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Nikoline Nov 2014
du fik den af din mor og far
den dag du blev født
den dag du kom til verden
uskyldig og ren og lille
og uvidende
det var den røde tråd
meningen med dit liv
og de gav den til dig
så du kunne forlænge den
og slå mindeværdige knuder på den
og det gjorde du
i mange år
indtil han kom forbi
og efter flere års forlængelse (forelskelse)
klippede han den over
med sine skarpe ord
og den var i stykker
og du var i stykker
og meningen med dit liv
var i stykker
og selvom du var spejder
dengang du gik i børnehave
kunne ikke engang
den stærkeste (*****) knude
binde den sammen
binde dig sammen
selvom du forsøgte ihærdigt
dagligt
men på din uniform
sad intet **** mærke
kun et bål mærke
og det brændte indeni
og han lod dig brænde
indtil den røde tråd var forkullet
sort
sort som natten
sort som dit sind
og du fik den af din mor og far
den dag du blev født
og du døde den dag
han tog den fra dig
May 9, 2012, 7:01:02 PM by ~OmegaWolfOfWinter
Journals / Personal




The rivers of winter ice had melted with spring sunshine's awakening and the noises of the forest announced the awakening of the fauna. a young fox stretched her long legs and fluffed up her tail as she yawned awake. this winter had been a lonely one for her, as she did not have a mate. throughout the winter she had felt the tingling feelings of her ****** urges creep between her legs and she moaned slightly as she felt them creeping there again.  she stepped slowly out of her den and took a cool breath of the spring air, bringing her the scents of the amorous flowers and the frolicking prey. she watched two birds in courting flight above har and she sighed at her loneliness. the fox hung her head low and walked softly forward. at some point she closed her eyes and yet kept walking, a few tears of longing falling from her eyes. the tingling urges grew stronger and she fought to keep them at bay. she kept walking a bit, aimlessly, though. she cried out as she stumbled over a heavy rock.
She tumbled into the nearby brook and felt a sharp stone cut her right hind leg. she clambered on to the bank, shivering and soaking wet with the chilled water. she attempted to stand and felt a fiery sting to her leg. she looked and saw a shallow **** marring her orange fur. "ow... ow..." she whimpered as she walked on. as the sun peaked over her, she felt her stomach's pleading for sustenance and she groaned. she could faintly smell a rabbit nearby and crouched low, going over how to stalk her prey. she sniffed for it and it seemed to be close, on the other side of a group of trees. she flanked around as best she could and spotted the furball. she licked her lips hungrily and pounced. the rabbit was dead in an instant as she tore its throat out. she chomped at it once and then felt a feeling of dread. she gulped once and heard a wolf growl nearby. i'm wounded... i can't avoid it now.
.
she thought. she heard the wolf running toward her and was bowled over by it. when she stopped
Rolling she was on her back. looking up at the wolf, a young grey, white chested wolf, at the beginning of his manhood. he snarled at his prey as she whimpered beneath him. then to her surprise, he sniffed at her and tilted his head, the tenseness of the hunt gone from his yellow eyes. the wolf took a step back and looked her up and down, stopping as he saw something. he spoke softly, almost caringly, "you are female... and in heat... i apologize for interrupting your meal."
the fox looked at him curiously, "You...?"
he glanced at her and finished her thought. "...do not harm females. it is a code of honor i choose to live by."
she sniffed at him, "you have no mate, no lover."
his breath caught. "nor do you, young fox, lest he'd be satiating your body's desires, and his as well."
she felt the tingling between her legs again and attempted to say something, but was stopped. the wolf said, "nor do i wish to take advantage of females either."
The fox replied suggestively, "you spared my life, surely theres some way i could repay you, handsome wolf."
the wolf looked at her, eyes dilated and his breathing rough. he shook his head, "no.. i couldnt. its not my place."
she could feel the urges burning inside her, she wanted to release them, she wanted this wolf to release her. "chivalrous, i see. then, dear wolf, alleviate my longing, my pain, and i shall alleviate your own."
the wolf took a step closer, his own longing feeding his fire. "beautiful fox... your offer intigues me... you- you are wounded..." she looked and saw her leg still bleeding. "let me aide you, dear fox." he took a few steps and lay beside her, licking her wound. with each lick, the pain receded and was replaced by a wave of pleasant ache. the bleeding stopped and he stopped licking, for the moment. he sniffed her, his cold nose brushing the swollen flesh, and as it quivered between her legs, he knew she was ready for him. "my den is close by, young fox."
She nuzzled against his chest and felt his heart pounding. she took his paw and pressed it against her own chest, letting him feel her heart. "you know we cant wait that long, here.. in this group of trees." she gestured to the spot a few feet away. the wolf quickly walked into the tangle of trees, followed by the fox. the wolf had hardly stepped inside the treeline before the fox began nudging at the furry bulge between his legs. "you're not quite ready yet, dear wolf." the wolf whimpered a few times as she licked at it, taking his smooth member in her mouth and enticing it with her tongue. once it was throbbing in its full glory, she licked one last time and said, "now you're ready." and raised herself in preparation for him. he got into position on top of her and with one paw she guided him inside her. she gasped as he stretched her a little. she glanced over her shoulder and
realized that he wasnt that much bigger than her. he looked nervous and she realized something,
This is his first time... mine too... lets make this memorable.. she experimented with different positions, and after finding her favorite, set about making this wolf howl.
the wolf ****** slowly at first, drawing out the ecstasy. only when she began to whimper amorously did he begin to ****** harder, faster. she joined him, as he pulled back, she leaned forward, leaving only his tip inside her. when he ******, she leaned back on him with a wet squish. the wolf's tongue lolled and his eyes were glazed over in sweet agony. he howled softly at first, and as the ****** came, he howled again, echoing with the fox's cries as the ecstasy reached its ****** and rocked their bodies. the wolf staggered slightly at the passionate waves of ******. he pulled out his member and looked at his mate. "come with me to my den, so we can sleep, dear fox." the fox looked at him and nodded, grateful.
* * *
The fox and the wolf walked quietly to his den, set inside a secluded cluster of trees. the den itself was set in the ground, like a cavern, just large enough for the two of them to lie down comfortably. "its going to get cold tonight," said the wolf. "we should... share body heat." he had a faint twinkle in his eyes as he glanced nervously at her. when she tilted her head to him, the wolf looked down at his paws. the fox licked his muzzle and laid down next to him. the wolf's grey fur was thick, and she was  already beginning to feel warmer. she felt the wolf's heart beat a little faster, and he curled around her. his furry tail wrapped around the fox and she purred slightly as she nuzzled him and rested her head on his foreleg. for a moment they lay there, eyes closed, listening to the others' breathing, when he whispered to her, "i never did catch your name, young fox."
she grinned at him, "my name's Sasha, the only fox in this forest. and what be your name, dear wolf?"
The wolf opened one eye slightly to look at her, "my name is Ronan, i'm the last wolf of my pack."
she held him in her gaze a few beats and replied, "i haven't seen many wolves 'round these parts, where do you come from, Ronan?"
the grey sighed and said, "Farther north, over the mountains and into ice country. the food became scarce and the pack withered away, all but me. i treveled over the hills and mountains, through forests and grassland, and i kept going, finally stopping here. what of you? you said yourself you were the only fox in this forest."
Sasha swished her tail back and forth for a moment before, "i was separated from my family during a blizzard. i- i couldn't see anything, and i couldn't hear anything over the wind. i wandered aimlessly in the whiteout, tripping and stumbling until i bumped into something big. then again, i was just a kit and everything was big to me, but i looked up and saw a pair of eyes looking at me. i was so scared the snow beneath me turned yellow.
The monster bent over and picked me up by the scruff of my neck and carried me for a long time. i was so exhausted i fell asleep in its grip. when i woke up i was in a chilly den. i looked and realized that the monster had been a snow-white she-wolf. she sat at the enterance to the den and kept looking outside, waiting for something. when the snowstorm cleared out, she turned to me and said, 'little fox. have you a family?' i shook my head as i realized they were gone. from then on, the wolf raised me and taught me how to survive. then one day a few years ago... she was gone..."
Ronan was watching the fox as she told the story. "i'm sorry."
"don't be, ronan. ever since she left ive been alone. no fox to breed me, no one for a lover. until you came along..."
ronan licked her muzzle, "no need for loneliness now." sasha smiled and was soon asleep, warmed by her lover.
*
The sun rose and shone brightly into the entrance of the den the next morning, waking sasha from her slumber. she yawned and felt around for the grey. she felt nothing. she stood up and looked around the empty den. did he... leave me? a single tear fell when she imagined the possibility. "no.... please no..." she whimpered. her breath caught as she heard something rustling the grass outside the den. sasha shrank back and hid behind her tail, peeking over it slightly. she could hear her heartbeat in her ears and feel it rising in her throat as the rustling got closer and closer. she squeaked, "who... who's there?"
she flinched as a dark mass blocked the sunlight, its shadow stretching across the wall. the mass stepped slowly forward and sasha shut her eyes tight, fearing what might come next. "sasha?" it was ronan. "what's the matter?"
she gasped at him before rushing forward and burying her muzzle in his chest fur. "i thought you'd left me..."
with a paw, ronan stroked the fur on her back. "i'm a wolf, ***. loyalty and chivalry are the only things i know." she buried herself deeper in his fur and scolded herself for not realizing that. "i caught breakfast, i figured you'd be hungry after i interrupted your meal yesterday." she looked behind him and saw a small pile of ****** rabbits. sasha licked her lips hungrily. "its all yours, dear fox." she looked gratefully at Ronan before pouncing on the pile of carcasses, tearing into one and bloodying her maw. ronan watched her with pleasant  affection. the den was filled with the sounds of flesh being rendered from bone and the snapping of Sasha's teeth. she feasted upon the **** until she could eat no more, her belly now filled. two rabbits still lay uneaten, and ronan devoured them slowly, savoring the ****** meat as it slipped down his gullet. sasha lay nuzzled up against him while he ate, toying at his tail and
otherwise teasing at him. he gave her a look of amusement and somehow got into a game of tag with her.
He chased her around the den and she dodged his paw as he reached for her. when he did finally touch her, sasha dove between his legs and poked his furry belly. leaving him with a dumbfounded expression on his face. he then chased sasha outside and they continued their game within the cluster of trees around them. sasha laughed, a liquid smooth, crystal clear laugh. ronan watched her jump around him, the sun's rays catching her fine orange fur in such a way that it seemed almost like fire. he watched her a moment and loosed a soft howl. she's so beautiful... he thought.
* *
I remember my old den,
1 I had at 7 or was it 10,
anyway back when I were a lad,
sugar-rush-subsisting on Blackjacks ‘n’ Fruit Salads...
O I wanna desert the unticked boxes of women and taxmen,
live more simply thru emotional regression,
sprint like a prepubescent in plimsols back to th'ol den.
To my oldest den, givvus a seaty or a crossy
on a time-machine,
t'where the doorman's dividend
was a sticky-fingered Panini sticker.
 
