew ever closer still.

There was one animal
who wasn't sitting at
the clearing in the forest.
It was the jaguar. He awoke
and wondered
where everybody went.
They were no where to be found
As he searched for his
friends a scent caught in
his nose. It smelled of
food but an unfamiliar one.
The long lost forgotten food
that his ancestors once described.

He chased it slowly
turning every corner
hiding behind branches,
bushes, and bark.

Finally he found his prey.
He creeped slowly
and attacked.

All the animals could
say was that 'ol jagy was
at it again just a hungry
beast. Not sophisticated
or classy enough to
understand music.

You know Cuddlekins, I think
it was on that day the rest
of the animals discovered
'ol Jagy was deaf.
amie Dec 2014
take me and break me
a ragged doll
my porcelain skin cracked open and your shadows creeped in
i try to hold myself together
but it's hard when someone else holds the strings
        how do you do it?
i am full of holes
you spill out of me like blood from an open wound
        how could you do it?
you made me into nothing
i am still in awe
still curious
am i your muse or your monster?
I've redone this poem so many times but I love the concept of being a muse/monster.
Stormy Bailey May 2015
You stood there,
across the crowd,
dancing with your friends.
Your hair, your hips, your eyes, your lips,
I was hypnotized at first sight.
I adored you.
I adore you.
Everything about you.
You’re perfect.
As I dance in the crowd that surrounds you,
I’m laughing,
I’m smiling,
I’m feeling

I ask a guy to get your number,
I’m so nervous I don’t think I’d be able to form the words.
He points me out and you smile a little and wave at me,
I blush and wave back,
As a shudder races up my back,
You walk over to me,
Are you an angel?
A starlit sensual sashaying goddess.
I buy you a drink,
and I’m starting to think,
this might be something wonderful.

You have beautiful eyes,
and the softest hair.
your graceful and magical,
like you walk on air.
and your funny,
your so kind,
your sweet and sincere.
I’ve never met someone like you.
Someone who cares.

A first date,
you’re at dinner.
I’m at dinner.
We’re at dinner.
A second date,
Its a movie.
My eyes are on you the entire time,
As you laugh and cry,
I laugh and cry,
I feel what you feel,
and I know you feel it too.

We text constantly,
and I think we might be making a connection.
Im on your facebook as you post pictures of us together.
Commenting and laughing about the stupid faces I make.
But you're always so beautiful,
No imperfections to be found.
And the more we talk and the closer we get,
The more I feel I wouldn't mind if I drown
in you.

The closer we get the more nervous I am.
I call you and hang up,
I dont know what to say.
I see the world in your eyes,
I hear the stars in your voice,
And I can no longer deny it.
I’ve fallen for you.

I love the way you smile all sleepy when you first wake up,
You’re just so happy when you see the sun.
And the cute way you dance to your own silent music as you fix breakfast,
though you always overcook the eggs.
I love the way you wander around the house in just boxers and a T-shirt,
even if the curtains are wide open.

I know it hasn't been long since that first night,
but honey I love you,
and I can’t explain the way I feel in a better way than this,
with a ring and a stolen kiss.
so please say yes.

Don’t look so surprised.
Why am I in your house?
I’m here every night baby.
Wait, no, I dont want to get out.
Stop acting the way your acting.
Dont you want this ring?
No, stay away from the door,
and stop throwing things.

Why are you fighting this,
The way that we feel?
We are perfect for each other,
so why are you squealing and screaming at me?
Is it because I woke you up?
You’re beautiful when you’re sleeping but I wanted to seal our love.
So take this ring,
and kiss me girl,
I wanna be your light,
because you're my world.

Stop saying no,
stop saying stop,
I love you ,
I need you,
Cause you are my rock,
in this ocean of life.
And I’m drowning,
I’m floundering as I knock you out.
No I dont want to hurt you,
but you are so loud,
with your screaming and pleading,
And we need to get out.