Now, I'm no cod-bucolic evoker
of lost rustic youth 
bittersweetly down the zeit-chute
à la A.E.Housman - th'ol den weren't that sylvan.
Suffice to say, those were the days
when a Snickers bar was known as 'Marathon'
- th'athlete's choice of choc, if said athlete's an arrers man! 

Has the old den been forgotten by Hooknose Horan,
him and his cretinue of foetal footie hooligans?
Child hoodlums long before hoodies 
became the in-thing for politicians,
Horan and his henchkids were budding
hootball fooligans,
such bittle lastards that years later their victims
sic spoonerisms on th'abhorrent children, already rotten,
who routinely trashed our den (tho’ to be fair,
was bit doddery in mint condition).

But gaps prechavs gratuitously bashed
me and my gang as routinely rethatched.
The two wooden pallet 'walls'  we'd propped
'pon oldden modcon burl or jutting chaparral
the Council left to feral fallow;  these we stood up again, 
insulated anew with brushwood, with rubbishwood,
deadgetation and also vegetal vandal fistifulls, fascicles
of thicket and false-oat-grass.
Proper little humans,
we had whatever we could uproot and dismember
from derelict plot copse, from crumbs of rus in urbe
only brats and cats might deem dead ringer for Nature,
being of sufficiently small stature.

A child's a cherished imbecile,
whose thinking, mistaken, magical,
is that 10ft sq. woods of wasteland weeds,
a weedland waste of public space
be playground pastoral. All summerhols,
we urchin woodsmen
terraformed ‘n’ pleasuredomed
a strip of bric-a-bracken and hairy brome,
but olddenners got older soon after,
and each went their separate ways
(on solo scavenger hunts for bongo bushes,
by same preteen pangs presaged).

Been sc'autumns since then,
and tho' th'old den survived Hooknose,
 obsolescence and yobsolescence
spent out in 80-odd changes of season
is certain demolition. But I'm gonna bivouac
at the old den site tonight,
like a big kidiot/ noble savage/ *****/
***-offender Akela on the lam.
Just hope a phone-mast ha'nt been mount
atop the old den's old spot,
the green green grass of home
radioactively sallowed into a sickly straw,
unfit but for feedbag of Pestilence's fleabag steed.

Kids are flids indeed: I assumed I'd grow up a whitebread
hero, a debonair dibble and worldfamous nonsmoker,
married to merry widow, Queen Di,
 but I'm ghettoised, Aldi-Lidl-and-Nettoised, in a bedsit
the National Trust wou'nt even bother to blacklist,
injecting ephemera into peepers that don't even feel
the lidl prik of TVquik. Yeah, when Time's simpleton in short pants, I took it as given I'd court the Lord Mayor's daughter,
and rake in billions doodling for the Beano,
but now I'm a man, my masculinity's in doubt
coz I don't care whether Worthie let Greeno
go, or Fergie Keano...Waitabout,
my manhood had fell into disrepute
even as a boy: at th'86 boomerang campaign
of Browny's Canaries, dint go ****-a-hoop
and hoop-a-**** and back again,
nor all handwringy when Stringy whammed Steve the Bruce
on transferlist  (no snip, but future Sir Hairdryer bungdabung,
topflight travail and tired'n'emotionals yet t'turn Fergie's phiz
tomatone as 'is Red Devs' kit). But I desist... 

Those were the days when we called Starburst 'Opal Fruits',
when I could file manhood under 'Future Point, Moot'.
O Mum, give me my tetanus then drop me off
by bitty boscage on Notridge Road, and into Bowthorpe
undergrowth will I redelve
- I'm rebuildin'! Given it a few decades,
but I don't fit in. More my own master then,
waybackwhena olddenner,
more my own master when I was looked after,
when it was de rigueur that I be looked after,
coz kids can be feeble leeching dreamers
without blame. Arduously unshed crying shame
adults unlearn easy option of crying away shame,
coz conscience as constant culpability corrupts,
till, as if our own conks, we cut out our ducts!
Why earth of our ubiquitous probation's scorched!
Mischief moist in the eyes of our early days, decried
dries out into short sight - the right ice, left drought
- that sees sere any throat whose cold comforting's croaking
the croaked commandment all ears hear first,
'Thou Must Play Nicely'. O I can't adjust
to everyone else's loss of innocence, so backta th'ol den
I'll rebeat Lil'-sander's track.

From the Big Boys' world I abstain: growing up's a ****'s game.
ungdomspoet Nov 2015
aldrig før har den euforiske følelse
af kærlighed føltes så dejlig
som den nu gør med dig
hele min krop er fyldt til randen
med bobler i tusind farver
og jeg kan ikke holde dem inde
de bruser ud af mig og farver
himlen og skyerne i regnbuens farver
i stedet for mit melankolske blik
render jeg nu rundt med det
dummeste smil og ligner en
der rent faktisk for en stund
er lykkelig

aldrig før har den euforiske følelse
af kærlighed føltes så ægte
som den nu gør med dig
jeg var engang så naiv at jeg troede
jeg havde mødt den eneste ene
men nu er det som om han blot
var et langt mareridt
for du gør mig slet ikke bange som han
for du svarer altid og skriver søde ord
jeg ved at du ikke forlader mig
så nu ligger jeg her for en stund og
er tryg

aldrig før har den euforiske følelse
af kærlighed føltes så rigtig
som den nu gør med dig
for mit sind har altid været et puslespil
men det var som om at da du kiggede på mig
faldt alle brikkerne bare på plads
og du så mig klarer for den jeg er
end nogen anden nogensinde har gjort
så for første gang nogensinde skriver
jeg digte om at være glad og jeg ved ikke helt
men for en kort stund når du kigger på mig
er jeg forelsket?
sabinasophie Feb 2015
jeg er hende den sjove
hende der med beton i øjnene smiler og griner
jeg er hende den sjove
hende der danser ballet hen over tilværelsen, iført blodige ******>jeg hende den sjove
hende der med et smil, fjerner de knuste glas uden at skære sig
jeg er hende den sjove
hende der har det vidunderligt, selv med tårer trillendne ned af kinderne
jeg er hende den sjove
hende der får det bedste frem i dig, når din selvtillid er i kælderen
jeg er hende den sjove
hende der som talent kan skjule smerte med den efterhåden slidte frase "jeg er hende den sjove, jeg har aldrig haft det bedre"
jeg er hende den sjove
men det er bare ikke sjovt
sabina sandager
(added) Prologue: "we'll get the baron, i swear. the ratings will go through the roof..." nick spoke nervously into the phone he held in his good hand. the other rested at his side, burned beyond use. one of the commandos whispered in his ear. "sir, we have his location.... yes... yes sir..." he hung up the phone and turned to the commando, "scramble the troops, we're going hunting..."