Shhh its ok,
the gag is a precaution,
as I drive to our new home,
I dont want you to wake and be frightened,
of the rope,
around your wrists,
or the blind fold,
or my ****** fists.
You see I want it to be a surprise,
when I uncover your eyes,
and you see our new home.
I’m bringing you home.

Do you like your new room,
no now don't start screaming,
maybe I should have waited to wake you,
and you looked so peaceful when you're dreaming,
Who’s that?
Oh I dont know.
He used to own the house,
Is he breathing?
It doesnt matter,
I’ll just get him and take him out,
Why am I doing this?
dont you see I love you,
and I need you,
to love me back.
So I’ll tie you to this bed,
and I’ll turn on this track,
It’s your favorite song,
Oh you don’t need to know how I know that.

Whats that noise?
What did you do?
Why aren't you tied to the bed?
Now baby I love you but I will hurt you,
its for your own good.
No put down that lamp,
Why are there lights outside?
Hey where'd you get that?
Give me the phone.

⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫

I went out dancing,
I was in this crowd
and I think he was there,
But then my friends were all about,
and I felt someones eyes,
but there were so many people,
I would think I would remember,
I should have know he was lethal.
But we were dancing,
and happy.
And no one wants to believe.
I mean I didn't really think.
He must have really thought he loved me.

Some guy asked for my number,
He said it was for a guy across the room,
He pointed him out so I smiled and waved at him,
he blushed and waved back,
And I dont have the best track,
When It comes to cute guys.
So yeah It was no surprise,
when I let him buy me a drink,
And ok, I think,
I kinda liked him.

He had nice eyes,
and ok hair,
but I got this vibe,
that he just wasnt all there.
He was funny,
But he didn’t have much to share,
I let him down soft and left,
Maybe he didnt hear?

I saw him sometimes,
When I was at dinner,
and he was at dinner,
but we didn’t speak.
And again,
I was at this movie,
And he was there,
I was laughing with friends,
and I got up at the end,
and there he was,
watching me.

I got random texts,
But I didn’t know who they were from.
And he friended me on facebook,
But I’d forgotten who he was.
And then he would comment on my pictures,
and he was always in the background.

I kept getting these phone calls,
but he would always hang up before he said anything.
I’d blocked his cell number,
but I was starting to connect the dots,
I mean I didn’t quite feel threatened.
Just really creeped out.
I still should have done something.

I felt like someone was in my house,
but I thought I was just being paranoid.
I mean who would sneak into my house?
Well I guess he would.
I started to close my curtains after that.
But the feeling never went away.

Then that night he was there.
I dont know what he was thinking?
He proposed to me,
he got on one knee,
and then he kissed me,
And I woke up.

I was so surprised,
I asked why he was in my house,
He said he snuck in every night,
I told him to get out.
I should have done something,
but then he started waving around a ring?
And then I went for the door,
and started throwing things.

Well he was saying so many things,
I can’t quite remember them all,
about us being perfect for eachother,
and he started to call me beautiful and yeah,
I was kinda screaming a lot.
But you would be too.
if you woke up to find him,
hovering above your bed,
holding a ring,
his lips near your head.

He wrestled me to the ground,
as I screamed for him to stop,
and I shouted no as he rolled on top of me
crushing me with his weight.
I was scared,
I was frightened,
and yeah I feared for my life.
I bucked and I twisted,
but I must have missed when he brought up his fist,
and brought it down on my head,
cause then the world went dark,
and I thought I was dead.

I was lost in an abyss.
And my world was quaking,
though now I know I was blindfolded,
and it was a car shaking,
but in the moments of nothing,
when I was half conscious and dreaming,
The ties around my wrists were gone,
and I was freely thinking of the life I could have,
so you understand,
why I fought so hard when I woke up.
you see I wanted,
I needed,
to stay alive.

I woke up in a room,
and I started screaming,
he was talking to me but then I saw in a corner,
It was an old man,
and he was covered in blood.
He’d been the owner of the house,
And the guy who thought he loved me said that he was dead.
I asked why he was doing this but he said he loved me
that he needed me,
to love him back.
It was so hard for me not to fight him as he tied me up,
and he turned on my favorite song.
I held back my rage until he was gone with the body.

Then I yanked at the ties,
and they cut at my hands,
and I ran to the window,
to see him digging outside,
and I searched through the room,
looking for somewhere to hide cause the door was locked,
but then I found the phone,
and I dialed 911,
And I told them to come.
and I waited a few minutes,
talking to the police,
when I heard him on the stairs and I thought he had me.

He ran inside just as I heard the sirens,
and he was questioning me,
and he was threatening me,
but I grabbed the lamp,
and he was screaming at me,
to give him the phone.
But I didn't give him the phone.
I gave him the lamp, hard, against his skull.
and he fell the ground as the police came through the door.

And then they helped me outside,
and the ambulance was waiting
and when he came out it was on a stretcher,
apparently I hit him a little too hard.
But I say not hard enough.
At least I know I will never wake up with him around me again.
Though he won’t either.
Wake up that is.
Because I killed him.

I feel remorse.
It wasn't his fault he wasn't right.
Though he made the conscious decisions to sneak into my house that night.
We found out who he was,
and that he was all alone,
no friends, no family,
and not even a home.
So here is my story.
And you know the rest.
Officer, is that all?
I think I really need to get to bed.'
em Jan 2013
I found the perfect pair of blue jeans once
I was 12 years old
They hugged my adolescent body
Until I was 13 and a half
And my body started to change

Tiny layers of fat creeped up on me
Laying on my thighs and my bottom and my hips
Making my body into a woman’s

You see, I am cursed with curves and tiny ankles
While my thighs and my bottom and my hips changed
My ankles remained the same


It has become impossible to find
The perfect pair of blue jeans

I would come close
Hugging my hips with grace
Encasing my thighs with elegance
Even closing to embrace my calves
The denim fabric reached my ankles
And became baggy, oversized

I gave up
I bought three pairs of the same style that almost fit
Until yesterday

I came upon a coupon
And so I went shopping
In an unfamiliar store
And I tried on a pair of blue jeans

They hugged my hips with grace
They encased my thighs with elegance
They closed to embrace my calves
And when the denim fabric came to an end
And the final stitches held the jeans together
My ankles were not drowned in thick denim

They were petite
But they had found the perfect pair of blue jeans
As the lights went up,
And consciousness creeped its way back in.
He found himself in a puddle of filth,
Mud, blood and other unspeakable things.
Trying to move brought a searing lance of agony,
Yet quite disconcertingly only through half his body.
Looking down he saw the shaft of an arrow,
Protruding from just below his navel.
Thats when he realized why he couldn't feel his legs.
Yet the more pressing matter was what seemed to be
A gaping hole in his chest, that slowly but steadily was leaking his life's blood into the earth. A bitter jolt of fear and panic gripped him, so tightly he could scant breathe. he couldn't remember where he was or what he may have done to come to this. He was young and had so much he would have liked to do with his life. A hitching gasp that turned to a sob escaped his chest as he remembered anne, he would never see her again. Yet as the cold of death crept into his body, he remembered.
Sunny days where he spent time on looking at clouds hand in hand with anne. the warm summer nights made all the warmer be their fire, and when the fires ebbed they lay intwined and would watch the stars as they made their slow steady way across the sky.these are the things that he clutched desperately to himself as he stepped into the darkness that comes to all living things. As the sun broke the horizon and sent its gentle rays floating across the meadow. the warm light found cooling skin, and on his face a small smile remained.
Freddy S Zalta Jan 2015
She walked up the stairs, swiped her metro card and made her way up the stairs to the platform. As she walked towards the front end so she could get on the second car of this F train headed to Manhattan, she felt the cold winter wind snap at her. Pulled up her collar and wrapped her arms around herself bracing for the cold.

She was wearing blue jeans with boots over them – a small black ski-jacket with a red scarf. Her hair, shoulder length blonde was covered by a knit cap, also black.