"N-no... not this again..."  Baronyx muttered in his sleep. "I wont... i wont do it..." it was the same nightmare that had plagued him for years. he was what the Two-legs called an Exotic, one of the few hundred dragons left in the world, and a showpeice for the high paying two-legs.
Baronyx had been captured once and forced into slavery as a circus act and performer for many years before he escaped and burned an entire city with his fiery wrath, killing some ten thousand two-legs in his path and sending a message, "don't cage a dragon..." ever since he had been plagued with nightmares of his experiences while enslaved. "stop... No!" he ****** awake and roared in fear. the full moon's light shone on his sapphire scales and temporarily blinded him until his green slit-eyes adjusted. his mate, a green scaled dragoness named Lyra licked his cheek and put a comforting claw around on his shoulder, "its the dreams again, isnt it ***?" Baronyx nodded and stared outside of their cave den.
He glanced over his shoulder at his daughter, Tali, her young yellow scales getting a tinge of green. Baronyx sighed and said, "she's growing so fast... she'll have your scales..."
Lyra looked as well, "and she'll have your eyes, baron." they watched their child sleep a moment longer before Baronyx stood and stepped outside the den. "i'll be right back." lyra nodded and lay back down with her eyes closed. he spread his wings and with a powerful downstroke took flight. Baronyx closed his eyes and glided into the wind currents and to the cliffside where he went to clear his mind and sort out his thoughts. his claws clicked across the hard rock as he landed and tapped rhythmically as he walked to the edge of the cliff and hung his claws off the side. a wild wolf howled in the distance somewhere behind him. something in the air was different tonight and Baronyx felt uneasy. he lay his head down and snoozed for a while, oblivious of what was happening at his den.
- - -
Tali screamed as
Two-legs with metal-spitters swarmed the den and threw heavy nets over her and her mother. "ma! ma! whats going on?!"
"tali! just stay calm.. just stay calm." Lyra roared in protest as the two legs brought lightning-sticks and began prodding at them. "don't you dare touch my daughter you *******!" she shouted even though she knew they wouldnt understand her. to her surprise though, one two leg stepped forward and said, "we won't touch you or your daughter if you tell us where the Baron is."
"i'll never tell you, monster."
the white man chuckled, "from my point of view, you're the monster. and you'll be a wonderful addition to the show..."
- - -
Baronyx heard tali's scream echo In the dark forest surrounding the cliffside. "No!" his roar resonated farther than tali's scream.
at the den a few moments before, the two-legs had caged Tali and Lyra and had set about stabbing at lyra with the shock-prods hoping to draw Baronyx back to the cave. Lyra kept her cries quiet and had refused to satisfy their wishes. the two-leg in charge snarled. "Enough... last chance, dragon. Tell me where he is!"
lyra growled at him, "i'll tell you nothing, worm."
"fine, suit yourself." the man turned his back to her. "lets see if you're daughter has the same resolve, shall we?"
"no! don't touch her!"
"i'm afraid its quite too late for that, dragon."
"tali i'm sorry!"
he turned to Tali and jabbed her in the side with a shock ****. tali groaned and gritted her teeth but did not scream for the man.
she growled at him said, "that tickled." tali grinned at the man with her sharp fangs fully exposed.
the man glared for a moment and then smiled cruelly.
"temporary pain doesnt have an effect on you... maybe something more... permenant will bring him to me. bring the iron!"
two-legs carried a white hot brand in the shape of a greek Omega. the man pointed to tali and said, "on her throat. make it burn."
more two-legs had muzzled lyra to keep her from screaming. the iron cut into tali's scales and burned into the flesh underneath, forcing tali to scream as loud as she could, even after the iron had been taken away. she collapsed on the ground and the tears spilled over her eyes as she continued to scream.
they heard a roar passing over them all as Baronyx rushed back to the den.
"well done, everyone. the prize is near. get your guns ready but DO NOT FIRE!"
* *
baronyx flew faster than he ever had before. he growled  as he swooped down toward his den and saw the two-legs. he screeched in protest as cables wrapped around his wings and limbs. forcing him hard into the ground. "Nick you *******!"
the white man grinned, "so we finally meet
Again, baron. and you have a nice little family i can use to my advantage now."
baronyx looked at tali and Lyra and loosed a mournful moan deep in his throat. "what do you want, nick?"
the man stepped forward and replied, "i want you, back in my show, just like old times. or i'll torture your mate AND this lovely little child of yours. sound like a deal?"
baronyx shut his eyes and nodded as a tear trailed down his cheek. "just know... when i get out, everything will burn... just like old times..."
(add on 1)
The white man and the other two-legs shackled Baronyx and his family with heavy chains and electric collars that would shock them randomly. they were put on a train car headed east and the collars were taken off. Baronyx immediately examined Tali's neck, the brand already scarring over in a whitish pink Omega. tali's voice was hoarse and tears came to her eyes. she buried her head into her father's chest. "i'm so sorry tali, lyra... this is my fault.." the family embraced as they knew there would likely be very little contact with each other after the train stopped.
the train traveled a little while longer and the family shakily said  their goodbyes as the air brakes hissed violently. the doors shrieked open and they were met by Nick. immediately. baronyx pounced on top of him and roared. they stared eye to eye for a moment before they heard the clicking of the two-legs metal spitters. baronyx kept his eyes on Nick and said quietly, "touch her again... touch EITHER of them... and
I swear, no amount of metal spitters or electricity will stop me from hunting you down and tearing off your head."
as baronyx stepped back, nick stood up and replied, "i won't harm either of them, hell, i'll give them whatever they want, as long as you do as you are told, Baronyx."
baronyx thought this over and after a few moments said, "i have one more condition, i want full access to them. whenever i choose."
nick chuckled a bit, "we'll see... we'll see... it all depends on how you perform."
baronyx nodded. "then lets get this over with..." the white man beckoned some two-legs to lead Tali and Lyra to the cages inside the massive pavilion that stood before them. two of the men brought the brand again and put the Omega on Baronyx's throat much like they had done with tali. he gritted his teeth and let the tears come but did not cry out or roar. when the pain had subsided, he asked nick, "when do i start?"
nick looked up at him with a sinister twinkle in his eyes, "right now."
*
Nick and a handful of two-legs escorted baronyx back onto the train, but not the same traincar. this one was blue and had ornate gold lettering on each side. once baronyx was inside, a string of lights came on and he saw his old armor plates each polished and the dents pounded out. he took his helm and stared into his reflection.  "i swore i'd never touch this stuff again..."
an intercom system beeped above him and nick's voice filled the car. "Baron, you have five minutes to suit up. the game starts as soon as we arrive."
baronyx sighed and donned the cold armor one peice at a time. he looked into the mirror on the wall and turned away in disgust.
"for tali and lyra..." there were a few peices left, the ones he never wanted to see again, they were sharp talons that fit over his claws. in the show, he had to use these to **** his opponent. nick's voice came over the intercom again, "arriving at the arena now, the press is fired up for your return, baron. DON'T disappoint them."
Baronyx growled and said a silent prayer for his family. the train screeched to a halt and the door opened. baronyx stepped out onto a black carpet and was assaulted by blinding camera flashes and the deafening roar of the crowding two-legs. over the crowd, an announcer shouted, "Its the Baron! he's back and looks better than ever!"
baronyx kept walking until nick stopped him for the game briefing. "you'll be going up against a group of wyverns, so you should have no problem killing them." the wyverns far outnumbered the dragons, wyverns being the dragons' slightly smaller, less intelligent cousins.
nick began walking away when baronyx asked, "what do they get if i win?"
nick turned, "they?"
baronyx bared his fangs. "my family. what do they get in return for my win?"
nick thought this over for a moment before replying, "they will eat, sleep, and live in their own hovel. and depending on your performance i'll let you stay with them."
baronyx growled, "then lets get this over with."
*
Baronyx was led to the arena doors and he waited patiently for his introduction and call to the game. he looked around at the all too familiar sights, the fight screens, the scoreboard, and the dim light that would signal his entry into the arena. it would be a few minutes before the match and in the meantime, he thought of all his old strategies and gameplans. "i wonder if tali and lyra will be watching..."
nick came out of the shadows and said, "remember, their future depends on what happens next."
the light turned green and the doors opened, spilling light into the room. when baronyx's eyes adjusted, he saw the all too familiar sight of the ****** arena, mangled corpses being dragged away from the last battle. "the baron! he'll be going up against seven wyverns from the northwest territories." baronyx roared as loud as he could as he stormed into the arena. the wyverns on the other side cowered for a moment before charging him. the first one lunged at him and was caught in his
Claws. baronyx looked into the wyverns eyes and saw the fear, the terror of a beast facing his own demise. "for them..." baronyx tore the wyvern's throat out with his claws and threw the body at the next assailant, bowling him over.
the next wyvern was impaled by baronyx's tail and tossed aside to bleed out on the ground while he set about killing the others in various other ways. when the bodies stopped twitching, baronyx's armor was coated in blood. the crowd was silent and he became worried. he looked to the trainer's balcony and spotted nick, who gave a subtle nod of approval. baronyx looked at the timer: one minute seventeen seconds. it was a new record, the shortest match in history. the crowd roared and applauded long after he was led out of the arena. "an amazing, record setting performance by the returning champion, the Baron!"
baronyx was met by the press' cameras outside the arena. Nick's two-legs stripped the ****** armor and allowed him some room to move around.
The camera flashes continued to blind baronyx but his mind was elsewhere. nick finally showed up to answer the press's questions, while baronyx glared at the group of reporters. after an hour of questions and his agitation reached its breaking point, baronyx growled at the reporters, silencing them. when they didn't move, he bared his fangs and roared, forcing them to make hasty retreats and fleeing the conference. once they were gone, nick turned to baronyx and sighed, "thanks. i thought they'd never leave..."
baronyx stared down at him. "we had a deal."
"so we did. and for that breathtaking performance, you will stay with your family in their hovel."
baronyx started walking towards the train, "then i have to go."
*
Based off of a poem i wrote earlier.
Clara O Aug 2017
grådigt kaster den sig over søvnen
der agerer flugt fra dens stramme greb om vitaliteten
den overskygger
overdøver
overdriver
underminerer den fred
som jeg først får lov til at smage på ved daggry
og når den har konsumeret søvnen
plyndrer den videre.
den stjæler
suger
skræller.
plyndrer de resterende levn af pigen
der engang var
! *** skal leve mens *** er ung!
men jeg lever ikke videre
kun i spinkle fantasier om en fremtid
eller i de magre håb,
der er lige så tynde
som mine håndled er blevet
eller som hofteskålene der stikker ud
og giver mig kvalme
og minder mig om det hele
eller snarere det halve.
for den har været på plyndringstogt,
og har konsumeret pigen
der engang var
sabinasophie Sep 2016
jeg bruger mine porcelænstynde hænder til at perfekt justere varmen på min kaffe
men den er ikke den temperatur du er, så jeg er ligeglad