It was the 5th or 6th month of her working at the Union Square Barnes and Noble. She still wasn't even sure what her role was there, her title was “Music Manager” yet there were two other “Music Managers” there as well. She enjoyed working there because she loved to see so many people enjoying the books, music and the other stuff that they sold there. She also loved to sit during her breaks and read. She loved to read anything that was written around the 1920’s. F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, T.S. Eliot, Edith Wharton, and so many more.

She had always felt “different” from her peers and this caused her to find herself alone some nights watching TV or forcing herself to write on her blog.

Julia was 26 years old and had graduated from Kingsborough College 4 years earlier. She had thought about graduate school but then realized that she really wasn't interested in any specific degree or even future.

She had been diagnosed with depression back when she was 16 years old. She had never tried to **** herself nor hurt herself but would spend too much time in her room and away from any social life.

When she was 18 and a freshman at college she fell in love with Mitchell, a senior with four different girlfriends and a future as a politician. When she found out about one of his other girlfriends she broke up with him. It was a couple of nights later that she found out about the others while browsing through Facebook. The fact that she had been so blind and naive to not even catch any clue that he was actually dating 3 other girls, hurt more then the loss of having him around. She was hurt and she closed herself off from any social life after that.

“It wasn't the fact that he was with the other girls, it was the fact that I was stupid enough to fall for someone like that. Thank God we never had *** – that would have really put me under.” She had told this to her therapist and the therapist only cared about asking her. “Why didn't you have ***?” She felt creeped out and stopped seeing him.

Her friends tried to bring her out of her slump but it was way above their ability. Love can heal all things but some wounds can only be soothed not healed.

The darkness in her room followed her  wherever she went.  It wasn’t until her 26th Birthday when she decided to go to see a different psychiatrist, a female Doctor this time. Towards the end of her first appointment it was suggested that she should begin taking medication. She felt she could help herself without taking any medication.
“When you feel you want to try them out you just let me know. We would begin with a very low dose…”

She saw the train in the distance approaching in its snail like pace. The wind, the cold and the clouds all conspiring to make it feel as if the train is at a standstill just two blocks or so away. Finally the train crawled in and came to a stop; the sound of the doors opening, the electronic ding-**** and the voice – “next stop Avenue N, stand clear of the closing doors.”

She finds a seat by the window of a two-seater row. She likes to look through the window and watch as the different scenes come into view and just as quickly disappear. It reminds her that her’s is not the only world that exists. That the world does not truly revolve around her. She watches as the train rolls along McDonald Avenue; school van picks up children, two people are sitting eating breakfast on a second floor apartment directly across from the train. She concocts different ideas of what they are conversing about – are they expressing happiness and love or are they scared and feeling alone?

She looks inside and sees an older man reading a hard cover religious book, perhaps the Talmud or something? Two seats to the left of him is a Haitian woman speaking on her cellphone in Creole – really loudly. He looks towards her and nods his head in disapproval. Down the way a large man sits eating with his jacket open revealing his sizable girth, as if in pride? he is downing a bagel and licking the cream cheese to avoiding it from spilling over. He has a Yoohoo chocolate drink in between his legs and is in some sort of comatose gorging ecstasy. A lady is applying makeup to her cheeks and when the train stops at Avenue N she draws her eyeliner pencil under her eyes – framing her Asian eyes with the imperfect blue she decided to use.

Avenue N and the doors open to a black man wearing a yarmulke and looking Jewish but for the color of his skin, in these parts at least. He is of Ethiopian descent and is Orthodox – she knows this because she once heard him speaking to another passenger on the train. A fifty-ish lady walks on and is, of course, on her phone giving orders to one of her children, it seems. Julia looks away and checks her phone – no alerts, no emails, no missed calls. “Next stop Bay Parkway.”

Across from her on the other side of the train, she can see the Verrazano Bridge and outside her window she can see thousands of graves lined up. She thinks about their lives – mothers, fathers – they were all once babies who needed to be fed, dressed and changed.

“Snap out of it! She tells herself.” She stood up as if to wash crumbs off of her clothing – shook a bit and sat back down again. She would not, could not allow the darkness to seep back in again. It always began with a thought…since she finally gave in and had been on meds for a little over a month, the fog had begun to lift a bit. A bit. The “low dose” had been doubled since her first week and now she began to “See a little clearer, is that one of the benefits?”
“You are seeing more clear because you are not running as fast as you used to. You are slowing down and able to live at a healthy pace. So now the colors you once defined as green, yellow and blue have a deeper meaning to you, am I right?”
“Yes, its as if I can focus now>”

She looked out the window, looked back into her bag and took her book out. “The Corrections,” she had yet to read it but loved the title. In her mind she had pictured it as someone in the middle of their life who decides to make “Corrections.” She was afraid to begin reading it because she knew it wasn’t about that, specifically, and preferred the definition in her head.

“I am making corrections these days.” She thought to herself.
The fact that she decided it was time for her to take the leap and swallow a pill once a day was proof in itself. “I want to be the best I can be, to enjoy life…” Lately she has been having vivid dreams – only to wake up, try to remember only to forget quickly.

The train goes underground and where once she would get anxious she now welcomed it as if an embrace.

“Too many stops to go until I find my way…” She heard a voice inside of her say, or sing? Or was that the lady behind her?

“Too many corrections to make within myself so I can even begin to find my way anywhere.” She thinks to herself as if answering someone.

“Corrections…yes…can it be as simple as that? Look within myself and accept what is wrong and right and make some corrections?”

She walked off the train at 14th Street and found her way upstairs and out onto 6th Avenue. She walked east towards Union Square and felt the cold air hitting her face – feeling like a pale of freezing water in the August heat.

She feels a bit more at ease and knows that there is a change happening and it could be from that small pill. A sense of hope, not full blown hope but a ray and that is more than she has felt in a long time.

She looks across Union Square and sees the celebrations of everyday life on display. Men painted in silver and gold, a clown dancing or riding in a small child’s bicycle, chess players lined up and waiting for challengers. People walking quickly chasing time trying to catch up or outrun it. Cold wind blowing pieces of paper high up – churning around and around.

She looks up, crosses the small street, smiles at the guard, opens the door and walks inside.

italicThere are countless stories of people in this world chasing memories, dreams or hopes that were once so vibrant – now laying dormant on the side of empty streets. Ghost towns where youth and optimism were once at play in the streets where dreams were erected only to fall in a lost battle against the ultimate thief – time. Julie turned out to be one of the happy stories in this world…she ended up meeting her cousin at the store that same day. He was with a friend of his named David – he smiled and she smiled back. Sometimes good things do happen and they happen when you least expect them to. She is still working on her corrections and has yet to even read the first page of the book.
EmperorMoth Jul 2018
Dripping down into the well
The rain may go and start to dry
A little girl goes by and sings
Her soul so bright and cool this night
But as she sings, the night is old

A boy comes near the window pane
He sees her grace, she minds her time
At once the motion then sat tamed
A colored light formed from the girl
Something not normal to this world

The boy sat struck by awe and lost
A thing rose up, it's smile curled
As tall as lights that line the streets
It stood in stealth as shadows creeped

The girl had not the mind to scream
Instead, she smiled with the being
Their eyes burned bright right at the boy
It sure did scare his little bones

He rushed away and closed the drapes
No way he'd go back to the pane
Now nights scare him and little girls
Who'd think a thing to seem so real

At school, he chose to sit alone
Till she came and sat by his heel
His fear held his voice down in jail
No one could know that he saw hell

She smiled sly and walked away
He clutched his heart, no words to say
Her shadow grinned before the shade
And then he saw her body fade

He couldn't get them out his head
No matter where he went to hide
From school till home he wept with dread
He felt fear climb way up his spine

He gave the girl a name he'd yell
A name only made for a fiend
He used to hear it down the well
The same name that she liked to sing

He said the name before he slept
Summoned her up into his room
Before he knew what he had done
His bed became a slumber tomb

His parents never knew of this
Until they wandered for his wake
They found her name written in scrapes
"VINETHIA", they said in pain