den er så smuk sort, ligesom den mørke jeg engang troede var bosat i min sjæl
men den er ikke dit mørke hår

min kaffes overflade skinner når solen rammer den
men den er ikke dine øjne som altid skinner

min kaffe strømmer ned i mine organer som jeg elsker
men den er ikke din tunge med min

min kaffe er ikke nok
fordi den er ikke dig

jeg elskede engang kaffe
*nu elsker jeg dig og kaffe
Sabina Sophie
ungdomspoet Mar 2016
jeg forstår egentlig ikke hvorfor
jeg har det på den her måde
og jeg er egentlig ikke sikker på om
jeg har ret til at føle hvad jeg føler
og det er faktisk noget der er svært
for mig at beskrive med ord
altså hvad jeg føler
men jeg må jo konkludere at
du giver mig åndedragsbesvær
og en lille smule kuldegysninger
fordi min forestilling om hvad
vi kunne have sammen
er så utrolig smuk at det
gør mig så ked af det at tænke
på at det eneste du så
var bare hvor smuk jeg er
og jeg følte at når jeg kiggede
på dig så jeg alt din skrøbelighed
og al din sødme
som afspejler sig i den måde dine
øjne smiler på
når jeg siger at jeg syntes også at
du er smuk
på en måde hvor andre drenge ikke
er smukke
men at du som menneske er interessant
af den grund at du er kompleks og
sød
og jeg har aldrig oplevet at blive behandlet
så godt som du behandlede mig
og jeg tror mine mindreværdskomplekser
måske er lidt anderledes end så mange
andre teenage piger
fordi jeg ikke er bange for at jeg ikke er smuk
nok eller lækker eller har en flot krop
for det ved jeg godt at jeg er
og jeg er heldig
men det er så overfladisk at det gør ondt
fordi jeg har så lave tanker
om netop de værdier som gør at jeg syntes
at du er smuk
og jeg er så bange for at der aldrig vil
være nogen der syntes at jeg har et smukt indre
jeg er så bange for ikke at være god nok som
menneske
og jeg føler mig så ofte som en skal, som ikke
er mere værd end det du ser udadtil
fordi det altid er det som drenge
tillægger en værdi hos mig
og jeg ville så gerne have at du kunne se
at jeg var så meget mere end ***
og at jeg har så meget mere at byde på
og jeg er så skrøbelig inden i
jeg har set så meget og skåret mig på
alt hvad jeg tør røre ved
føler inderst inde at jeg ikke er noget værd
jeg er bare ikke sådan en pige man forelsker sig i
fordi det kræver jo mere end blot et kønt ansigt
hvorfor er der aldrig nogen der fortæller mig
at jeg er sød eller at jeg er godt menneske
der var engang en der elskede mig
men han var for bange for den kærlighed vi
havde fordi den var så ægte og konkret
at han aldrig turde indrømme det
han sagde den gang at jeg var det bedste menneske
han kendte og jeg havde virkelig et stort hjerte
og jeg var så kærlig og sød
jeg tror også det er derfor jeg altid vil elske
ham et eller andet sted inden i mig
og han var smuk af de samme grunde du er smuk
men også fordi han var ødelagt og knust inden i
og det fik mig til at føle
jeg havde fundet min ligemand
men du er så glad og ser de smukke ting i livet
og det tror jeg gav mig lyst til at dele det liv
du fra dine øjne
jeg ville så uendelig gerne være en del af det
og leve lidt i din radius hvor
livet er en dans på roser og du nyder bare
øl og gymnasie fester
venner og veninder
og kærlighed virkede ikke til at være en skræmmende
ting for dig
indtil du mødte mig
og det gik op for dig hvor destruktivt det kan være
følelsen af at have noget at miste
det var det sidste jeg ville have dig til at føle
men jeg kan næsten ikke styre mig selv
for det eneste jeg har lyst til er at skrive til dig
hvorfor vil du ikke give mig en chance
for at vise dig at der gemmer sig roser i mit sind
bag de røde læber og det lange bølgede hår (som du er så vild med)
og vise dig at den krop du rørte og hviskede i øret at den
var så fandens lækker
gemmer på en person som du rørte meget mere
med dine fine ord
og din person
men sandheden er jo bare at du er ligeglad med mig
at jeg blot bliver gjort til en ting igen
som du kan samle på og objektivisere
og indramme og hænge op på din væg af
trofæer
og dér kan jeg så pynte
men jeg længes efter så meget mere
jeg vil ikke blot hænge der
jeg vil røre din konkrete krop
og dit udefinerbare sind
og bare elske
noget om mit syn på mig selv og mænd(drenge) i mit liv
Die Lichtresistenz
die mit Vehemenz
in die Gegenrichtung rennt
isst Scham,
als wäre sie endlos

und ich habe den Verdacht,
dass dies der Grund war,
weshalb die Kathedrale
in die Tiefen versank,
als die Details ihrer eigenen
aus den Augen der Folgenden
verschwand.

So ist sie nun fast auf fischlosem Grund angelangt.
Während der Sandstein bröckelt
und das Kristall der Fenster
die Tiefsee trübt,
blickt sie nach oben
in das Vergehen,
dass aus Versehen
im Liegen
das Gehen
und Sehen
verlernt.

Wo kommen wir her?
Aus einem Heer aus Bannern die
die Farben vereinnahmen
oder aus kaltem Samt,
welches die Triebe
in der Sonne
umarmt
?

Hast du dich schon vergessen,
so besessen von einem Traum,
dass deine Hände, wie von alleine,
Magie ins Nichts modellierten?

Wie, wenn deine Lippen
mich überall küssen,
um all die Formen
zu verinnerlichen
und sich in deiner Gesamtheit
um mich zu schlingen
in Yin und Yang
.

Einst ein Fisch,
der gebannt
die Kathedrale im Sinken durchquerte,
etwas, dass immer noch zum Scheinen scheint,
verehrt,
weint unversehrt
und steigt auf,
indem er sich entleert
von der grundlosen Tiefe,
welche er schon für so lange begehrt.

Er wird den Sand im Gestein spüren
und den Schnee im Salzwasser schmecken
und wissen,
dass nicht jede Flosse
alle Meere bereist haben muss,

um dennoch
den Körper von duftender Wildness
zu erspüren,
in all den schimmernden Tropfen
hinter den Windungen deines Ohres
und der Feuchtigkeit zweier verschmelzender Hüllen
.



---



The light resistance,
which runs with vehemence
into the opposite direction,
eats shame,
as if it would be endless

and I suspect
that this was the reason
why the cathedral
sank into the depths,
as the details of its own
fell out of sight of its followers.

So it is now on almost fishless ground.
While the sandstone is crumbling
and the crystal of the windows
is clouding the deep sea,
it looks up
into transience,
which accidentally
unlearned
walking
and seeing
in a laying state.

Where do we come from?
From an army of banners
capturing the colors
or made of cold velvet,
hugging sprouts
in the sun
?

Have you already forgotten yourself,
so obsessed with a dream,
that your hands, as if by themselves,
modeled magic into nothingness?

Like when your lips
kiss me everywhere,
around all the forms
to internalize
in your entirety
and wrap myself
in Yin and Yang
.

Once a fish,
spellbound, crossing
the cathedral in sinking,
something that still shines to shine,
is worshipping,
cries intact
and rises
by emptying itself
from the groundless depth,
which it desires for so long.

He will feel the sand in rocks
and taste the snow in salt water
and know,
that not every fin
must have traveled all the seas,

to nevertheless
feel
the body of fragrant wildness
in all the shimmering drops
behind the windings of your ear
and the moisture of two merging sheaths
.
Good morning and good day! <3

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KpOtuoHL45Y
Franz Liszt - Liebestraum
jeg er hende den sjove
hende, der bryder den isbelagte tavshed,
og får dig til at smile, når du mindst venter det
jeg er hende den sjove
hende, der danser over alle skarpe følelser,
og sjældent skærer sig
jeg er hende den sjove
hende, der altid fortrænger smerten
med velkendte, høje grin
jeg er hende den sjove
hende, du har patent på at grine med,
det er jo derfor, du er der
jeg er hende den sjove
hende, der ikke kan græde uden at grine
jeg er hende den sjove, men det er
ikke sjovt
- elektriske silhuetter og rød læbestift
Timothy Oct 2012
From the 16th century Anabaptist Ausbund
Hymn 11 by Jörg Wagner, burnt 1527

German

Wer Christo jetzt will folgen nach,
Muß achten nichte der Welt Schmach,
Das Creutz er auch muß tragen,
Kein ander Weg in Himmel geht,
Hört ich von Jugend sagen.

Also thät Jörg der Wagner auch,
Gen Himmel fuhr er in dem Rauch,
Durchs Creutz ward er bewähret,
Gleich wie man thut dem klaren Gold,
Von Herzen ers begehret.

Der Falkenthurm ward ihm zu Theil,
Es galt ihm seiner Seelen Heyl,
Er acht kein's Menschen Trauren,
Er acht auch nicht sein kleine Kind,
Noch seiner Ehlichen Frauren.

Wiewohl sie ihm nicht war'n nunmehr,
Und er gern bey ihn's blieben wär,
Hat Liebe und Leids gelitten,
Kein Arbeit an seim Leib gespart,
Nach frommer Ehleut Sitten.

Gleichwohl er sie verlassen muß,
Es war ihm kein geringe Buß,
Daß er von ihn'n mußt scheiden.
Klein Fürst mit seinem Fürstenthum,
Hätts ihm mögen erleiden.

Zween Baarfüß—Möch in grauem Kleid
Jörg Wagner trösten in seim Leid,
Sie wollten ihn bekerhren,
Er wiess  sie in ihr Klösterlein,
Ihr Red wollt er nicht hören.

Der Henker führt ihn an ein'm Strick,
Im Rathaus las man ihm vier Stück,
Darauf stund ihm sein Leben:
Eh er eins widerrufen wollt,
In Tod thät er sich geben.

Der erst Artikel war nicht leicht,
Trauff an die mündlich Ohrenbeicht,
Kein Pfaff mocht ihm verzeihen,
Dieweil er wider Gott gethan,
Der ihm allein konnt freyen.

Der Tauff ist recht wie Christus lehrt,
Wenn die Ordnung nicht wird verkehrt,
Bedeut sein bitter Sterben,
Ist ein Abwäschung unser Sünd,
Dadurch wir Gnad erwerben.

Vons Herren Christi Sacrament,
Jörg Wagner ihn'n auch frey bekennt,
Ich halt es vor ein Zeichen,
Vor Christi hingegebnen Leib,
Redt er ohn alles Schmeichlen.

Zum vierten wollt nicht Glauben thun,
Daß sich Gott sollte zwingen lohn,
Auf Erd herab zu kommen,
Bis er werd halten sein Gericht,
Den Böse mit den Frommen.

Etlich Christliche Brüder war'n,
Redten Jörg Wagner in sein' Ohr'n,
Weil er noch war beym Leben,
Im Feur sterb als ein frommer Christ,
Wollst uns ein Zeichen geben.

Er sprach: Das will ich gerne thun,
Christum den wahren Gottes Sohn
Will ich mit'm Mund bekennen,
So lang als mein Vermögen ist,
Will ich ihn Jesum nennen.

Zween Heker stunden bey der Seit,
Den Ring um ihn sie machten weit,
Jörg Wagner sprach den Glauben.
Zugegen stund ein große Schaar
Von Männern und von Frauen.

Jörg Wagner sh ohn Furcht um sich,
Sein Mund zu keiner Zeit verblich,
Er redt daß manchen wundert.
Geschah im sieben un zwanzigsten Jahr,
Ein tausend und fünf hundert.

Im Hornung in demselben Jahr,
Am achten Tag ganz offenbar,
Hing man ihm an sein Kehle
Ein sack mit Pulver nicht fast klein,
Benahm ihm da sein Seele.

Man flocht ihm auf ein Leiter  hart,
Das Holz und Stroh anzünndet ward,
Jetz ward das Lachen teuer.
Jesus, Jesus, zum vierten mahl,
Rief er laut aus dem Feuer.

Elias thut die Wahrheit sagen,
Daß er in ein'm feurigen Wagen
Fuhr in das Paradeise:
So bitten wir den Heiligen Geist,
Daß er nus unterwiese.

Englisch

Who Christ will follow now, newborn,
Dare not be moved by this world's scorn,
The cross must bear sincerely;
No other way to heaven leads,
From childhood we're taught clearly.

This did George Wagner, too, aspire,
He went to heav'n 'mid smoke and fire,
The cross his test and proving,
As gold is in a furnace tried,
His heart's desire approving.

The falcon tower became his lease,
It brought about his soul's release,
No human sorrowing swerved him,
Nor was he moved by his small child,
Nor had his wife unnerved him.

They no more his could be to aid,
Though he gladly with them had stayed,
His love and sorrow welling;
No labor spared he on his part,
As righteous partners dwelling.

Although he from them must depart,
No meanly sacrifice of heart,
That he from them be parting,
No prince with all his princely gain
Could him from this be thwarting.

Two barefoot monks in grey array,
George Wagner's sorrow's would allay,
They would be him converting;
He waved them to their cloister home,
Their speech he'd be averting.

The hangman him with rope interned,
In the town hall four counts he learned,
Upon which hinged his living;
Before he one truth would deny,
His life would he be giving.

The article which first would weigh,
With the confession it did lay,
No priest could be forgiving,
For against God would he have sinned,
Who'd only be grace giving.

Baptism is right as Christ has taught,
When this ord'nance is not distraught,
Portends his bitter dying,
In symbol washes us from sins,
And grace us signifying.

Of our Lord Christ's own sacrament,
George Wagner testified intent,
A symbol, it esteem I,
Of Christ's own body offered free;
No flattery spake he hereby.

Fourthly, he would not fain believe
That God should such constraint receive
And come to earth in brightness,
Until His judgment He should hold,
The wicked with the righteous.

Did several Christian brothers near
Speak then into George Wagner's ear
While still he was yet living,
(He died in fire, a Christian true),
Wilt us a sign be giving.

He said: This will I gladly do,
Christ, truly God's own Son, as due,
By mouth I'll be confessing:
As long as privilege shall be,
Jesus him be addressing.

Two hangmen stood now at his side,
The ring about him they made wide,
George Wagner spake his faith strong,
Around him a great company,
Men, women, an attent throng.

George Wagner's gaze did nothing quail,
His lips did never once grow pale,
He spake that many wondered.
T'was in the twenty seventh year,
One thousand and five hundred.

In February the same year,
The eighth day, openly and clear,
Men on a stake then hung him,
A bag of powder, rather small,
There took his soul quite from him.

Men fastened him to ladder firm
The wood and straw was made to burn,
Now was the laughter dire;
Jesus! Jesus! did he four times
Call loudly from the fire.

Elias speaks the truth entire
That he in chariot of fire
In paradise did lighten;
So pray we then, the Holy Ghost,
That He may us enlighten.

Translated by John J Overholt ©1970
Brittany Marie Nov 2010
So i have this some kind of past..
I spend most days crawling away from.
Most days, shoving the sound back
Down below my rusting throat,
Past my blackened lungs,
Behind my rotting ribcage.
Here lies its den.
Back into the deepest reaches of a
Cavern somewhere below my belly button.
Here lies its den.
Here resides the demon.
Born of dark corners asleep on the floor,
**** mouthed mothers, fathers,
Shaking words through their jagged teeth,
A mile a minute,
Too much speed for this babygirl mind.
Born of dark couches
The only light some type of grey-cloud
Frenzy on playback from the television.
And some girl is crying for mommy to come home.
Some days this little girl face is so distorted,
I forget that little girl is me.
Born of dark streets with concrete arms
To hold me.
As I am sending my tuck me in prayers
To the God who has let me become this...
Homeless.
And I am hiding all of this
Behind rotting ribcages
A darkness, chiseling its way out
I can't I won't
I can't can't let them see.
Every new face I am pushing this down
Farther
Harder
And it is SCREAMING louder.
Please!
SHUT THE **** UP.
.. I cannot let you out.
Here lies its den.
Some days it swells so swift
I feel it brimming at the specks of my eyes,
Pushing black ink from my pupils,
And I fear they might see it, pulsing.
This ugliness born of dark bedrooms,
Where the only sound, an opening door,
A sliding lock
faster than the closest gunshot,
It scrapes up your cowering spine.
Never have the hands of a sixty-year old man
Left so many fingered scars across my
Six year old body.
Some days this face seems so distorted
And then I remember
Some foreign, horrid tasting word,
Leaving desert sandstorms in my mouth..
Grandfather.
Here lies its den.
Heavy is the thick of its mane
Rought with iron roots,
Haunting with eyes of mercury,
Spurring an oncoming
Hurricane season,
I shall be torn from the inside out,
The darkness seeping out thicker
Than the rush of blood.
Exposed to the ***** eyes like ***** hands,
Stained by the unclean places we have become.
Disintegrating more tragedy than
The carved stone walls of Greece itself.
Give me sanctuary,
Yet when Evil holds its nest from within you,
No pearly white gates
Bask open arms
To hold you.
So here I've got sin,
Or sin's got me,
Planting seeds behind my rotting ribcage
From even the first of days I can remember.
So here I stand
With this some kind of past
Bursting from me,
From my torn apart seems.
And Now,
Now the ugly eyes of the world have seen..
Here lies its den.
m Oct 2010
Ich ging durch den beschmutzten bevölkerten Korridor mit den Reben, die drinnen und draußen wuchsen, entlang und ich sah in jeder Tür mein Spiegelbild, während ich vorüberging. Ich wohnte genau zum Zimmer – nicht einhundertfünfzig Zentimeter weg; die Entfernung war fast nicht größer, als ich war, und nicht alter. Ich erläuterte meine Angst vor dem Dunkel mit einem Frösteln. Meine Zähne klapperten und klingelnden Münzen, die in meiner Tasche blieben, schrien in meinem Ohr gewohnte Lieder.
Eine Tür öffnete und einen Moment lang hörten wir das Weltall. Wir allesamt waren in dem Korridor. Ein krystallener Stab wie einer, den Leute in der Versuchsansalt oder in der Kneipe benützten, zerbrach. Der Stabinhalt floß in die Hand des Mannes, der sein Zimmer verließ, eine silberne Flüssigkeit. Das Echo des Wortes „Quecksilber“ klang in dem Korridor.
Jedes Zimmer ist gleichbedeutend wie das Letztere, aber es ist auch unterschiedlich. Jedes beinhaltet grenzenlos Fähigkeiten, und unterschiedliche Chemikalien, unterschiedliche Chemie, und unterschiedliche Emotionen.
Ängstlich öffnete ich meine Tür und trat in einen millionsten Anteil von mir selber und ich war ich selber. Symphonien flossen von meinem Kopf weiter, und von den Symphonien kamen fliegende Fische.
Es war nicht wichtig, dass andere Menschen ähnliche Zimmer wie mein Zimmer hatten; es war nur wichtig, dass ihre Zimmer verschieden waren. Ihre Zimmer waren Käfige, genau wie ihre Herzen und auch ihre Hände. Der Mann im Korridor, der hirschartige Augen hatte, blies das flüssige Metall, das seine Hand fasste weg. Die Flüssigkeit wurde Staub und glitt zu mir wie Backpulver oder Schnee im Schneesturm. Ich konnte alles hören und ich musste mich von dem Weiß, das der Staub brachte, trennen. Ich hasste den öden Morgen, den das hervorbrachte.
Ich wollte meine Tür öffnen und wollte den silbernweißen Straub vorzeigen, dass ich auch Sachen in der Luft erschaffen konnte. Ich wollte, aber ich konnte nicht. Ich konnte Sachen in der Luft meines Zimmers erschaffen, aber nicht im Korridor. Man braucht Ressourcen, um etwas zu ändern oder zu formen. Ich besaß Keine.
Die Welt schüchterte die Leute ein, die Verstand hatten.
Louise Sep 2016
det orange skær lægger sig som et yndefuldt lag over alle de opsatte trekanter, der så fint repræsenterer den syvdags-beboende flok af festglade mennesker, der dag for dag snor sig spruttende af glæde rundt mellem de mange stier, der opfyldes af et ocean af humørfyldte druklege