Their home had died along with them
No one knew where their bodies went
No one tells of this tale at all
For it may cause something to switch
Don't say her name
Emma Chatonoir Jan 2014
What are you exactly?
You're not my sister
Or at least
Not biologically
In the band family
We're sisters
In real life we're just close friends
But you are more than a friend
Than anyone else has ever been
To me

Take when I first met you
Coming out of the hospital
I didn't know
Much of anyone
But then you ran up to me
And said you were happy I was alive
And you wanted to show me something
That was really cool
It was called friendship
And it was magical

We spent days lying on the track outside the school
Talking about past loves and how guys were morons
I said I would never date one
And you said
"Maybe you should date this one"
I did
He broke up with me
Four months later
Cause my medical condition
Creeped him out
I blamed you at first
But eventually I got a grip on reality
And remembered first loves
Aren't last loves

I then dated a boy you didn't like
But eventually you warmed up to him
Before we went too far
And I had to ask you for advice
On how to break up with him
You stayed and talked to me
For five hours that night
Comforting me for making a good decision
We always talked on the phone for a long time
The only reason we'd hang up sometimes
Is cause our phones died

Driving me back to my house at midnight
And letting little known things about us
Be shared with each other
How much we regretted
Treating people badly
And how much we wanted
To live a good life
I said I wished you were my sister
You said you already were

Your sisters aren't the ones
You are born with
Sisters are
The people who
Hug you tighter than a lover
Treat you like an equal
Passing the boundary of friendship
And calling you family

I'm lucky I got to meet
Such a sister as that
And I hope one day
I can show my children
That there is such thing
As best friends forever.
Happy birthday to my sister
Emma Henderson Oct 2014
My heart was filled with daisies whose heads sprung from each ventricle.

Their stems creeped through my arms and I radiated purity.

Then a new seed was sewn into the cavity of my chest

And thorns grew from my body, now nobody can touch me.
anne p murray Apr 2013
PART 1    

“Tis’ well”, she mocks with words of bitter scorn
“For avenged I shall rightfully be…
Oh ye’ shall wail in woes of endless tears
And the taste- will be so sweet”, said she
“No my angst shall not be in vain
For one day… I’ll feed upon your pain”

Now when he ****** her ruby heart…
Her wounded soul no longer bleeds
She waits like a spider to give her bite so fatal
He bids her message to his waiting lair
Her deadly web she cunningly weaves like a cradle

The night was bleak, storm clouds black
Strange images filled the cold, misty air
Lightning flashed or’e ground and sky
Echoing howls of raged despair
As she approaches his open gate
Her angry, bitter gloom extends thicker, deeper
He has no idea of his dreadful fate
Knows not he, of the danger lurking there

When she entered his darkened room
The hearth inviting in his snare…
A sulphurous fire was hotly burning
Ere’ he know not of his waiting fare

Her shadowy figure encircled his laying form
As utter terror rose in his gaze
But the fire in his lady’s eyes
Was hotter than the hearth’s warm blaze

Suddenly- all was silent in his room
His body lay cold - and oh so very dead
His fleeting soul left with a morbid gloom
The blood slowly creeped from out his eyes
Her lover…now erased
Then she coldly lay his straight razor at his side
She’d be the last memory on his face

“Tis’ well” she slyly mocked…
“I warned…
for avenged I shall be”, said she
Then into the night she walked

Rachel whispered her words…
“If it was your twisted intention
To give inspiration thru’ deception
My darling it worked its spell
Go forth now…and weep thy doom
You'll never put another women thru' your hell"

She pens now from the blackest corner of her soul
Inside her dungeon walls
Where darkness falls like brimstone
With no regrets to whom it may burn
Hot and heavy with torment and woe

If... or when she finds her place
In your Cimmerian sky
Wrath shall rain down upon you if you lie…
Scorching you ten fold and over
Then like her beloved…
You may just die


Rachel awoke...
Sweat dripping of her brow
Her brain on fire
As she lay dreaming in her bed
Cradled by her vindictive nightmares
Oh how corrupt were they
For a lover she  soon planned to slay

— The End —