jeg selv er en del af det, og jeg trasker nynnende rundt mellem lattergaspatroner, smadrede oliofska flasker og knækkede stoleben
lad os kalde det en smuk losseplads

jeg er så stærkt fascineret af atmosfæren
også selv når mit hoved sumre og pumpes op af den velkendte klang af dak
og når jeg næsten dehydrere, af alt det vand jeg burde ha indtaget, i stedet for at anvende det til at drukne min hjerne i, når mine tanker lader sig sejle roterende rundt i orange bølger
dette dræner også én fra energi
så jeg mindes tydeligt øjeblikket, hvor vi tillod os selv at falde hen en times tid
og derefter, med et sæt, vågne op af tørsten samt trangen til at fortsætte indtagelsen af det påvirkende væske

vi går over mod apollo for at
endnu en gang
opleve nydelsen af tame impala's smukke udsendelser af øregangsorgasmer
jeg har det lidt halvdårligt, og forsøger lidt akavet at rette fokus mod mine eksotiske babyhår i panden, som stikker ud fra den gule skyggekasket, der meget udiskret og med en ekstrem ensfarvet sammensætning, matcher alt andet gult på min krop
for en stund virkede ignorancen

åh, se, en pomfritbod

et sødt pars hænder smelter sammen i aftensolens skær, lige inden de vender sig mod hinanden og blidt lader deres læber mødes. selve romantikken i seancen, bliver desværre hurtigt udvekslet af et råsnaveri, og jeg ryster let på hovedet
mine midlertidige følgesvende hiver straks deres mobiler frem og filmer et nøjagtigt pragteksemplar af mit sørgelige kærlighedsliv, mens jeg står standhaftigt og udstråler et hjerteskærende ansigtstryk
under mit humoristiske og selvironiske lag af skuespil, står jeg og overvejer alvoren i den thomas helmig sang, mine ører skuer i det fjerne
og med ét fremstår hele situationen nærmest egentlig som en bedrøvelse i sig selv, når jeg realiserer sandhedens betydning

en brummende bas drøner bagfra forbi os, og jeg opfanger i selvsamme sekund, at den gigantiske højtaler, imponerende nok, er blevet hægtet fast på cyklen med knapt så sparsomme mængder gaffatape
og jeg tænker, at cyklens skarpe sving, har en vis lighed med den roterende fornemmelse af lidelse, der dybt mærkes langs min rygsøjle
om det er fra mit efterhånden propfyldte net med unødvendige, fjollede småting eller de mange udmattende gåture på pladsen er jeg ikke helt klar over

nu ligger jeg herhjemme
ikke i teltet eller hos andrea, for den sags skyld
men helt hjemme
mine øjenlåg vibrerer af savn, når jeg hører musik, der minder mig om roskilde gengivelsen af de mange øjeblikke, 'nede mette' har sejlet rundt mellem mine slidte øregange, kan ikke fremstå på samme måde, som det gjorde på festivalpladsen
lugten af cigaretter sidder stadig mellem mine fingre
jeg spekulerer over, om det måske skyldes de mange gennempillet filtre

alt i alt har jeg en mærkværdig fornemmelse af, at skulle vanedanne mig selv ind i roskildes dagsrutiner, hvilket ville være en stor overbelastning for den ellers ganske normale hverdag
men jeg sidder alligevel her, inde i min nøddeskal og tænker at min modreaktion på savnen, vel umuligt bør være andet end at lede efter de små værdifulde ligheder, der kan genskabe min fascination af roskilde festivalens mange glæder
Elizabeth Mar 2015
SÅR DER HELER PÅ LÆBEN,
RU HÅNDOVERFLADER
OG BEN DER RYSTENDE FORSØGER AT VALSE MENSTURATIONSSMERTER, ØMME MUSKLER OG GRIMME NEGLEBÅND

*** SPØRGER OM HVAD DER ER GALT
JEG SIGER JEG ER KED AF DET OG GRÆDER
*** SIGER HVORFOR
OG JEG VED DET IKKE
OG HAR PÅ SAMME TID LYST TIL AT SNAKKE
MEN JEG SIGER INGENTING
OG INTET BRÆNDER MERE I HALSEN END USAGTE ORD
MEN DET VED DU VEL IKKE ******* LORTE PSYKOLOG

JEG GÅR PÅ EN STI
DEN ER 11
OG DER ER INGEN MENNESKER
SÅ JEG SÆTTER MIG PÅ EN BÆNK
OG JEG TØRRER IHÆRDIGT TÅRERNE VÆK
IMENS JEG VRÆLER BANDEORD
OG FORSØGER AT HULKE ALLE DÆMONERNE UD
SELVOM INTET GIVER POTE
OG JEG ER FORDÆRVET INDENI
TRÆKKER JEG PÅ SMILEBÅNDET
OG SMILEHULLERNE BEGEJSTRER SIG
MEN ER DET SÅDAN UNGDOM SKAL FØLES?

JEG TAGER UD OM LØRDAGEN
FORDI JEG ARBEJDER HVER FREDAG
SÅ JEG STJÆLER GLÆDE FRA SØNDAG
DEN GLÆDE DER NU FINDES
TUNGE ØJENLÅG
TEQUILA
TILTRÆNGT EFEMERISK LYKKE
OG TAKTISK SELVBEDRAGISK LATTER
TILFREDSHEDEN ER DER NÆPPE
MEN ER JEG GOD NOK NU ELLER HVAD?

JEG TAGER HJEM
MEN JEG VENTER FØRST PÅ NATBUSSEN
ELLER ER DET TOGET
ELLER METROEN
FØRST EN SMØG JEG BRÆNDER MIG PÅ FINGEREN
ALTING ER JO SLØRET
FORHELVEDE DET GØR ONDT.

JEG FRYSER OG MINE TÆNDER KLAPRER
JEG VED IKKE ENGANG HVORDAN JEG FÅR STEGET PÅ
VÅGNER DAGEN EFTER
SORTE RANDER UNDER ØJNENE
OG TØMMERMÆND
ER DET HELE DÉT VÆRD?

MED KRØLLEDE PENGESEDLER,
FINTSKÅRET TOBAK FRA KNÆKKEDE CIGARETTER,
OG ET UBRUGT KONDOM I TASKEN
GÅR JEG UD
MEN LÆGGER FOLK OVERHOVEDET MÆRKE TIL AT JEG GÅR?

LUGTEN AF BODEGA SPREDER SIG PÅ GADEN
NÅR JEG BEVÆGER MIG PÅ FORTOVET
JEG FÅR ET TILTRÆNGENDE KNUS FØR *** LUKKER MIG IND MEN LUKKER JEG OVERHOVEDET HENDE ELLER NOGEN IND?

JEG SIDDER VED RADIATOREN
DEN ER VARM OG SYMPATISK
IKKE SOM DE SKØDELØSE KYS
ELLER DEN ANARKISTISKE IDENTITET
MEN ER JEG IKKE OKAY NU?

JEG KVÆLER DEN KOGENDE KOFFEIN
OG KÆFTEN BRÆNDER
KU DET BLIVE MERE KAOTISK
KU DET?
DEN KRUMMEDE VÅDE MEN LUNE CIGARET HÆNGER I MUNDVIGEN
JEG TAGER DEN IMELLEM PEGEFINGEREN OG FUCKFINGEREN INHALERER OG PUSTER UD
HVAD JEG HÅBER PÅ ER TOMHEDEN INDENI
IMENS TÅRERNE UFRIVILLIGT LØBER NED AF KINDERNE HVORNÅR HOLDER DET OP?

ER DET STRÆKMÆRKERNE,
DET RUNDE ANSIGT,
POLLENALLERGIEN,
MANGEL PÅ SYMPATI OG PENGE
ELLER BARE MIN PERSONLIGHED
DÉT DER GØR AT JEG IKKE ER GOD NOK?
andenrangs poet Jan 2015
du var ikke den slags
mand der passede ind
i statestikkerne om utroskab
i metroxpress
og du var ikke den slags
mand
med en advarsel
skrevet på ryggen, af en mavesur eks

du var den slags mand
der duftede af kanel
og nyvasket sengetøj og
du var den slags mand
der bar min taske
og lyttede til alle mine ord
og du var den slags mand der holdt mig
i dine arme og tørrede mine salte tårer
af knækket tillid bort fra mine kinder
og du var den slags mand der kunne
sige det med så meget overbevisning
når du sagde at du altid ville være der

men du var også den mand
der gik uden at se sig tilbage....
carololololo Nov 2014
den mørke tid kommer os i møde
den møder os ikke med glæde og kram
nej
den møder dig ikke lige så varmt som da du
mødte ham
nej
den kommer med kulde
med blæst og uhygge
ingen kan føle sig trygge
nej
vi gemmer os
under facader
under smil og under grin
og endnu en gang forsøges
mørket at druknes med
den billige vin

*c.t
Jeg er ekstremt introvert men alligevel en åben bog. Jeg er ikke speciel for fem øre, men alligevel kan jeg lide glimmerstrømper og farven gul. Jeg elsker kaffe men drikker det aldrig. Jeg hader at træne men gør det alligevel. Jeg stresser over at jeg ikke længere tegner og maler. Selvom jeg har ca. 4 kunstudstillinger i mit hoved som jeg har lyst til at kreere. For lige pludselig lå jeg flad på sengen, uden dig, uden musik, uden varme fra ovnen. I sengetøjet af hør der kradser på mine ømme lår, fordi jeg lige pludselig tvang mig selv til at tage squats i fitten, selvom jeg nægtede 7 gange. Fordi jeg følte mig som en flødebolle, fordi jeg følte alle stirrede på mig, fordi jeg var bange for at du ville kunne lide enhver anden bedre end bollen i spejlet. Mit humør er som en rutsjebane uden stop. Alle disse hverdagslige problemer, latterlige problemer som usikkerheden omkring mig selv. Hvis jeg sprækker boblen er den sprukket og hvad hvis han så ikke kan tage mere? Jeg advarede ham, jeg sagde at det ville blive svært. At jeg er en hård nød at knække, og når den er knækket er indholdet måske ikke så smukt som man skulle tro. Du var den populære i skolen, jeg var den grimme ælling. Hende der ikke passede ind, hende der stadig ikke passer ind. Hende der sluger 3 gange når du spørger om hvad der skete, og jeg siger stop fordi vandet i øjnene presser sig ud. Men jeg havde det ikke godt indeni, og jeg blev spist op. Den fine dreng foran mig var intet mindre end to hænder der kvalte mig. Jeg kunne ikke trække vejret, jeg kunne ikke se mig selv i spejlet, jeg kunne ikke tænke, jeg kunne ikke eksistere. Hvorfor? Angsten for at miste dig var forsvundet lidt efter lidt, men den var der stadig. Hvorfor? Fordi min første kærlighedssorg var ved at tage mit liv. Da jeg hørte dine ord var jeg sikker på at jeg skulle dø. Jeg troede jeg aldrig ville vågne igen hvis jeg lukkede mine øjne. Jeg blev mobbet hele min barndom og til sidst troede jeg det bare var en illusion. Jeg kunne ikke se det, jeg blev bare vant til tanken om at der var noget galt med mig. At jeg var mærkelig og faktisk ikke blev mobbet. For det var det de sagde til alle andre og jeg troede på det. Som jeg troede på alt andet de sagde. De ødelagde mig og jeg lod det ske. Så når kærligheden kom trampende ind i mit liv, tog jeg så stort et greb om den at den blev mit liv. Og da det sluttede? Smeltede sorgen sig sammen med min personlighed, min vejrtrækning, mine ribben. Jeg var 17 år og livet som lige var startet virkede helt sort.
Hvor mange gange skal det gentages, fortælles, spises og spyttes ud igen? Så sårbar, så usikker, så stolt, så selvanalyserende. Ikke på kroppen, ikke på ansigtet, ikke på smilet, ikke på brysterne - på opførslen, på vennerne, på sindet, på tankerne. Hård mod sig selv, hård for ikke at gøre noget forkert, hård for at beskytte sig selv. Lad os bare sige vi kørte os vild. Friheden, rusen af kærlighed og livet blev pludselig til veje af skænderier. Jo mere vi kørte afsted, jo flere bump kom der. Småstenene begyndte at slå ruden itu, og jeg? Vel jeg gik i stykker lidt efter lidt. Nu handler det bare om at finde vejen hjem.
I want this to go as smooth as writing from a ballpoint pen, girl let me be the Lion in your Lion's Den
llcb Nov 2014
Jeg må da være den værste datter af alle døtre


Jeg lod ham sidde der
mutters alene
Et ovalt bord og en lun lasagne foran sig
En rank ryg iført en perfekt strøget blå skjorte
Og han var så skuffet
ked af det
grædefærdig

Fordi jeg var egoistisk - sagde han
og han var hensynsløs - sagde jeg

Og nu er alt bare så trist

Trist af alt, var synet af ham alene ved bordet
Det ovale bord
Hvor han stirrede ind i væggen istedet for på mig
Egoistiske jeg, mig men aldrig dig

Ikke en lyd spillede for at opmundre ham
Ikke andet end gaflen som tilsidst ramte den tomme tallerken
som nok forundre og dundre frem for at opmundre

Egoisme er min alkoholisme af individualisme
men denne samvittighed smager af likør midt på dagen


Han er måske den værste far af alle fædre
men jeg må da være den værste datter af alle døtre
annacharlotte Aug 2016
jeg så ham
han så mig
jeg bumpede rent faktisk ind i ham
ham den fremmede
den fremmede jeg for blot fire måneder siden lå ved siden af
blev holdt af, og holdte om
jeg så ham
men han så igennem mig
kiggede mig hurtigt i øjenene
ikke som dengang det virkede som hans eneste mål i livet, at se på mig
ikke som dengang han kaldte mig sin
jeg så ham jeg savner
ham der fik mig til at stå på altanen og overveje at tage springet fra femte
da det hele gik galt den gang
det aner han intet om, gudskelov, det fortjener han ikke
han kiggede på mig som om han aldrig havde gjort mig ondt
som om at jeg aldrig havde rørt ham
ikke engang en enkelt gang
prøvede at glemme det
drikke lidt for meget, som jeg næsten altid gør for at glemme ham
men det hjælper aldrig helt
for jeg ender altid med en anden
og så ligger jeg der med to drenge
den ene omkring mig
den anden i tankerne
jeg så ham
han så mig
jeg ville ønske han havde holdt mig, bare én gang til
det simpelthen for meget at vi ikke har udvekslet et ord i fire måneder
Frederik B Nov 2014
den er ubrydelig med dens aluminiums indpakning
har fået gode anmeldelser og stærk opbakning,
skærmen lyser op som en håndfuld af stjerner
den er så intelligent med dens fire hjerner,
måneknapperne skinner,
ud i natten og forsvinder.

den har potentiale til at blive noget stort
potentiale til at vise vej når alt er sort,
svært gennemtrængelig og beskyttet med koder,
men når barrieren brydes overvældes man af goder,
for den er ikke blot endnu et moderne produkt,
som vil  skubbe dig længere mod selvtugt.

-

DET ER DEN SAMME TRUMMERUM
DAG UD OG DAG IND, ALTID ET TOMRUM
ET PÅBEGYNDENDE DELIRIUM,
JEG BLIVER TÆNDT OG SLUKKET
KLAPPET SAMMEN OG LUKKET
VENTER BLOT PÅ AT STIKKET BLIVER TRUKKET,
SÅ JEG DAGEN EFTER KAN BLIVE STARTET,
TIL EN NY DAG, SOM ER ENSARTET,
JEG LADER FRUSTRATIONERNE SYNGE INDEN JEG FÅR SPARKET.


JEG BLEV SKABT AF EN GRUND, DER IKKE LÆNGERE EKSITERER
MÅLET VAR EN MASKINE, DER ALTID VILLE FUNGERE
MIN PROCESSOR KØRER PÅ HØJTRYK OG JEG ER TÆT PÅ AT EKSPLODERE,
MIN SOFTWARE ER FORÆLDET OG MIT HUKOMMELSESKORT ER FYLDT MED VIRUS
NYE PRODUKTER KØRER MIG RUNDT I MANEGEN OG JEG VIL IKKE MED I DET CIRKUS
JEG FRYGTER IKKE AT BLIVE SMIDT UD, JEG VILLE BETRAGTE DET SOM EN GESTUS,
LAD MIG NU MÆRKE JEG LEVER, FOR FØRSTE GANG,
LAD MINE HØJTALERE SPILLE DEN SIDSTE SANG,
FØR JEG BLIVER EN DEL AF DET, DER VAR ENGANG.

-

En maskine var jeg – en defekt er jeg blevet.
Det tætteste man kommer på min virkelighed.
Gordi Turnbull Mar 2012
Fair Maiden is beautiful and blonde,
And of knights she is quite fond.
A Round Table groupie is she,
Seeking heroes where'er they may be.

Tall and striking with eyes so blue,
Dressed in a gown of a golden hue,
She dashes around the countryside
Hunting knights far and wide.

Searching the world for good deeds to do,
For a maiden to save or a dragon or two,
Those chivalrous men, so noble and true,
Are tired of that girl with her eyes so blue.

Fearless and daring are those armour clad men,
But they're tired of seeing her again and again.
They want her to leave, they want her to go,
That maiden who chases them to and fro.

To get her to quit, to stop her fixation,
To rid the country and the rest of the nation
Of that small, wee girl with her eyes so blue,
Those knights have a plan to bid her adieu.

They've taken a vote and decided, to a man,
To get rid of that blonde Round Table fan.
They'll tie her to a stake and offer her up
As a sacrifice to the dragon, Hiccup.

"He can have her," they rise up and shout,
"For breakfast he can munch on that gadabout.
That fire breathing dragon loves beautiful girls,
Especially ones with blue eyes and curls."

What murderous thoughts for such valiant men
To send that poor girl to the dragon's den.
But the knights have reached the end of their rope.
With Fair Maiden they can no longer cope.

They seized that maiden, that damsel so fair,
And rode with all speed to the dragon's lair.
Those tall, strong men with blades of steel
Were determined to give that monster a meal.

They tied the young woman to a sturdy stake
As she cried, "Don't go, you've made a mistake.
Come back," said she, "Don't leave me alone,"
And she uttered a cry and issued a moan.

As he heard the dragon give a terrible roar
One brave knight could stand it no more.
He raced to the lair on the back of his steed
To try and save her ere the beast could feed.

That fire breathing dragon, the one called Hiccup,
Could smell his dinner. It was time to sup.
Extending his head out of that cave,
He looked 'round and saw one lone knave.

The beast started huffing and puffing away
And blowing smoke to scare his prey.
The knight took one look and decided to run
Before he was cooked like an overdone bun.

"Sorry, Milady," he cried as he ran from the scene,
"I'm not very brave and that dragon is mean.
Chivalry is all well and good," said he,
"But not if it means the end of me!"

"Tut tut," said the maid, "Tut tut," said she,
"Chicken a la king, that's what I'll call thee!
You deserve to become that dragon's dinner,
Shame on you, you're no winner!"

Those knights of the realm, those stout hearted men,
Abandoned that lass to the beast in his den.
The lady screamed loud as the dragon drew near
And that brave knight so bold fled in fear.

"Even that lizard is better than you.
He's not a coward, I'll give him his due,"
Said that fair maid with her eyes so blue
All dressed in a gown of a golden hue.

Fair Maiden awaited with bated breath
For Hiccup to come and put her to death.
Tied to that pole she had no recourse
But to be that monster's main course.

A surprise was in store for our fair maid.
She had no reason to be so afraid,
That scaly beast was as gentle as a kitten
Because with the lass he was truly smitten.

That fire breathing dragon was very irate
To see Fair Maiden in such a cruel state.
He exploded with rage at her sorry plight
When he saw that rogue riding out of sight.

Throwing back his head and with a terrible cry,
He blew and he blew and let those flames fly.
That knight of the realm, riding so fast,
Was scorched by the awful power of that blast.

"There," said Hiccup, "take that you knave.
Shame on you.  What a way to behave.
You shouldn't abuse beautiful girls,
Especially ones with blue eyes and curls."

Turning around on the tip of his tail
And holding his breath so he wouldn't exhale,
He freed that poor maid who was tied so tight,
The one they had left for his supper that night.

"Thank you, kind sir," said the beautiful miss
As she stood on tiptoes and gave him a kiss.
"You're welcome," said Hiccup standing up tall,
And he blushed a bright red, "It was nothing at all."

"I think you're sweet, I think you're swell,"
The dragon declared to the modest young belle.
"To keep you safe from those faint hearted men,
I would like you to stay in my humble den."

"You're very gallant, Mr. Dragon," said she.
"You're chivalrous and kind and I like thee.
To give you a hand and your kindness repay
I will live in your cave for a year and a day."

"During that time I'll keep your den clean
And make it sparkle with a glistening sheen,"
Said the maid as she looked with trepidation
At the messy state of the dragon's habitation.

"Looking after me will be quite a job,"
Said the beast.  "I've become such a slob.
But I'll try to reform my slovenly ways,
The ones I learned in my bachelor days."

So the two lived together in the monster's den,
Just the fire breathing dragon and the fair maiden.
She kept his home tidy during the whole of her stay,
But soon came the end of that year and a day.

A Round Table groupie was the maiden so fair,
But now she fancies that dragon in his lair.
Instead of harassing those knights of the Round,
She's decided that dragons are nice to be around.

That monster doesn't need a groupie or a fan.
He's decided he liked his life as a bachelor 'man'.
He thought she's be sweet, but instead she's a pain,
And his love which was strong, is now on the wane.

He's tired of her nagging and her bossy attitude,
And she calls him silly names like sweetie and dude.
He's anxious to be rid of that girl with eyes so blue,
The one that's dressed in a gown of a golden hue.

The poor dragon's desperate to have her depart
Because now he's sure she's a cheap little ****.
He wants her to leave, he wants her to go,
That maiden who chases him to and fro.

Now he knows why those knights, to a man,
Took a vote to get rid of that Round Table fan.
That maiden who followed them here and there
Was more than those armour clad men could bear.

He thinks and he thinks and comes up with a plan,
Something he should have done when all this began.
"I'll just have to dine," said the dragon, Hiccup,
"To get rid of that vexing maid, I'll eat her up!"

The moral of this story is quite plain to see.
When you spot a knight, don't stop, just flee,
And be careful of dragons who offer you a deal
Because sooner or later you'll end up a meal!
Steff Nov 2011
The moon shines over the forest,
Lighting the paths for us.
It’s quiet and calm, as here I rest,
Peacefully in my den.


In the peace, I faithfully wait,
As my pups run about, playing.
Soon he’ll be home, their father, my mate.
With game for us to eat.


In the distance I hear a howl,
In excitement, I reply.
Gunshots fire, I hear a growl.
I stiffen and fill with fear.


I gather my pups, hide them in the den.
I whimper at them to stay,
In the den, remaining hidden.
Then I sprint towards my mate.


I hear him whimper, I hear him cry.
I feel my heart break.
They hurt him, they did, but why?
He only wanted to feed his family.


I smell gunpowder and the blood,
I am quickly nearing them.
I silently run through the mud,
I can hear his laboured breath.


The man with the gun walks up to him
I pounce in between before I think.
I growl and snarl, I try to scare him.
He just laughs away.


He lifts up his gun, and points at me,
Then I hear a screamed, “No!”
Into the clearing runs a girl of eighteen,
Pushes the man and takes the gun.


She points the weapon at the man,
Yells to get off her property,
And to never near a wolf again.
A shot, then the man takes off.


She approaches us carefully and
Calls her friend to bring First Aid.
I step aside as my mate tries to stand.
She soothes him back down.


This girl is different, I can feel.
I can’t help but trust her.
Next to me, she does kneel.
Stopping my mate from bleeding.


We waited a while for her friend,
And as we waited she comforted me.
“He’ll be okay, this is not his end.
I will make him better.”


Into the clearing, comes a young man,
Not much older than her.
With a white box in his hand,
He walks over to us.


She takes the box, removes its contents,
And they start working away.
Over my love’s body, they are bent,
Cleaning away the blood.


She calmly whispers to me,
“Go to you den, your  cubs are waiting,
Your mate is safe with me.”
I hesitate but I run to my pups.


My pups whine and whimper,
And it feels like forever later,
I hear the girl’s voice, barely a whisper,
“It’s okay, boy. We’re almost there.”


She comes to the den,
With my mate close behind.
I leave the den and greet them.
My mate is back, he’s okay.


The girl and the boy
Come every so often,
They take care of my love,
They make sure we’re okay.


I wish there were more people like this,
To make sure that we aren’t massacred off.
To protect us when we can’t protect our self.
To make people see we’re not bad at all.
Wolves are beautiful, loyal creatures. They are family oriented and mate for life. They are better than most humans. They're our best friends ancestors. The sad reality is that thousands of wolves are mercilessly killed each year. Some places have limits to how many are massacred annually, while some places there is no limit to how many of the beautiful creatures are murdered. Pregnant and nursing mothers and their cubs are killed in their dens. They're hunted down by plane and chased til they are too tired to run, then shot. Animal cruelty is supposedly illegal yet what are we doing? Killing innocent animals because they are hungry, to protect our filthy cattle. When will the massacre end??

— The End —